Bondage

Chapter Ten: The Price Of Silence

The morning after her escape was hauntingly quiet. The sun filtered through the cracked blinds of Jericho’s safehouse, casting stripes of light on the concrete floor. But warmth did nothing to chase the chill that crept up Tari’s spine.

She hadn’t slept. Not really.

Jericho sat across from her, elbows on his knees, his face grim and distant. He hadn't said much since retrieving her from the cab drop-off point the night before.

“I got the call too,” he finally said, sliding his phone toward her. On the screen was a voicemail — distorted voice, same threat.

“The brothers die next.”

Her stomach churned.

“Why would they go after my family? They’ve never been involved—”

Jericho shook his head. “Felix doesn’t care about involvement. He cares about leverage. He thinks you still matter to him. That means you’re a possession he intends to punish, not release.”

Tari’s voice cracked. “Then why not just kill me?”

A heavy pause.

“Because dead things don’t beg.”

She flinched.

Jericho’s jaw tightened. “I’m not here to sugarcoat it. But I am here to end it.”

Tari looked up. “You keep saying that… but why?”

A long silence stretched between them. Finally, Jericho stood, walked to the small locked case in the corner, and retrieved a folder marked Operation Cleaver — the same one Richard had opened the night before.

He dropped it on the table. Photos, documents, surveillance logs. Dozens of names, including hers — and one name crossed out in red: Mirabel Onyeka.

“My real name is Jordan Eze,” he said. “Jericho was the name Felix gave me when he recruited me from a prison in Lagos ten years ago. I was trained. Programmed. Used.”

“And now?”

“Now, I’m the one thing he didn’t prepare for — a ghost with a memory.”

Tari scanned the file. One picture showed her mother beside Felix. Another — newer — showed Felix with a woman who looked eerily like Tari.

Her skin crawled.

“That’s his new obsession,” Jericho said. “She lives in Abuja. A Tari replica. A backup.”

Tari’s hands clenched the edge of the folder.

Jericho leaned in. “You were never the first. But you can be the last.”

A knock on the door froze them both.

Jericho pulled a gun from under his jacket. His eyes went cold.

Another knock — three short taps.

A code.

He opened the door, just enough.

A woman stepped inside. Short, fierce, scar across her brow.

“Name’s Amara,” she said. “I’m with the Reclaim Initiative. We rescue women like Tari. And we’ve been watching Felix for years.”

Jericho’s shoulders eased.

But Tari’s mind raced.

If there was a network… a rebellion… then maybe, just maybe—

Freedom wasn't a fantasy.

But the price of silence had already cost too much.

And Tari wasn’t willing to pay it anymore.