Chapter Nine: Smoke and Mirrors
396 Words
The bookstore smelled of paper, dust, and something Tari hadn’t felt in weeks — safety. Jericho had chosen this location for a reason: its distance from Felix’s mansion, the maze of alleyways surrounding it, and the elderly owner who kept to himself.
It was neutral ground.
But safety was an illusion.
She sat in the back room, staring at the photo of Mirabel again. Her aunt — Felix’s first wife. Her mother’s sister. She wondered what other ghosts this man had buried beneath silk sheets and marble floors.
The bell above the door jingled.
Jericho stood at the front, instantly alert.
And then... Richard walked in.
Felix’s fixer. The man with the cruel smile and merciless hands.
Jericho moved to block his view of the back. “Can I help you?”
Richard wore a navy suit and a smile that didn’t touch his eyes. “I’m looking for something rare. Priceless, really. Hard to find — but once you’ve had it... impossible to forget.”
His gaze shifted slightly.
Tari froze.
Jericho gave the slightest nod.
Run.
She bolted through the back hallway, heart hammering. But Richard moved faster than a man his size should.
He pulled a gun.
Not at her. At the ceiling.
Bang.
Books fell. Screams erupted.
Tari shoved open the back exit and sprinted into the alleyway. Her pulse roared in her ears. The arranged cab was exactly where Jericho had said it would be. She jumped in.
“Drive. Now!”
As the cab peeled away, she looked back — just in time to see Richard standing in the street, gun drawn, eyes burning.
But she was gone.
For now.
---
One Hour Later
Tari collapsed onto the couch in Jericho’s hideout, a safehouse above a shuttered photography studio. Her hands trembled, not from fear — from adrenaline.
Then her phone buzzed.
Unknown Number.
She answered.
A distorted voice:
“We warned you, Tari. Next time, it won’t be your mother. It’ll be your brothers.”
Click.
She dropped the phone.
---
Elsewhere...
Richard stood in Felix’s study, tossing a file onto the desk.
Felix opened it. A younger Jericho stared up at him — bloodied, handcuffed.
A former enforcer.
One of his.
Felix chuckled darkly. “Well, well... my little houseguest has claws.”
He leaned back, sipping his whiskey. “Let’s see how long before he bites.”
- Writer
