Page 44 of The Trap

“It’s fucking steel, you’ll break your hand,” I point out the obvious, keeping my hand on hers. I don’t drop eye contact.“And,” I begin, already cringing at how pathetic I’m about to sound. “You think we look cute together?” I ask, my stomach twisting into knots, but I just want to hear it again. I need to.

“Ay bendito,” she smiles, shaking her head, but it doesn’t distract from the blush painting her cheeks. “Yes,” she adds like a fact. “We do. Why? You don’t think so?” her question a playful challenge.

I don’t respond. I just smile, savoring this sliver of heaven amongst the hell we’re drowning in.

“You’re hurting me,” she blurts, calmly.

“My bad,” I say immediately, loosening my grip on her hand.

A soft laugh sounds from her. “It’s okay. I like it,” she winks, sending a torturous rush of blood to my cock.

Her grin remains on me for a lingering second before she goes back into what I’m quickly realizing is Raiden-mode, reengaging her anger onto the situation at hand–which my love- and/or lust-struck self almost forgot–at what feels like the drop of a hat.

“Puta madre!” she shouts, kicking at the blood-stained ground. “Okay fucker, you have us here, now what?! What’s the truth you want us to know so badly?!”

“We’re getting there don’t you worry, Ms. Ramos. Geesh, so much fire in that one. Bet she fucks like a dream too. If you don’t make it out of this one, Mr. Cromwell, I’m telling you, I’m going to fuck her until she can’t breathe. Can’t let a woman with a body like that and a temper to match go to waste. But don’t worry, I’ll keep you in mind so you can be there in spirit,” the speaker taunts, elevating my blood pressure.

A possessive roar vibrates my throat as my fist crashes against the door. The pain radiates like fire, burning at my knuckles that are now torn and bleeding, which only adds to the sick ambiance of this hell-hole.

Raiden’s scent wafts my way, her hand now on my fist, which is throbbing because I didn’t take my own advice. “Aww, look at you, jealous that someone else wants to fuck me.” She bats her eyelashes.

I don’t know why she’s surprised. She saw what witnessing her and my brother together did to me. I was always angry, always pissed off that she wasn’t where she was meant to be…with me.

A cackle slithers through the speakers, deafening and malicious. “Oh, calm down. I was kidding. Well, partly. I wasn’t kidding about the bloodshed part. Blood will be shed one way or another in order to exit. It would go against everything I’ve come to accept in my way of life if I let everyone leave breathing and unscathed. But you don’t need to worry, Mr. Cromwell, fate brought you here. Fate will have its way with you both, whether you like it or not.”

Raiden’s hand grazes mine, her gaze asking if I’m okay. I nod and she doesn’t waste a second before she’s back to addressing the speaker.

“Okay, enough with the riddles,” she shouts, but the anonymous taunter interrupts her with a laugh.

“Ah, fine. Since you clearly aren’t into riddles, how about we end this with a puzzle?”

“A fucking puzzle,” Raiden huffs, throwing her hands up in the air, her gaze back on me. “This is unbelievable.”

The voice interrupts once again. “Okay, I lied, one last riddle, but don’t get your panties in a twist. They’resocute by the way, really accentuates that fuckable ass,” the voice taunts, knowing the possessive rage that made me punch the door like a jackass will rev up again. I don’t give a fuck how it makes me look. I’ve spent too fucking long suffering, watching Raiden with Brett, and now that I’ve had a taste of her, I don’t want to hear anyone talk about what’smine.

“We got it,” I grunt, not even trying to hide the caveman tone in my voice. “What’s the last fucking riddle.”

The speaker doesn’t waste a second, spewing out something I don’t understand. I turn to Raiden, her lips syncing with the words that are being said.

Raiden pauses, mouthing them again, and I can’t read the expression on her face.

I stalk towards her, tapping her on her tense shoulder. “Raiden, what is it?”

She moves closer to the boxes, her hand hovering over the one on the top left. “El demonio está en los detalles,” she breathes, her mind visibly running a mile a minute trying to decode the message.

“What does that mean?” I ask.

Fuck, I wish I’d paid more attention in Spanish class in school or had been able to have my mom teach me more while she was alive. I feel so lost with the little bit that I know.

“El demonio está en los detalles,” she repeats, “the devil is in the details.”

“Devil? Is that demonio? I thought the devil was diablo?” I ask, trying to give myself at least some points for knowing that much.

“They’re interchangeable,” the voice interrupts, dismissing my question. “Alright, now that that’s out of the way…let’s play. In front of you are four boxes, each containing one object. They all have something in common. Determine what they share, and the door opens.”

“And we’re free?” I blurt, already knowing that nothing is that simple.

“Don’t be ridiculous. True freedom is a pipe dream. You weren’t born free, and you won’t even die free. Your life had a predestined stamp on it that earned you a front row ticket for theshow that’s behind that final door. Timer is activated, good luck. You’re going to need it.”

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