Captured by: Love Or Hatred?

A Trap

Chapter 5: A Trap

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Ryan's POV:

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I’ve been waiting for this moment for far too long.

Only a few months have passed, yet they’ve stretched like years— slow and irritating. Every delay sharpened my patience into something lethal. But now… now the timing is perfect.

Because today is the day, I end Walter Maxwell.

I have many rivals. Too many to count. But Walter is special— one of the newest, and certainly the stupidest. A self-important jackass who’s been meddling in my affairs for months, mistaking my restraint for weakness.

At first, I ignored him.

I dismissed him as a child playing businessman, someone intoxicated by ambition but crippled by inexperience. I even mocked his decisions— amateur mistakes dressed up as confidence. Harmless. Laughable.

Until he crossed the line.

The moment that prick tried to sabotage my shipment routes, he signed his own death warrant.

' What was he trying to prove? '

I despise this kind of audacity— the kind that crawls into my territory and believes it can survive. Touching my business isn’t just an insult. It’s a declaration of war.

My business.

Ryan Collins’s business.

' How dare he? '

' How f*cking dare he? '

No one should have that kind of courage. No one should even think of possessing it. Not now. Not ever.

Walter has no idea who he challenged.

If he did, he wouldn’t have walked so willingly toward his own grave. But ignorance has always been the favorite companion of fools.

Today, he learns. And his death will serve a purpose.

A message— to every bastard watching from the shadows, to anyone foolish enough to think they can hurt me, undermine me, or breathe too close to what’s mine.

Because in my world— lessons aren’t taught.

They’re carved.

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Walter Maxwell is arriving today.

He’s here to finalize a shipment deal for his new freight routes, eager to expand, eager to prove himself. What he doesn’t know— what makes this delicious— is that the shipment owner he’s meeting is my friend.

Robin Shannon.

Walter believes he’s closing a successful partnership. He has no idea he’s stepping into my trap, smiling like a lamb walking into the slaughterhouse.

Misfortune suits him.

It’s a trap— carefully designed, patiently built. One that will drag him straight into my den, where I can offer him my own version of hospitality.

Bloody. Personal. Final.

Poor creature.

I’m waiting in one of the private cabins, seated with deliberate stillness, the quiet around me heavy but controlled.

Robin stands beside me— calm, composed, as always— his presence steady, reliable, the kind that doesn’t need reassurance because it never wavers.

My phone lights up: ' Boss, the target will be here in five minutes. '

I stare at the message for a moment longer than necessary, letting the words settle, letting the weight of what’s about to happen stretch just enough to feel it.

Then I lock the screen.

Five minutes.

More than enough time.

Not to prepare— but to savor.

The anticipation sits comfortably beneath my skin, slow and deliberate, like a storm that already knows exactly where it’s going to land.

I nod once at Robin, my voice low, controlled.

" Let it begin. "

He moves without a word.

No hesitation. No questions.

Because everything is already in place.

Everything is exactly where it needs to be.

And now— so is he.

And Walter Maxwell has no idea that the last mistake of his life is already in motion.

Exactly five minutes later, Walter enters the office.

Right on time.

By then, I’ve already moved into the adjoining room connected to the cabin. I don’t want him sensing my presence too early.

Panic makes men unpredictable.

And I prefer him calm.

Comfortable.

Unaware.

And most importantly— unarmed.

Walter is unarmed.

That was Robin’s first rule.

Anyone who wanted a face-to-face meeting with him came empty-handed— no exceptions, no negotiations, no second chances.

In this line of work, trust was a myth, and caution was survival— especially when dealing with ambitious fools who mistook courage for stupidity.

And Walter?

He is exactly that kind of man.

Of course— he isn’t alone.

His men were stationed outside the building— fully armed, alert, waiting for a single call, a single signal from their boss. If anything went wrong, they wouldn’t hesitate. They would storm in and turn this place into a slaughterhouse without a second thought.

But soon— my men would outnumber them. And take control of the situation effortlessly.

Walter stepped forward and shook Robin’s hand, his grip firm but his smile wider than necessary— eager, almost desperate in a way that betrayed more than he realized.

" Oh… Mr. Shannon, " He said, his voice carrying that over-enthusiastic edge that grated against the silence of the room, " it’s so good to finally meet you in person. "

" The pleasure is mutual, Mr. Maxwell, " Robin replied evenly, his tone flat, controlled, giving nothing away. He withdrew his hand without haste, already stepping back into his space.

" I have heard so much about you. "

" Good. Now let’s come to business, shall we? I’d prefer to finish this as quickly as possible. "

The contrast was almost amusing.

One trying too hard.

The other not trying at all.

And somewhere between them— the outcome was already decided.

" Yes— yes, of course, " Walter said quickly, nodding a little too much, his eagerness spilling over into his movements. " You’re exactly as I’ve heard. A very… straightforward man. "

There it was.

The faint tremor in his voice. Barely noticeable. But real.

Robin acknowledged him with the slightest smirk, subtle enough to pass as politeness, before smoothly taking control of the conversation, opening it as if this were nothing more than a routine business meeting.

Contracts.

Freight.

Routes.

Numbers.

All laid out with practiced ease.

And I listened.

Every word came through clearly, transmitted through the microphone hidden inside Robin’s vest— each sentence, each pause, each shift in tone painting a clearer picture of the man sitting across from him.

Walter talked.

And talked.

Just as planned.

Men like him always did— especially when they believed they were in control, when they thought they were the ones dictating the pace, shaping the outcome, walking away with more than they came for.

Confidence made them careless. And carelessness made them predictable.

Nearly twenty minutes passed.

Robin guided the conversation exactly where it needed to go, his questions casual, measured, wrapped in professional interest, giving Walter just enough room to relax, to lean in, to reveal more than he should.

And Walter obliged. Of course he did. He talked too much. He always did when money was involved.

That was the mistake.

Because later— he wouldn’t talk at all.

Not even after hours of torture.

Men like us are trained for that— pain tolerance, mental resistance, silence.

It’s survival.

When you grow up in this world, you learn quickly— words are liabilities.

Right now, Walter believes he’s securing a partnership. He thinks he’s impressing Robin, building trust by laying everything out— his legal operations, his dirtier ventures, every detail he believes adds weight to his value.

He wants this deal.

Badly.

Enough to show up in person.

Enough to gamble his life on it.

Greed always makes men careless.

" I think we are done here now. We got what we wanted. "

Then—

Crack!

The gunshot shatters the illusion.

Robin moves instantly, pulling the gun from beneath the table and pressing it against Walter’s head, the shift so fast it leaves no room for reaction, no space to process.

The sound freezes the room.

Walter goes rigid, eyes widening, breath caught somewhere between panic and disbelief.

And that— was my cue.

I step out from the adjoining room, hands resting casually in my pockets, my pace unhurried, controlled.

Calm.

Smiling.

Walter turns— and sees me.

The color drains from his face so quickly it’s almost fascinating to watch, his confidence collapsing in real time, piece by piece, until there’s nothing left but raw, unfiltered shock holding him in place.

That reaction?

That exact moment— amuses me more than anything else tonight.

Fear— is always honest.

" Well, " I say lightly, as if we’ve run into each other at a business conference, " Walter Maxwell. Finally. I’ve been looking forward to this meeting. "

It takes him a few seconds to process reality.

Long enough for the shock to settle.

Long enough for the truth to begin sinking in.

" Don’t worry, " I continue smoothly, my tone calm, almost reassuring. " You’re under Ryan Collins’s protection now. As long as you cooperate, nothing will happen to you. "

Sarcasm wrapped in silk— that’s all I offer him.

For a brief second, he just stands there, caught between denial and understanding, his mind trying to reject what his instincts already know.

Then— he bolts.

Or at least— he tries to.

Panic finally overpowers whatever courage he had been pretending to possess, his body reacting before his thoughts can catch up, turning sharply toward the exit as if distance alone could save him.

But he doesn’t make it far.

My men flood in through the entrance in perfect synchronization, weapons raised, movements precise, disciplined, leaving no gaps, no hesitation, no room for escape.

Every exit— blocked.

Every path— closed.

Walter skids to a stop, his chest heaving, breath uneven, his entire body betraying the fear he can no longer hide.

" Where are you going, my friend? " I ask calmly, watching him with quiet amusement.

" I already told you— cooperate, and you’re safe. You know what happens if you don’t. "

I hate drama.

Fear should be efficient.

Clean.

Controlled.

" Nothing will happen to you. "

The irony almost makes me laugh.

Because we both know— that’s not how this ends.

Eventually, I will break him.

Not in haste.

Not in anger.

But with precision.

I will strip him down to raw nerves and confession, layer by layer, until there is nothing left for him to hide behind.

We always do.

Accounts.

Passwords.

Deals.

Investments.

Every secret carved out piece by piece until silence becomes impossible.

' I’ll squeeze everything I need, ' I think, watching him closely, ' and then I’ll feed what’s left to my dogs. '

" Walter Maxwell, " I mutter, stepping closer, my voice lowering just enough to make him listen harder, " you’re so f*cking… dead. "

I turn my back to him.

And that— is when he makes his move.

Desperate.

Stupid.

He lunges forward, a last, reckless attempt at survival— but he doesn’t even get close. My men react instantly, stepping in before he can reach me, one of them kicking his leg out from under him with brutal precision.

He hits the floor with a loud thud.

Hard.

Pathetic.

A sharp gasp escapes him as the impact knocks whatever breath he had left straight out of his lungs.

He shakes where he lies, barely able to push himself up, his body trembling under the weight of fear and pain, his voice breaking as reality finally sinks in.

" Th-this… this can’t be true. It’s a trap. Robin— you deceived me. "

I lean back against the table, crossing my arms slowly, observing him with a detached curiosity, as if I’m studying something rather than confronting someone.

Because at this point— that’s all he is.

Something to be used.

Something to be broken.

Something that made the mistake of thinking it mattered.

Robin shrugs, tapping his fingers lazily against the table, as if this entire situation is nothing more than a mild inconvenience.

" I don’t deceive friends, " He says smoothly. " A friend in need is a friend indeed. "

Our laughter follows— low, deliberate, merciless.

It spreads through the room slowly, filling the silence with something far heavier than sound, something that settles deep enough to make it impossible to ignore.

Walter’s breath hitches.

His knees buckle slightly beneath him, as if his body can no longer support the weight of what’s happening, a broken sound tearing out of his throat before he can stop it— raw, stripped of pride, stripped of control.

" You can’t do this to me… "

I step closer, bending just enough to bring myself within his line of sight, lowering my voice so he has no choice but to focus on every word.

" We don’t follow your rules, " I say quietly. " Or anyone else’s. Anyone who interferes with OUR business—ends. "

I emphasize our.

Not loudly.

But deliberately.

He swallows hard, his throat moving visibly, his eyes searching mine as if there’s still something there to reason with, something human left to appeal to.

" What did I ever do to you? "

Lies.

I despise lies.

" So you’re innocent? " I ask, my tone softer now, almost calm in a way that makes the question more dangerous than it sounds.

He nods.

A single, slow nod— as if he truly believed his own lie.

That was it.

Something inside me snapped.

Not loudly. Not explosively.

Just a quiet, irreversible break— like a wire pulled too tight, finally giving way.

And in that moment— whatever restraint I had left disappears.

I close the distance in a single step and slam into him, my fists and boots colliding with flesh and bone with controlled violence, each impact carrying weight far beyond the present moment— every delayed shipment, every interference, every challenge thrown at my authority.

" You kept sabotaging my business, " I roar, my voice cutting through the room with raw force. " Over and over— and now you forget? "

He doesn’t answer.

He can’t.

My men pull me back before I go too far, before I end him too quickly, their grip firm, practiced, knowing exactly where to draw the line.

Because death— isn’t the point yet.

I straighten my blazer slowly, adjusting the fabric as if nothing just happened, as if violence is nothing more than a brief interruption in an otherwise controlled evening.

" Mafia doesn’t owe forgiveness, " I say evenly, my voice steady again, stripped of the rage that just surfaced. " Especially not revenge. "

Guns rise once more.

Precise.

Unwavering.

All aimed at his head.

Walter barely holds himself together, blood spilling from his mouth, staining his chin as his body trembles uncontrollably, consciousness slipping in and out like it’s already abandoning him.

And still— he begs.

" Please… I won’t do it again… "

I cut him off before he can say another word.

" There is no again for you. "

Silence follows.

Heavy.

Final.

I take my time lighting the cigar, the small flame flickering steadily as I bring it closer, then exhaled a thick cloud of smoke into his face, letting it choke whatever courage he had left.

" You ruined my shipments, " I say softly, my tone almost conversational now, which somehow makes it worse.

" So we’ll start by ruining your legs… then your hands— the ones so good at signing deals. "

He coughs.

Weak.

Pathetic.

I watch him through the haze, his eyes watering, his body shaking, the realization finally setting in— not just of what’s happening, but of what’s coming next.

Fear has stripped him clean.

No arrogance.

No confidence.

Just regret.

And regret— means nothing here.

" Harm sets, " I murmur calmly. " Harm gets. "

My voice doesn’t rise.

It doesn’t need to.

I nod once at Robin, patting his shoulder in quiet approval, acknowledging the precision, the execution, the loyalty— everything done exactly as expected.

Then I straighten my blazer again, brushing it down with slow movements, restoring order where chaos briefly existed.

With a small flick of my fingers, I drop the ash onto the floor— right at Walter’s feet. Like he’s already nothing more than dirt beneath my shoes.

Then I turn and walk away. I don’t wait for his screams. I’ll deal with him again in the torture room.

Yes— he will be tortured. Until I am satisfied. Because disobedience demands consequence.

And in my world— no one disrespects me. No one challenges me.

NO. f*****g. ONE.

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