Trap

THALIA POV

 

CHAPTER 2

“She’s awake. Set the table.”

A voice speaks. Cold, clinical, and definitely not Marcus: Carlos's enemy whom I train under and It’s certainly not Vaughn, my tech-genius ex.

The voice cut through the pleasure coursing through me, I pause my hand and try opening my eyes. Everywhere is dark. My pulse spike as I realize, I’m blindfolded. What the hell?

 

“You’re playing a dangerous game.” Damien’s voice: Carlos’s right hand. It sounds distant but I’ve played chess and listened to him talk enough to recognize that voice anywhere. Which means the person who spoke earlier was… Carlos?

 

I pull my hand from between my thighs and test my limbs: Legs free. Arms unbound.

I’m on a bed, not restrained, and the scent surrounding me is familiar: bergamot and vanilla. My custom candle, the one I make because store versions never match my father’s recipe.

 

I’m home.

I exhale and turn to my side. Back to sleep it is. If I'm home, I'm safe.

 

“I’m making things fast and easy for her.” Carlos responds. His voice is much closer than I expected: vibrating through the air right beside the bed.

Footsteps retreat and a door closes.

 

My pulse pounds and reality crashes into me. Carlos and Damien are in my home?!

I rip off the blindfold: it’s a sleep mask. I blink twice, adjusting to the shadow of a man looking at me.

I blink again to confirm I’m meeting Carlos’s dark eyes staring me down. He sits at the side of the bed, arms crossed, forehead creased, head tilted, looking straight at me.

 

I’ve watched him through camera lenses for years, and every time, the same thing strikes me: how utterly empty his eyes are. Like he killed his own soul long before he killed my family.

 

Now they’re locked on me.

Fuck. He captured me?

“Took you forever to wake up. Bathroom’s there.” He points behind me but I refuse to look, in case he stabs me.

 

You were asleep. He could’ve stabbed you effortlessly, my inner voice whispers.

 

My chest hammers at the danger I might be in. He could have killed me while I was unconscious.

'Could still kill you.'

You're not helping dear brain

 

“Get dressed. Let’s continue from last night.”

Last night? Fragments of memories flicker through my mind: The lounge. Chess. Taking shots of Carlos’s shipments and sending them to Henry, my colleague.

 

My head feels heavy and my throat feels dry. Finally, I look forward,taking in my surroundings.

The room is massive: double the lounge’s size.

Everything matches the soul of the man still staring at me with narrowed eyes: black furniture, charcoal walls, slate curtains. But there on the nightstand burns my candle.

 

“This isn’t my room.” He stands up and faces me.

“True. It’s mine. Go wash up.”

I sit up immediately and lift the duvet...his duvet,to my chest.

 

“How did I get here?”

He doesn’t reply.

My heartbeat echoes in my ears.

“You kidnapped me?”

My voice is sharp and accusing. He scrunches his nose as if the word kidnap is a personal insult.

Then he steps closer, one knee sinking into the mattress, dipping the bed toward him. He inches his face toward mine and my nose decide to catalogue his stupid scent. He smells like Raspberry melted with spice. Like something you’d want to inhale despite knowing it would poison you.

 

My chest hammers and my pussy tingles, bringing memories of the dream I just had: being touched, being wanted.

I bite my lip, air clogging in my lungs. His eyes drop to my lips and stay there, glued with a heavy, unshaking weight.

He's so close I can see the scar hiding beneath the trunk tattoo mapping his neck.

 

My loud heartbeat is the only sound between us until he fills it.

"If I kidnapped you, you wouldn't have had the chance to sleep so deeply you dreamt of being fucked."

Well, Fuck.

My blood turns to hot.

He reaches down and I flinch.

He squints his eyes to look at me before grabbing the hand I’d had between my legs, and he lifts it up.

I watch in a paralyzed grip of shock and unwanted ecstasy as he brings my fingers to his lips.

My mouth opens and closes as he licks each one slowly, his tongue warm and deliberate.

 

I squeeze my thighs together, a jolt of pure electricity shooting through my core.

"Your dream would've been a reality," he murmurs, licking each one.

With a final, wet plop, he releases my fingers and disappears through a doorway.

Leaving me fucking wanton and heated.

 

You’re supposed to kill this man, Thalia, not fuck him! 

Think, Thalia! 

I suck in a breath, trying to track back to what I remember, what led me here: Playing chess with Damien, then him. Blood.

 

I close my eyes and inhale.

Carlos breaking his whiskey glass because I threw the game.

Stupid trauma. It returned?

Three years since I overcame it and it returns in the most dramatic way?

In front of Carlos “the murderer” Terrius.

But then, a realization hits me that overrides the shame. I’m in his bedroom.

 

Adrenaline replaces the lust.My mission crashes back into focus.

I look around for my purse and find it on the bed. Fuckity fuck!

My hands shake as I dump the contents onto the bed. Scissors, Q-tips, lipstick.

 

Fuck!

What if he found my cameras?

Please be here. I need you now. 

I open the hidden zipper with trembling fingers and exhale!

All three micro-cameras still there, adhesive intact. Relief crashes into me so hard my knees weaken. I climb down from the bed and freeze when cold tiles bite my feet.

No socks. I’m barefoot!?

He saw the gun strapped to my ankle?

I turn and search the bed frantically, throwing the duvet and sheets.

 

Thalia, Thalia! How could you do this to yourself! 

I throw the pillow aside and find it underneath.

I exhale a large gush of air but my panic refuses to subside fully.

Carlos saw my gun and left it within reach while I slept, vulnerable and unconscious in his home?

He knows I have a gun, yet left it within reach? What game is he playing?

What if he’s testing me right now?

You can lie, my inner voice clarifies, and I nod like she can see me.

 

Lying?I’m good at it.

I check the clock: 5:14 AM.

I shake my head. No time to ponder. Nothing a little fib won’t solve.

The room’s layout becomes clear as I move. The bathroom is to the left of the bed. Another door sits facing his bed, down three small steps.

I look at the door Carlos left through:no noise.

I look around his room:no CCTV.