Deju're

Chapter 9

The bookstore had a heartbeat of its own.

Not loud...
Not obvious...
Just that soft hum old buildings get when they seen too much and survived it anyway.

The backroom door opened slow, hinges crying like something inside didn't want to be disturbed. Moms motioned us in first, her eyes scanning corners that didn't even look dangerous until she looked at them.

Raquel squeezed my hand tighter. Her nails dug into my skin, but I didn't complain — that fear living under her ribcage felt contagious.

The room was lined with dusty books, crates of sealed files, maps with pins stabbed into them like pressure points on a giant's body. A low lamp flickered in the corner like it was deciding whether it wanted to stay alive or not.

Moms walked straight to a table covered in old photographs.
She exhaled — long, heavy — like she'd been carrying this weight since before I was born.

"This where y'all history sits," she said.

Raquel stepped forward, brushing hair out her face.
"What history?"

Moms didn't answer. Instead, she picked up a photo and slid it across the table toward her.

Raquel stared at it.

Her throat tightened.

A little girl with wild curls...
eyes like dawn and dusk fighting each other...
standing between two adults whose faces were blurred out on purpose.

"What is this?" Raquel whispered.

Moms' voice dropped.
"Your family... before the streets tore 'em apart."

I watched the muscles in Raquel's jaw twitch, the truth pulling at her from places she didn't want exposed.

Before she could speak, the door behind us slammed open.

A short, chubby dude with a gap tooth and a polo shirt three sizes too small stumbled in holding a bag of hot Cheetos.

"Yo! Déjà! The vending machine outside swallowed my dolla' again!" he yelled—
then froze when he noticed the guns in the room.

Silence.

He blinked.
"Oh. Y'all in thug mode right now."

Raquel stared.
"Mama... who the hell is this?"

The dude tried to stand tall — which did nothing — and stuck out his chest.

"Name's Lalo. I handle the paperwork 'round here."

Eli walked in behind him, rubbing his face with embarrassment.

"Ignore him," Eli said. "He's... necessary."

Lalo nodded proudly, wiping Cheeto dust on his jeans.
"I'm like the comedic relief in dangerous situations. It's a union job."

Raquel cracked the tiniest smile.
It evaporated a second later as she looked back at the photo.

The moment lightened, then tightened again instantly — exactly how the streets work.

Moms took a deep breath.
"You have enemies you ain't never met. Blood enemies. People who feel your existence is a problem."

Raquel swallowed.
"That because of my father?"

Moms hesitated.

"Part of it... yeah."

I stepped forward, voice low.
"How deep does this go?"

Moms stared at the wall of maps like she was reading scars instead of ink.

"Deep enough that Slice's murder ain't random. Deep enough that the hitter in that hospital room wasn't just cleaning up a loose end... he was sending a message."

Raquel's brows knitted.
"A message to who?"

Moms turned to her slowly.

"To the one person Slice was protecting before he died."

Raquel's breath caught.

"You."

Her whole body shook like she was trying to hold down a scream that wasn't ready to come out yet.

Eli spoke up, sliding a folder across the table.
"Slice wasn't dirty. He wasn't skimming. He wasn't stealing. He was hiding something."

Raquel's eyes darted around the room like the walls were closing in.

"What was he hiding?"

Moms answered:

"You."

The room went still — even Lalo stopped chewing mid-bite.

Moms continued softly:

"Your father sent people to find you years ago. Slice intercepted the contract. Faked your records. Buried everything."

Raquel's voice cracked.
"So he died because of me?"

"No," Moms said firmly.
"He died because your father is a monster."

Raquel shut her eyes, letting the truth stab through her in waves.

Then she opened them.

And something new lived there now.
Hardened.
Sharper.
Purpose dressed in pain.

"What do we do next?" Raquel whispered.

I stepped close, resting my hand on her cheek.
"We handle what comes."

Lalo raised his hand sheepishly.

"Uh... not to ruin the dramatic moment but... whoever ShotCaller Zero is? He been calling the bookstore phone nonstop."

"ShotCaller what?" I asked.

"That's what he called himself!" Lalo squeaked. "I ain't makin' that up. Dude sound like he sleep in a pit of snakes and drinks battery acid for breakfast."

Moms' stomach dropped.

"That's him."

Raquel stiffened.
"My father?"

Moms nodded.

Eli looked between all of us.
"What you wanna do?"

Moms lifted her chin.

"Prepare."

Raquel wiped her face, inhaled, and steadied herself.

"Then let's begin."

The lamp flickered again, like even the electricity got nervous.