8 Snapping Trap

Mateo's Pov 

I took a deliberate step away from the big, annoying fellow, creating a sliver of space. 

He tensed, but a nearly invisible flick of Shaw’s fingers held him back. 

Now for the performance. 

I raised my cuffed hands, twisting my torso, trying to force them into the inner pocket of my coat. 

Of course, it was… nothing but a futile, awkward dance. 

The steel bracelets bit into my wrists, straining the fabric of my coat. No matter how I contorted, my fingers remained inches from their goal, fumbling uselessly, and a fine sheen of sweat, whether it was real or feigned, prickled on my brow.

I let out a frustrated sigh, slumping my shoulders in a show of defeat, and I turned fully to Shaw, with an expression of exasperated helplessness.

“Um… Officer?” My voice was a mix of embarrassment and forced politeness. “Please. Help me take out the walkie-talkie from my inner pocket.” 

I gestured with my cuffed hands toward my chest. “It’s just by the upper left side… Thank you.”

The silence that followed was thick enough to taste, and the violent cop nigga let out a derisive snort. 

Shaw’s gaze was nothing short of a physical weight, scanning my face, my posture, and looking for the trap. 

His eyes narrowed, and he took one slow, measured step forward. Then another.

“Okay,” he calmly muffled. “But try anything funny…” He let the sentence hang. “…and we’ll make sure you won’t be able to stand up properly for the rest of your life.”

I closed both eyes and dipped my head in a slight, respectful nod. “You have my word.”

My heart was a silent drum against my ribs, since all he had to do was reach into my pocket.

For a heartbeat, the only sound was the distant thrum of the party music and Shaw’s measured breathing. 

His hard and suspicious eyes never left mine as his hand slid into the inner pocket of my coat. 

The fabric rustled, he continued to move with deliberate care, and he brought out the dark, single walkie-talkie in his gloved hand.

“Remember, Mr. Mateo… No funny business.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Officer.”

He slowly placed the device into my waiting, cuffed hands, making me remember its familiar weight. 

My thumb found the power switch, and a soft, electric click echoed in the tense space. I brought it close to my face, feeling the cold plastic against my lips. 

The speaker came to life with a soft, fizzy crackle, and beneath it, faint but unmistakable, was the roaring snarl of a high-performance bike engine being pushed to its limit.

I let out a calm, low murmur into the device. “Riya…” A burst of static. “Riya… are you there?”

A moment of nothing but the roaring engine, then her breathless and frayed voice shattered the silence at the edges. “Mateo?” A gasp. “Heavens… is that you? Is…”

She's still being chased. “Where are you?” I brought the device closer, flicking my gaze up to the two officers. Shaw was a statue of watchful intensity. While the big guy shifted his weight, under a physical heat that radiated impatience from him.

“It’s really you…” she breathed with relief in her voice. 

She's handling her situation far more calmly than I guessed, as a silent smirk touched one side of my lips. 

That said, this is nothing compared to what you're about to experience, dear Riya.

I tried to keep my voice steady. “Where are you right now?”

“I’m on my way to… uh…” Her voice hitched under exhaustion. “What was it again…? I’m going to the place you asked me to meet you.”

Right. I blinked slowly. The tiny, folded note I’d left was tucked together with the key.

“Mateo?” She sounds so scared. “Are… you still there?”

I deliberately let the silence stretch for a beat since I could feel Shaw’s stare hardening. He rolled a thick finger in the air, a universal ‘wrap it up’ gesture, and I gave him a slight, placating nod.

Then, I dropped my voice into a chilling, conversational calm. “I never asked you to meet me anywhere, Riya.”

The static crackled. 

“Sorry… come again?” The confusion in her voice was absolute.

My smile widened, and Shaw took a half-step forward.

“That’s… a joke, right?” Her voice cracked again, this time with a dawning, terrible, and intoxicating fear.

The silence on the other end of the line was no longer just confusion; it was a void, sucking all the hope out of her. I could almost feel the cold dread seeping through the speaker.

“You said… to meet you somewhere in Ampang City…”

“I never asked you to meet me anywhere,” I let the implication hang in the air. “If I did… I wouldn’t be calling right now.”

There was another pause, and I could picture her frustrated expression. 

“But you did arrange the gadgets, the bike, and the key… didn’t you?” 

“That was all me, yes.” I gave her that one anchor, only to drag her further out to sea.

I heard it then, a hard, dry swallow that was painfully clear over the roar of the engine. 

“So then… if you weren’t the one who left that note…”. Her voice dropped to a horrified whisper. “…who did?”

A slow, cold smile spread across my face. Finally, she’s asking the right questions. “Riya… that should be the least of your worries right now.”

“I know, I know,” she rushed, tumbling the words out in a panic. “So… where do I meet you?”

I paused. Let her hang there in the terrifying uncertainty for one more second. My thumb, hidden from the officers' view by the angle of my cuffed hands, found the large, knurled tuning dial on the side of the walkie-talkie.

“Come to the—”

I rolled the dial hard and the static, which had been a soft hiss, erupted into a thick, heavy wall of distortion…, a deafening crackle of white noise that completely obliterated my words, swallowing the location whole.

Before Shaw or the big guy could react, I twisted the dial to its highest extreme. 

The device screamed, forcing out a violent, metallic screech that tore through the night, making both officers flinch. Then, I thumbed the power switch off. 

The sudden silence was as jarring as the noise had been.

With a casual flick of my wrist, I tossed the walkie-talkie away. It sailed through the air and landed with a definitive crunch on the hard cobblestones, shattering the plastic casing, while spilling out the internal components.

I let out a soft sigh. "Bad connection," I muttered.

My gaze lifted and caught Shaw’s. He wasn't just watching me anymore; he was dissecting me and his expression was a cocktail of pure, unvarnished disgust. 

He’d seen the puppet show, and he’d just spotted me holding the strings.

"You've got something you want to say, punk?" I raised my brows. 

The big growled, finally stepping forward and clenching his fists.