Chapter 84 Warehouse 9
Jasmine swallowed. “It feels like it is.”
They reached the car, and one of the guards opened the door for them. Richelle guided Jasmine inside first, then slid in beside her, immediately pulling her close again. The door shut with a heavy thud, sealing them into a quiet space that felt strangely safer than the outside world.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Jasmine hugged herself, wrapping her arms tightly around her chest as though she could hold her heart in place. Her leg bounced nervously, and she stared at the seat in front of her without really seeing it.
Richelle studied her face. “What did your uncle say?”
Jasmine hesitated. The words felt heavy in her mouth, like stones. “He’s coming back… next week.”
Richelle’s brows drew together. “Coming back where?”
“To New York.” Jasmine’s voice was barely above a whisper. “He said he needs to tell me something in person. And… and he said it’s not good news.”
Richelle sucked in a slow breath. “About him?”
Jasmine nodded.
Silence stretched between them. The car pulled away from the curb, and the city began to slide past the windows in a blur of gray and light.
Richelle reached over and took Jasmine’s hand. “You have to tell Damien.”
Jasmine’s shoulders stiffened. “I will"
“When?”
“When he comes back,” she said quickly. “Not over the phone. I don’t want to say it like this… I don’t want him worrying when he’s not even here.”
Richelle looked at her for a long moment. “You don’t have to carry this alone, you know.”
“I know,” Jasmine whispered. “But I don’t want to be the reason he rushes back into something dangerous.”
She curled in on herself more, drawing her knees slightly inward. “I just… I thought it was over. I thought I was safe.”
Richelle slid closer and wrapped both arms around her, pulling her against her chest. “You are safe. You’re not that girl anymore. You’re not alone anymore.”
Jasmine leaned into her, resting her head against Richelle’s shoulder. “It doesn’t feel like that right now.”
For the rest of the ride, Richelle didn’t let go.
She held Jasmine as the city passed by, one hand rubbing slow, comforting circles into her back. Jasmine stayed quiet, her eyes unfocused, her body tense beneath Richelle’s embrace.
Every now and then, she shuddered, and Richelle tightened her arms as if to anchor her back to the present.
Outside, traffic lights changed from red to green. People crossed streets. Life continued as if nothing had shifted. But inside the car, Jasmine felt it clearly—something had cracked open.
Something old and dark had begun to stir again.
And no matter how tightly Richelle held her, she couldn’t shake the feeling that the peace she had been living in was slipping through her fingers.
~
I stared at the contact I had not reached in months.
Percival.
The name sat on my screen like a wound that refused to close. My supplier. My skin broker. The man who found girls when I needed them. I hadn’t touched that part of my life since Jasmine had walked into it and turned everything upside down. Since I had promised myself that I would never drag her into the filth I came from.
My thumb hovered over his name but I didn’t press it. Instead, my phone buzzed in my hand.
A message from Richelle.
Something is wrong.
My chest tightened instantly and I typed back without thinking.
What’s wrong with her?
The response came almost immediately.
She says her uncle is coming next week and there’s something wrong.
My jaw clenched. Thomas? Coming back?
Questions slammed into my head all at once. Where had he gone? Why now? And why did the thought of him returning make Jasmine spiral like this? Why is he coming? I sent.
A pause. Then: I can’t say. But you have to come back soon, Damien. She’s spiraling. It’s not good.
I closed my eyes and leaned back against the wall of the hotel room, the cold plaster pressing into my spine.
She’s anxious. Paranoid. You need to come back soon. My fingers curled around the phone.
“Shit…” I whispered to myself.
Can I talk to her? I typed.
She’s taking a nap right now. I’ll text you when she wakes up so you can call her.
I swallowed.
I’m coming back tomorrow. I’ll surprise her.
I thanked Richelle, but the unease stayed lodged in my chest like a blade.
What happened?
Why was Thomas coming back such a bad thing for my tesoro? Before I could question any further, my phone buzzed again.
A new message.
From Mercer; Midnight. Warehouse 9.
I exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down my face.
Of course, one last stain before I could go back and pretend I was clean.
“One more night,” I muttered. “Then I go home.”
~
Midnight came faster than I wanted.
I dressed in silence.
A black T-shirt. Dark dress pants. A leather jacket that smelled faintly of smoke and gun oil. I poured myself a glass of whiskey, downed it in one burning swallow, then poured another and did the same.
My senses needed dulling.
When I stepped out of my room, Gustavo was already waiting in the hallway, arms folded, face blank as always. Marco stepped out of his room moments later.
None of us spoke.
The elevator doors closed with a metallic sigh.
The McLaren roared to life in the underground garage, its engine echoing like a beast waking from sleep. The city lights blurred past as Gustavo drove toward Warehouse 9.
The farther we went, the emptier the streets became. Industrial district, dead zone.
When we arrived, Dominic’s car was already there.
He leaned against the bonnet, a thick cigarette wedged between his lips, smoke curling lazily around his face. Three of his men stood behind him like statues. On the opposite side of the warehouse stood Mercer, flanked by two men in civilian clothes. The warehouse loomed behind them like a carcass. It was massive and hollow, its roof half-collapsed, steel beams exposed like broken ribs.