Page 22 of Invisible Bars
I felt the familiar twitch of a tic creeping up on me, but somehow, by sheer force, I swallowed it back, lips pressed tight until the moment passed.
Gatez glanced at the other guy and let out a light chuckle—so quick and shallow it didn’t reach his eyes—before his expression snapped back to stone.
His voice rolled out smooth but merciless. “This place is definitely about to shut down… just not the way you think.”
“Come on, Gatez! You know I’m good for it!” Blu steadily pleaded, though his words fell on deaf ears.
“Nigga, I don’t know you like that,” Gatez replied, his tone cold and flat, devoid of any warmth, like the pulse of a deceased heart. He leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowing. “And if you were good for it, we wouldn’t be here six weeks later, with me wasting my time listening to recycled excuses. Good men pay. Dead men promise. Now what Idoknow is a man who owes me ninety-five thousand dollars. That’s it. That’s all. To me, you’re not a person, Blu; you’re just a monetary balance that hasn’t been cleared.”
Gatez fixed his gaze on Blu, his eyes narrowing as if calculating the most discreet place to dispose of a body if this conversation didn’t go in his favor.
“I—I got about twenty-five thousand dollars!” Blu stammered, desperation dripping from every word.
“Twenty-five thousand,” Gatez repeated with a sharp, incredulous scoff. “And you owe ninety-five? That’s not payment—that’s disrespect dressed up like a handout.”
“That’s all I can manage right now! I swear I’ll come up with the rest! Just give me some time, and I promise to pay you back with interest!”
Gatez’s hand moved with slow, deliberate precision as he retrieved the sleek black handgun off the table. The metalgleamed under the dim light as he methodically twisted a silencer onto the muzzle, each click echoing like a countdown.
My eyes widened, breath snagging in my throat. I flinched back instinctively.
No, please don’t shoot him! Don’t do this! Don’t make me watch this!
The plea screamed inside my skull, but my lips stayed shut, sealed by terror.
I can’t be a witness to a murder! I can’t carry that! I’ve already got enough scars, enough trauma, enough nights where sleep feels like punishment. I can’t add this to the list! Please, Lord, not this!
My thoughts tumbled, spiraling into panic until the room itself felt too small to hold the weight pressing on my chest.
Gatez finally spoke, voice laced with finality. “Unfortunately, Blu, time’s a privilege you lost after the first lie. Every excuse since then? Just more dirt on your own grave. Say hi to my granddaddy for me.”
“No wait—!” Blu started, but it was too late.
BANG!
Forgetful of the fact that a ceramic mug was still clutched in my hand, I suddenly clamped both hands over my mouth to stifle the scream that surged up from my throat. The mug slipped from my grip and shattered against the wooden stairs, sending shards scattering in all directions.
The sharp sound echoed through the air, and both men turned their heads sharply towards me. Based on their shocked expressions, it was clear they weren’t expecting anyone else to be there.
My breath came in short, frantic bursts, each inhalation sharp and shallow as my tics surged again—my shoulder jerked involuntarily, my neck twisted without permission, and my elbow snapped out in a small, erratic movement.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck—snakes in my soup—Fuck!”I blurted out.
The guy at the bar, raised an eyebrow. “Uh… Bro?”
“Chi, I heard it,” Gatez acknowledged calmly.
So, Chi is his name?The thought flickered, but I had more pressing matters than learning who was who in that house of death. Survival was the only name that mattered at that moment.
I attempted to ease my way up the creaking staircase, but as I lifted my foot, the wood groaned underneath me, protesting my tentative movements.
Gatez’s voice sliced through the silence, cold and commanding.
“Whoever you are… come down.”
I stopped dead in my tracks, a cold chill racing down my spine as I froze, paralyzed by fear. I pressed my hand over my mouth to muffle the outburst building in my throat. It wasn’t just a scream; it felt acidic… like vomit… like my whole body was trying to reject the horror it had just absorbed. My stomach churned violently under the weight of silence, and I prayed he couldn’t hear the ragged sound of my breath behind my palm.
“I’m gonna ask you one more time. Show yourself.”
