Page 61 of The Trap

A long-winded sigh cuts her laughter as Sienna clears her throat to continue. “But we have soundproof walls down here and a list of enemies that could benefit from having the shit scared out of them before they meet their maker. That’s wherethisfuck comes in.” She yanks the cloth from Brett’s mouth. Immediately, he gasps for air, practically signaling Carmine to charge him with a ready fist to the jaw.

Blood splatters from Brett’s mouth as Carmine winds up again for another blow.

I turn to Colson, expecting him to protest against Carmine beating his brother, but instead he stands there, emotionless.

“Is it true?” Colson seethes, his question addressed to both Carmine and Sienna. They exchange a quick glance, speaking in silent code to one another as Carmine lays one more punch into Brett’s cheek for good measure.

“Which part?” he asks, now fixing his shifted shirt to answer Colson.

“All of it,” Colson deadpans through a tense jaw.

“Wait,” Sienna calls out as her heels click, this time towards the small table beneath the projector. A small stack of papers in hand, she walks them over to Colson. “Here,” she says, inching back to meet Carmine, lacing her arm through his. Colson’s jaw tightens and, even through the scruff on his cheek, I see how wound up he physically is. In silence, he studies each of the pages, his gaze scanning every inch of the writing on them repeatedly.

“I don’t get it,” Colson glowers, keeping his fiery stare on the documents.

“Of course, you don’t,” Brett interjects, his voice barely audible. The swelling on his face has traveled from his eyes to his cut nose and busted lips. “It’s her…her…fault,” he adds, stammering.

The papers crumple in Colson’s grip. Tossing the ball of scrunched paper to the ground, he stalks toward Brett.

“No, brother,” Colson drags with condescending emphasis. “What I don’t understand is how we share DNA. It may not be from the same two parents, but mom was your mom just as much as she was mine, and yet you let your father fill your head with delusions. You allowed him to poison you with his ruthless crusade against our mother. You know just as well as I do that he treated her like shit. He was an abusive, drunken monster, but he had something that you dreamed about.” Colson lifts one of the documents. A laugh emerges from deep in his throat. “The money, the power, all of it, except there was one problem. In all your years of being his little protégé, you somehow surpassed his level of maliciousness, because when you found out that half the Cromwell fortune belongs to me, you couldn’t accept it. So, tell me brother, the hitman that you hired for Raiden, was thatbefore or after you paid for the hit on me? Did you figure you’d have her die first so you could test me and see how I would suffer only to slip the rug out from beneath my feet and kill me too?” He spits right on Brett’s bloodied face as he adheres a vicious grip on either side of the chair, rocking it back and forth. “Answer me, you pathetic fuck!” he demands.

“Yes,” Brett cries, “but it’s still not too late, you know.” He whimpers, and it’s astonishing how even in circumstances like this, he still has a delusional arrogance that turns my stomach. Not that Colson isn’t arrogant, but when you’re hung the way he is and fuck like he does, you get a pass, at least in my book. But the same can’t be said for Brett.

I join Colson because I recognize that look in his eye. That’s the look a person gets when they’ve surpassed the level of caring that’s needed to do what society wants. To turn the other cheek, to give an undeserving fool another chance. Those things may work for some, but they don’t solve anything. They also don’t bring back the ones you’ve lost either. Forgiveness is so fleeting, and severely overrated. It’s just an emotional band-aid for those who can’t seek vengeance. But here, in this soundproof oasis, vengeance isn’t just accepted, it’s encouraged.

My hand skims over Colson’s arm, caressing it with light strokes up and down the protruding muscle, signaling to him that I support him and, if anything, I want to help. I’ve dreamed of having Brett suffer so many times that I’ll be damned if I miss a moment of his death or let it not be at my own hands.

Colson’s throat clears, giving way to that delicious rasp of his. “Is that why you didn’t cry?” he asks cryptically. This isn’t about me anymore. This is about the betrayal between two brothers.

Brett’s head hangs low, shame riddling his expression, though he doesn’t answer.

The chair skids against the floor as Colson yanks it forward only to push it back again. “I asked you a fucking question, pendejo,” he spits.

Oh my god, look atmypendejo using the word correctly,and aggressively. I could come again just from the way his Spanish sends a jolt of electricity down my spine. Ha, I’ll make sure he learns more, so once we’re out of here he can practice on me all he needs, just as long as he’s flicking that tongue between my thighs. He’s a Demonio after all; our language, the culture, all of it, is in him, it was simply overshadowed by the incubus that is the Cromwell name.

Unexpectedly Brett laughs. “Why would I cry for a woman that meant nothing to me?” he spews like the ungrateful prick he is.

“Take it back,” Colson roars, tossing Brett and the chair he’s practically glued to on the floor.

But Brett being his usual douchebag self doesn’t, he only piles on the vile things he says just so he can get under Colson’s skin.

“Mom hated me, she loved you. Of course, her death didn’t make me cry, if anything I felt relieved.”

Standing over him, Colson stomps on Brett’s leg before kicking him. Brett screeches in pain, while Colson inflicts the same treatment onto Brett’s other leg. “She didn’t hate you. She just saw how much you were like your father and she was afraid of you.” Colson spews, anger laced within his every word.

“You’re lying,” Brett whines. “You fucking hypocrite. Why didn’t you cry when you found out dad died in jail?” His words are shakier with each syllable, but he’s persistent and continues. “But her, that stupid fucking cunt over there, that’s who you care about. I should have killed her myself. It would have spared us all of this.” His pathetic words end when Colson slams his foot down on Brett’s jaw. Since the beatings he’s gotten so far haven’tdone jack shit to shut him up, perhaps a nice broken jaw will do the trick. Colson leaves his foot on the shattered bone, which crunches beneath his weight.

I watch Colson stand over his sobbing brother. Justice and relief flood his every pore, and I swear he’s never looked hotter. I could fucking lick him right now, but given that we’ve put on enough of a free show, and that Carmine is now next to him, I refrain.

Axe in one hand, Carmine taps on Colson’s shoulder. “It won’t bring your mother back, but it might make you feel better,” Carmine says, offering Colson the axe.

I watch Colson’s grip tighten around the handle. He wants to swing it, but it’s obvious that he’s never killed before, let alone killed a family member, even if they deserve it.

“Ay dios mío,” I mutter, shaking my head at Carmine. “You can’t just hand him a fucking axe like it has magical powers that will automatically give him the ability to kill.”

Sienna giggles. “Yeah, papi. Big boy over there only knows how to tease her with it, that doesn’t make him a killer,” she teases Carmine. I love how she loves to mess with him just as much as I do.

“Yeah, Carmie. I’d be careful if I were you, who knows where I’ll have him stick the axe next,” I wink, feeding off Sienna’s playful energy.

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