Page 35 of The Trap

“And I’m his cousin.”

One.

“What?”

The buzzer sounds.

I expect Raiden to bolt, but she stays put with a devious grin on her face, as if she’s waiting for me to engage with her. Crowding her space, I grab her arm, loving how every inch of her flesh prickles in exhilaration.

“Oops, guess you didn’t learn that tidbit before you tracked me down,” she pouts, trying to be sarcastic, but it comes off unintentionally sultry as desire laces her every word.

My fist clenches at my side. I’ve never wanted to break someone in two so badly.

“You ready, papi?” she teases with legs spread and angled like she’s ready to run a marathon.

I grunt, trying to stifle the rush of feral desire that crept into my system hearing her call me papi, even if it was said jokingly.

“Yes, but I don’t think you are,” I grit, lowering my masked face to hers, watching how her eyes light up at my concealed proximity. “I’m very competitive,” I add, warning her.

She laughs. “Well considering how you did absolutely nothing to win me over from your brother, it looks like you have a lot to prove,pendejo. I’m going to warn you, I like being chased. Hope you can keep up,” she winks before sprinting off, forcing me to follow her.

As if I wouldn’t have anyway.

SIXTEEN

In nothing but my lace booty shorts, Zeppelin crop top, and black silk robe I was wearing when we were taken, I can feel my ass and tits bounce with every move I make as I maintain a steady sprint. I wish I could turn around and see Colson’s tortured stare while he watches the view he’ll never get again of my ass and thighs shaking, but I need to stay focused. Though with the little glimpse of him from my periphery as I maintain the lead, I hate to admit how much that mask suits him. The devil theme is fitting considering the narrow entryway of the maze looks like it could be a portal to hell. Dark and unwelcoming.

The air in my lungs burns as I hold my breath, trying to ignore the impending reality that once we enter the maze my claustrophobia will be exacerbated. Trying to work through the preemptive anxiety that has my moving limbs tingling, I’m distracted by Colson’s boots scuffing the concrete floor, pulling me from my swirling thoughts. He huffs already, sounding mildly out of breath. Probably because he smokes like Willie Nelson. Oh well, that’s just another advantage for me to win whatever games we’re forced to play.

Propelling myself further, I break through the entrance barrier of the maze. Chills skitter down my spine as tall, cold slabs of narrow concrete enclose the space, feeling like they’re swallowing me whole. This is a fucking nightmare. I feel myself beginning to spiral, my pulse swishing in my ears, but I ignore it, pushing through like I always do. Maintaining speed, I zig zag through the series of winding walls, and I don’t know if it’s just my mind playing tricks on me, but I swear every turn I make, the next set of walls feels narrower than the last.

Another sharp, ninety-degree turn alleviates the confinement of the walls, but now I’m facing the first stretch of maze that isn’t a straight line. I slow down momentarily, looking back, fully expecting Colson to be right behind me huffing and puffing. To my surprise, he’s not there. Reducing to a jog, I continue ahead, wondering where the hell he went. Maybe he got snatched up? The thought saddens me momentarily since he truly is prime eye candy but him being gone would make this whole ordeal a hell of a lot easier for me.

The music is still blaring, but I can’t focus on what is playing, my hearing tunneled from the anxiety attack I’m trying to keep at bay. I keep moving, ignoring the temptation I have to call out for Colson to see where he went. Though it’s not like I should care or feel bad. He’s my competition, not my teammate. Alternating between a jog and short sprints, I continue until I’m forced to stop by the abrupt change in the maze’s layout. Awestruck by the crossroads before me, my gaze swings like a pendulum back and forth assessing my two options. Both look like possible exits out of the maze, but I don’t know which way to go.

To my left is a darkened hall, maybe a couple feet long with a large wooden exit covered with crisscrossing chains and a large, rusted lock in the middle. To my right is a shorter hall,illuminated by something vibrant and neon sneaking past the cracks in the door at the end.

Gazing over my shoulder, with Colson still nowhere to be found, I use his absence to my advantage, I remain still, trying to assess my options. The chain and lock to my left feels cumbersome, and I didn’t see a key anywhere, so that leaves me with the option on the right.

Heading right, I jog, focusing on the lights that shine beneath the door ahead. I continue moving closer until I’m standing directly in front of it, immediately noticing the circle reminiscent of a bullseye painted in the middle. My hand rises, grazing the surface of the door, noticing that the bullseye is wet and dark. Immediately, the blood of the starting line comes back to me, and I snap my hand away.

I step back just as the neon lights from the other side of the door intensify as if on cue, before a spotlight shines above me, highlighting the bullseye and the splattered, dark liquid that definitely looks like blood. Now, with the added light, I realize the bullseye looks like an axe-throwing wall, complete with markings.

Suddenly the ground vibrates beneath my feet, forcing me forward, just as the music grows louder, adding to my disorientation. The distinct guitar work of Zeppelin’s “Whole Lotta Love” leaks through however many speakers surround me. My cheek scratches against the wooden door, and just as my hand lifts against the wall to steady myself, I feel a rush of cool wind whip by me, followed by the harsh thump of metal being pounded into wood.

What the fuck?

Caught off guard, I look down to my leg, and there’s a fucking axe barely two inches from where it could have pierced my flesh. Just as Robert Plant’s voice emerges, another thud bursts onto the wood, this time by my other leg near my upper thigh.

Spinning around, my vision becomes captivated by Colson sauntering my way. I’m so distracted by how fucking good he looks in that damn mask that I almost miss the fact that there are two axes in his possession, one in each hand. Our eyes appraise one another, skimming up and down like we’re engaging in an intricate battle, each waiting for the other to make a move.

His pace quickens, stalking towards me, as his exposed lips pucker into an air kiss before the corners curl up in synchrony with his right hand. He swings the axe in his grip underhanded as if he is about to pitch a ball. One swipe, then another, he practices swinging, reducing the space between us–and apparently the ability for my legs to connect with my brain so I can fucking bolt.

My lips part, ready to assault him with whatever obscenities come to mind first, but my opportunity to verbalize my utter annoyance with him is clipped by the sheer terror of watching him lower his arm. I can’t believe he’s going to throw the axe. This sorry piece of shit is actually going to use me as a human target.

Time slows even though I’m well aware of how fast he’s approaching me. Confusion strikes when the steel catches the light as it’s tossed in the air. My lids clamp shut, heart rate accelerated to a violent thrashing, waiting for the axe to penetrate my flesh. Like a jackass, I lift my hands up, the silk fabric of my robe draping with my elevated arms.

Thud.

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