Page 32 of The Trap

“Excellent. But before we begin you must keep in mind two crucial things.”

“Yes?” our voices drag in unison.

“Tell the truth, even if it kills you…”

Okay, that’s one thing, I think to myself, but the dramatic pause begins to inject apprehension in the air.

“And,” the voice announces, before yet another dramatic pause. “Make no mistake. The price of entry may have been determined by fate, but to exit, blood must be shed one way or another. Good luck.”

Great.

FIFTEEN

Well, isn’t this fan-fucking-tastic. Here we are, stuck in a literal death trap, all because Raiden has probably pissed off god knows who and I, the stupid “pendejo,” as she likes to call me, thought it wise to break into her house. And now we’re here on a fast track to our untimely demise without a feasible way out other than to play their games. Not to mention I have no fucking weed, since my vape along with my wallet and phone was taken when we were. Goddamn it, I could use a hit or five right now to soothe the unease that is threatening every inch of my body. I’m fucking pissed…scared, really, and I know she is too. That confidence of hers that she always drapes over her shoulders, pretending to be whoever she has to be to get through her day, lying to others and herself, is dwindling. So I guess, simply for the sake of making it out of here alive–hopefully–I’ll suck it up and do what’s needed to get out of here.

Curling my fists tight at my side, I break the tension that’s filled the room. “Got it.” I nod, turning to look at Raiden, who is unexpectedly silent.

“Excellent, Mr. Cromwell. And you, Ms. Ramos?” the anonymous voice asks, but of course Raiden stands there with crossed arms and a fresh scowl on her face.

“Just answer,” I mutter under my breath, shooting a stern stare at her defiant body, trying to ignore how sexy she looks even in her stubbornness.

“Ms. Ramos?” the voice repeats and even with its scratchy, robotic tone, it’s obvious they’re growing impatient.

She shoots me a violent side eye before finally clearing her throat to speak. “You do know who I am, right?” she asks, indignation flowing through every inch of her body.

“Raiden Ramos,” the voice replies, seemingly unimpressed.

“Of course, you do,” she scoffs before looking like she’s going to blow a fuse. Much to my surprise, she remains even keeled in her delivery. “Given that you know my name, then I assume you know who I work for, correct? No one would send their minions with chloroform ready to drag me here if they didn’t know exactly who they were fucking with. Or am I being too bold in my assumption that you’re actually intelligent and not just a pathetic coward hiding behind a robo voice?” She seals her verbal jab with a fuck you gesture…and the brat is back.

“Feisty, aren’t you? Well Ms. Ramos, I hate to break it to you, but I prefer my victims to have fire in their veins. It makes watching them attempt to play and save their own lives that much more enjoyable. So, thank you, you’re going to make having a member of the Moretti organization well worth the hell it took for me to get you here.”

My eyes bulge. Moretti? Of course, she works for Moretti. The whole blonde-wigged Sally facade, all of that was probably his idea. And here I was thinking that after all the hatred Carmine had for my family, he was giving us a second chance by letting Brett and I distribute fantasma for him. The pressure of my fists increases, wondering if Maddox knew that Sally–or Raiden–was working for Moretti undercover the whole time pretending to be Brett’s girlfriend to steal from us. Fuck, and now if Moretti finds out what I did, breaking into one of his associate’s homes, who knows what he’ll do. But that should be the least of my worries…getting out of here is top priority. Although the prospect of survival suddenly doesn't seem as enticing if dealing with Moretti is part of the outcome. Oh well, I’ll deal with that hot mess later.

Snapping out of my internal spiral, I listen back to Raiden running her mouth to the speaker. “Then you’ll know that when he finds out I’ve been taken, he’s not going to be pleased,” she threatens, and I can’t help but admire the smirk spreading across her pouty lips.

“What makes you think he’ll be alive to find out?” the voice coos, causing the pigment of Raiden’s face to morph to a stark, ghostly white. Even my blood runs a few degrees cooler at the blunt question that felt more like a statement.

But an amazing thing happens. Despite her obvious horror at hearing that her boss may or may not be dead, she doesn’t act scared. In fact, she acts the exact opposite. She stomps, propelling herself forward, pointing and yelling what I can only assume are obscenities in Spanish towards the camera. I want to chase after her and tell her to stop, but I know there’s no stopping her. She waves an accusatory finger upward, adding emphasis to every delicious syllable she is spewing out of her mouth. I don’t know what she’s saying, but the way she’s rattling off what must be a million different ways to say fuck you has my blood warming and shooting down to my cock. Shit, I need to look away and snap out of it. Now is definitely not the time for a fucking erection, because I’m a sadistic fuck who likes how she–a liar, thief, and mafia associate–looks so damn sexy when she’s angry. I hate how my body just reacts to hers without rhyme or reason. She’s like watching a car crash happening in real time.It’s brutal, with the very real potential to be deadly, but holy fuck, if it doesn’t take every fiber of my being to try to look away from her.

“Settle down, Ms. Ramos,” the voice states, but she continues to yell, her face no longer pale but red from seething anger.

“The fuck I am! I’m going to fucking kill you,” she shouts.

A screech sounds from the speakers, a deafening, boisterous laugh spilling out of them.

“Right. All the way from there, you’re going to kill me? I respect your tenacity, but I’d love to see you try, little girl,” the anonymous speaker cackles.

“Call me that again and see what happens.” The last syllable of Raiden’s threat barely leaves her lips when the concrete slab beneath our feet begins to shift. Gears grind, screeching at our eardrums as the light flickers before settling into an eerie shade of crimson.

I try to stand my ground and fight the warped sense of gravity, but the more the floor contorts, the harder it is to remain in one place. Looking at Raiden, she remains stoic, as if she’s in a bubble, unaffected by our changing environment. My body bobs with each jolted movement of the ground, but my gaze stays with Raiden. The crimson lights beaming down on us suit her. There’s never been an invisible halo over her head. She’s all horns, all attitude all the fucking time, and it’s intoxicating how the devilish shade conforms to her every curve. She looks like damnation, and I’ve never wanted to fall deeper in the fiery pits of hell more than I do now. But if we want to get out of here, and more importantly, if I want to win whatever games await us, I need to ignore the painful surge of blood she sends to my dick and instead tap into the fury her antics cause in my veins, grating my every nerve.

The floor continues to groan as the room appears noticeably smaller. We’re forced together again as we’re propelled justinches from an elevator-like steel door that’s sealed shut. I shake my head. This is fucking unbelievable. I laugh to myself, unable to control it. I do this when I’m angry or nervous sometimes, and since I’m currently both and can’t smoke it off like I prefer to, here we are. I’m cackling, probably pissing off whoever is in charge, and from the way that Raiden’s hand is now tapping my arm…her as well.

“Mr. Cromwell. Is there something you find amusing?” the speaker asks.

“Yeah, Colson, care to share what the fuck you’re laughing about?” Raiden adds.

My lips part, but my opportunity to answer is interrupted by the opening steel door before us. It whines and cranks open as a neon haze of black lights spill through the opening to reveal a masked man who towers over my six foot three, dressed head to toe in black with a balaclava covering his face.

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