Page 51 of The Trap

“For what?” My question a demand, to the masked woman.

Ignoring me, the woman sways her hips, stationing herself right in front of Raiden on the other side of glass. Tracing Raiden’s silhouette, the woman rubs her hand softly at the glass. “She’s pretty, isn’t she? I wonder how pretty she would look with that fresh fucking mouth locked on my pussy while one of my henchmen over here does the honors of slitting her fucking throat as I come?”

“Yeah, I bet you’d like that, you sick fuck!” Raiden shouts, pounding her fists on the glass, but I rush up behind her, grabbing her fists and forcing her back so she doesn’t hurt herself. She thrashes in my grip as I walk her back.

“Ssh,” I whisper into her ear, “You have to chill.”

“I don’t need to chill,” Raiden fights me.

I keep my mouth at the shell of her ear. “I wouldn’t let her do that to you,” I reassure her.

An unexpected giggle vibrates her stomach. “Which part? The eating my pussy or killing me?”

“Both,” I whisper, though the volume of my hushed words don't take away from the primal declaration laced within my response.

“Is that right?” Raiden attempts to challenge me.

Pulling her backside tighter against my chest, I lock her in place, letting my breath leak into her ear. “Yes. You’re mine, little liar. No one’s going to hurt you, and no one will eat that pussy except for me,” I rasp my claim in her ear and finally, to my surprise and much to my delight, she doesn’t fight me. In fact, that plump ass of hers pushes into my front. Her back arches, grinding her ass, drawing soft circles onto my groin as her hand moves behind her, reaching for my cheek. “I’ll tell you what, you help me get us out here, you can eat my pussy all you want, and I won’t lock your head in place like I did before.”

Pressing a nibble to her neck, I let her head fall into me where her hand just brushed against my face. “I never said I didn't want to be trapped by your thighs or by you. When we get out of here, I want those juicy thighs draped over my shoulder squeezing me like a noose.”

“Hmm,” she hums, “you really are a masochist, aren’t you?”

“Anyone that dares pursue anything outside of a handshake with you is a masochist. So yes. For you I’ll be whatever I have to be, so that you can be mine.”

Silence meets my ears in response, but she doesn’t have to say anything for me to know what she’s thinking. With our bodies melded together, I could feel it. The second the word ‘mine’ fell from my lips, her pulse quickened and the invisible shield she totes around constantly –keeping me at a distance – lowers, giving me hope that when we make it out of here–which we will–she’ll be just what I said...mine.

TWENTY-TWO

“Holy shit, looks like I really am a matchmaker,” the sadistic woman cackles, robbing us of our moment. “I have to tell you both, when I woke up this morning, I knew it’d be a good day. I just knew that having you two here would be fun, but this?” the anonymous woman drags as she throws her leather gloved hand up in the air, as if she’s signaling for something behind her. “This is fucking gold. It’s not every day you witness two people whose fate actually aligns with their own desire. It’s incredible. I just hope you two are prepared to fully comprehend what your fate entails.”

Raiden’s ass pokes at my groin before she breaks my hold, increasing the space between us. “Please, enlighten us,” she probes.

“Very well,” the woman bows her head in acknowledgment. “Now, what you're about to see is a little…bloody.” The woman must find her warning amusing, because as the doors open behind her, revealing two giant, masked men, her laughter reaches a deafening crescendo.

“Remember you two, as long as you follow the rules, I won’t hurt a single hair on either of your heads. However, I can’t say the same for him.”

Muffled cries sound from the other side of the glass. Both of our attention is glued to whatever is being dragged between the two men.

“Bring him over here,” the woman instructs, pointing.

A lump lodges itself in my throat as my brother’s bound body fills my gaze as the woman’s two associates drop him to the ground. The gag stuffed in his mouth does little to stifle his moaning. His bruised, bloodied body flails as one man kicks him in the ribs, with the other one following suit until they find a sick rhythm, taking turns driving harsh kicks into his body.

The dryness in my throat is exacerbated by my racing heart as I watch my brother get the shit beat out of him. Even from what my peripheral allows me to see of Raiden near my side, she stands uncertain of what to say or do as the two men take turns inflicting pain on him. However, it’s not lost on me that neither of us yelp out for them to stop or try to grab the woman’s attention and berate her with questions. We both know that my brother, though perpetually poised and always presenting himself like the good guy, isn’t. Call it a hunch or the byproduct of what happens when you live in someone’s shadow for as long as I have, but either way, this scene before me–whichshouldignite a level of compassion for my own flesh and blood–does nothing but add to the growing suspicion I’ve had since Brett took over Cromwell Corp. that he’s up to something that’s responsible for why we’re here.

“Enough,” the woman exclaims, her gloved hand lifted, signaling them to stop. And immediately they do, taking their places in the corner of the room.

The woman races over to Brett and, with an undeniable amount of strength, lifts his bound body up, throwing himagainst the glass. Her gloved hand slithers to his mouth, ripping the gag out as he gasps, trying to catch his breath.

“Brett?” His name is a question on my lips.

“Crazy fucking bitch,” he spits, but he’s not talking to the woman who has him in her clutches. He’s looking at Raiden. “This is all your fucking fault. I should’ve killed you when I had the chance.” He spits, saliva dripping down the glass.

Raiden chuckles. “Oh, please, as if you’re capable of killing someone. You don’t have the stamina for it,” her scoff quickly blossoms into a challenge.

Flustered, Brett mutters inaudibly to himself, unable to formulate a response.

“My point exactly. You don’t have the stamina to last more than a fucking minute, just like you don’t know how to think on your feet to even respond to my insult. What’s the matter, Brett? Can’t think for yourself if daddy isn’t here to boss you around like the pathetic fucking minion you are?” Raiden spews.

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