Reverse Trap

3rd

 

I creep down the stairs toward the door, cameras clutched in my palm as I open it slowly.

It’s an office. His office. Empty and dark. The windows are even closed. I look forward and sideways: no cameras in sight.

 

The bastard is probably too arrogant to assume anyone can infiltrate his home.

I don’t let myself linger. I go behind his desk and place the first camera underneath it with the mic facing out. The adhesive holds immediately.

 

One down.

I peek through the doorway:the bedroom remains empty.

Back in the bedroom, I position the second camera behind his bedside lamp, angled to capture the bed and the room’s main entrance.

 

Second Confirmed. Mic on.

Third one goes back in my purse. If I’m lucky, I’ll find somewhere more valuable to place it later: a safe room, a weapons cache. Something that will give Shadow the leverage we need.

 

I should call Marcus.

I search for my phone but can’t find it.

He probably has it. I scoff. It’s clean as a grave thanks to Vaughn’s tech knowledge. Least of my worries. I’ll find a way to reach Marcus later.

A smile spreads across my face, proud of myself.

We’ll see everything through these feeds: meetings, phone calls, vulnerabilities. The reality settles in: After six years, I’m inside his sanctuary. Inside the home of the man who killed my parents and younger brother.

 

I’m finally, finally making progress.

I actually do a small victory dance toward the bathroom… then I stop cold.

All my products are lined up on the counter. My shampoo. My specific Portland body wash. My toothbrush. Even my facial cleanser in the exact brand I use.

My heart pounds. How does he have all these?

I pick up the candle from the nightstand, examining it closely. The scent is exact: bergamot and vanilla in the precise ratio my father taught me.

I make these in small batches, never more than three at a time.

 

You made four last month. 

But I could’ve sworn I woke up to two.

My hands start shaking again.

Was my candle stolen? By Carlos?

No. Can’t be. Before last night, we’d never met. I’ve spent four years stalking his every movements. I would’ve known if he’d burgled my home.

You sleep like a log of wood,Thanks, subconscious!

 

Well, if not me, Marcus, Henry, or Vaughn would’ve known. Moreover, I’d concluded I miscounted from exhaustion that week.

 

But how did he…?

Chills rush through me and I suddenly feel exposed in this house.

'Stop. You’re being paranoid.'

I look through the rest.

No clothes, though. Just his shirt from last night, boxer briefs that might be clean.

I’m not sniffing to find out.

 

Twenty minutes later, I emerge drowning in his clothes. The shirt hangs to mid-thigh.

Carlos sits at a small table positioned near the floor-to-ceiling windows. A chessboard waits on the table with Toast, coffee and water

 

“You can’t be serious. It’s not even six AM.”

“We had a deal. But you passed out.”

His hand is bandaged. White gauze wrapped around his palm.

 

The glass.

“Deal’s over. I passed out and lost. In a nutshell, I’m not your PA.”I rush out

'But you imagined it enough to dream of sex in his office'

I exhale, ignoring that voice in me.

I scan his room quickly. No sign of anyone except the peppery, woody scent that I’m beginning to recognize as distinctly Carlos.

 

We’re alone. I’m trapped if he becomes a threat.

“You sabotaged the game.”

He counters, nudging his head for me to sit.

I was eager to play with him last night until he raised the stakes: if I win, I become his PA.

Hell to the fucking no. No matter how much I want access to him, being a PA is literally becoming his dog.

 

“I simply… LOST.”

I clarify as I take my seat across from him. He says nothing as he pushes the toasts closer to me. At least, he's not just a cold blooded murderer, he cares about feeding his guest.

“How did you get my candle?” The question comes out sharper than intended.

 

“I had someone pick it up.”

Eyes fixed on me, he moves his knight without looking at the board,

“The candle is custom-made. Not available retail.” My voice is steady, but my pulse isn’t.

 

Just like last night, I make a mindless move.

He glares at me. I shrug my shoulders.

 

“Then I guess it’s not that special.”

His nonchalance is more unsettling than anger. He either broke into my apartment or knows more about me than he should.

Neither is good.

We continue playing but my mind isn’t here.

It’s high time I get cameras for my apartment. I don’t care what Marcus says.

We play. I lose pieces carelessly while he remains calm, composed. Far better than last night.

 

“You must be very trusting, bringing a stranger home.” He chuckles at my words and pauses his pawn mid-air. I grab a piece of toast and eat.

We’re halfway through and I’m losing as planned. My mind hasn’t changed.

Fuck his job offer.

 

“You intend to hurt me, pretty doll?”

He drawls it out, like the thought is laughable.

Cocky bastard.

I take a sip of coffee before answering.

“I can try.”

He squints his eyes, not hiding the smile that map his face as he nods

The bastard has dimple.

"Perfect"

Is all he says as he opens his eyes. They travel down my body slowly, lingering on how his shirt hangs loose on me.

My nipples are visible through the thin fabric.

I drop my half-eaten toast and match his stare, taking him in.

 

Tank top showing muscled arms. Skull tattoo on the back of his hand.

Hair down: longer than a modern man’s, shorter than rebellion would allow.

His tongue piercing is visible when he licks his lips, his gaze moving between my lips and chest.

There’s nothing pretty about him. He looks dangerous. Murderous.

 

He licks his lip again as he picks up my half-eaten toast and leans back. Spreading his legs wider and he bites exactly where my mouth was.

My lips part unwillingly and my breath hitches as I watch him chew.

 

Don’t look at his thighs, Thalia. I don't.

He quirks an eyebrow, his gaze returning to my visible nipples. Each chew hammers in my chest as I watch him, until he takes a sip of coffee.

 

I blink, finally regaining my sanity enough to call him out

“It’s rude to stare.”

“You’re wearing my shirt.”

“You didn’t give me another option.”

He licks his lips and I focus on the silver on his tongue before I make another move. He doesn’t look away when he plays.

“You’re naked underneath my shirt.”

He retorts, enunciating each word and I roll my eyes.

“Again...you didn’t give me two options.”

“Hmmmmm.”

Is all he says as we return to the game.

 

Carlos’s eyes never leave my body and I stop being bothered.

He’s a Don who does what he wishes.

I’m glad he didn’t kill me.