Page 34 of The Trap

“Yeah, okay,” Raiden breathes, exasperated, taking a step forward to the door.

A buzzer sounds like a factory alarm. “Not yet, Ms. Ramos. Challenge begins in fifteen seconds. Please line up and wait at the starting line just in front of the doorway.” We both stomp over to it, exchanging a look, both of us noticing that the line looks to be hand painted…in blood.

“Is that–” I begin hesitantly, but Raiden interrupts me.

“Yes, that’d be blood on the floor.” The calm way she answers me sends a shiver down my spine. It’s unnatural how at ease she is with all of this. But should I really be surprised? She works for Moretti after all.

Ignoring the endless questions invading my mind, I shrug, pretending to have just an ounce of the natural calm she has.

“I should’ve known blood wouldn’t make you flinch, since you work for a corrupt mobster,” I seethe, but my insult falls on deaf ears judging by her chuckling. “What the fuck is so funny?”

“You. Corrupt mobster? The mob is corrupt by definition. That’s like saying an educated teacher and an adventurous adventurer. We get it.”

“You know what I meant. You work for him. Who the fuck knows how much blood is on your hands.”

“Hmm, so much blood has dripped from these hands,” she coos, wiggling her fingers. “I’ll tell you what, if we find ourselves in a bloodbath while we’re in here, and I have to woman up and kill someone, I’ll let you lick my fingers clean. How’s that sound, big boy?” she sneers like the fucking brat that she is. “Also, that’s only half true,” she adds.

My brow furrows in confusion, which she picks up on immediately. “The whole working for a mobster thing,” she says, practically giggling.

“Wha–” I’m cut off by the beeping of the timer.

“Good luck, you two. You’ll need it.”

“Ten,” the countdown begins.

I look at Raiden, her tongue swiping at her lips as she eyes me up and down, as if she’s ready for war.

Nine.

Eight.

I extend my arm her way, tapping at her shoulder, forcing her attention to me.

Seven.

“What?” she rolls her eyes.

Six.

“What am I half right about?” I press.

Her brow furrows at my question, purposely playing aloof.

Five.

“Raiden,” I press again

Four.

She rolls her eyes, making mine bulge in annoyance, my brow scuffing at the mask.

“That I work for Moretti.”

Three.

“I know,” I grit, yet the seriousness in my tone makes her giggle.

Two.

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