Page 49 of The Trap

Please, talk to me.

Yell.

Stomp.

Say…do…something…please.

Dropping the mask, I move closer to her, reaching out my hand. The second our hands connect, her silence screams to me. Dismay tangles with exhaustion. But something amazing happens as she places her palm in mine. Her every emotion is both heard and transferred to me, with an understanding that doesn’t need words.

Raiden is a spitfire, and for the longest time I assumed it was because she’s heartless. Or that her antics are because she likes to get a rise out of people…mainly me. But I see it now. Her fire,although her default, is actually a deflection. A way that she can survive and push through the anxiety that she thinks she should be above experiencing.

I don’t need answers right now. It’ll all come together as it was supposed to, or it will crumble. Either way, we’ll figure it out together. Fate led us this far, and if we experience its consequences together, good or bad, that’s enough for me.

With the doorway open to the next round, I ignore my questions and focus on how good her soft hand feels against my roughened one as I walk us into the next room.

“That’s it,” the anonymous speaker praises. “Just a little more.” The mechanical tone is amplified, a sinister cackle engulfing the room. A flash of light fills the space before the darkness swallows us whole. It’s so dark that if it wasn’t for Raiden’s hand squeezing mine, I wouldn’t be certain she’s here with me.

There’s a pop, and harsh fluorescent lights shine overhead, acting as a spotlight in the barren space. We’re stuck in another steel and concrete mixture of a room, except this one has a wooden chair off in the corner of the room, and just a few feet from where we stand, hand in hand, is a two-way mirror. Or at least I assume it is. It looks identical to what I’ve seen in movies, where whoever is on the other side can see in but all we see are our reflections staring back at us.

All I can think as I look at how much I tower over her petite frame is how good she looks at my side and how good–orcute, as the speaker pointed out–we look together. We do.

A screech filters through the room, driving both our free hands and our connected hands to lift, cupping our ears. But we don’t let go of our handhold, so I need to lower myself a bit to meet Raiden’s almost-entire-foot-shorter-than-me height. The screech is exchanged for the sinister cackle, followed by yet another cryptic musing. “It’s so cute, how you both have all theanswers staring right in front of you and still, you can’t piece it all together, can you?”

Lowering our hands at our ears, Raiden keeps her hand locked in mine, squeezing it as she audibly grumbles.

“Can we just get on with this already?” she seethes.

“Why? Isn’t this what you wanted from the moment you first saw him?”

A clammy sensation spreads on Raiden’s palm as she tears her hand from mine.

“What’s the matter, puta? Don’t try to pretend that pretty little cunt of yours didn't ache the second you were given that surveillance picture of him,” the speaker taunts.

Surveillance picture?

Raiden charges the glass, pounding her fist against it. “How did you fucking know that? The only people who know about that are Carmine and Alex,” she shouts, slamming a now open hand at the glass before she tosses both arms up, scoffing and walking away.

It hits me. Alex. That’s the name of the private investigator turned detective friend Maddox has in the city. I would like to say it’s coincidence, but if being here has taught me anything, coincidence is merely fate slapping you upside the head, urging you to wake up.

“Ah, Alex, that loveable, corrupt fuck. We’ll get to him soon. Let me remind you both that when money and power are up for grabs, family,tu sangre, means nothing.” Their riddle sounds like foreshadowing.

“My brother would never betray me,” Raiden huffs.

“That you know of, but I know much more than you think, little girl.”

Brother? Oh fuck. This just keeps getting better…or worse.

“Call me little girl again and see what the fuck happens,” Raiden warns, approaching the glass once more. “Show yourself, you sick fuck. Let me see who I’m going to fucking kill when–”

The speaker interrupts her. “When you what? Get out of here? Pretty little stupid fucking girl, haven’t you realized, you don’t get out of here unless you play, and I am the one who determines the winner. So instead of speaking to me like that, I suggest you start getting on those knees and humbling yourself.”

“Ha, I don’t get on my knees for anyone,” she retorts, hands crossed in front of her torso.

“Not even for him?” the cryptic voice taunts.

A wave of jet-black hair ripples against Raiden’s shoulder as she turns to look at me to answer. “No, not even him,” her mouth replies but once again those eyes tell me otherwise. Just past the sadness and anger that take turns in her expression, there is lust. Untapped, unfiltered lust. Desperate to be unleashed. Refusing to be denied.

“You know, Ms. Ramos, it’s not a good look to begin the truth round with a lie,” the speaker reprimands, and I’m almost thankful.

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