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The Warehouse Gospel
Last Updated:
2025-07-06 20:13:27
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THE HOSTAGE'S DILEMMA The File That Shouldn't exist
DREWThe silence of Aaron’s house wraps around me, heavy and comforting in its familiarity. For some reason, I’m always comfortable in any place that’s not mine. I’m sprawled on the oversized leather sofa in the living room, empty soda cans lying below the sofa. Stella will have my neck if she comes out here and sees the mess. My phone sits beside it, forgotten. Work and the mafia are quiet. Maybe too quiet but for now, there was no emergency.But even in peace, my mind wanders. It always does. I head to Aaron’s study. Maybe I can find an unsolved mafia issue or just anything to keep me busy. My gaze drifts, scanning the meticulously organized room. My eyes land on a stack of files in the corner of his desk. My eyes stop at a particular cream coloured envelope.A flicker of recognition sparks in my memory. This isn’t just any file. The one that, in an unforeseen twist of fate, brought Mia into our lives. I remember the chaos, the frantic pursuit, the sheer disbelief when Aaron first t
THE HOSTAGE'S DILEMMA What He Took With Him
MIAAs I walk into Lasers, I am greeted by the company's business. I say a few hellos, but my mind is consumed by thoughts of my father. I head to Mr. Wilson’s office, and he looks at me in distaste. Barely a second later, he starts rambling on about needing new information, but I can't seem to focus on his words.I decided to take a chance and ask him about my real father, Liam Conall. He was a gang member and is dead, but I know very little about him. Mr. Wilson looks at me suspiciously, but then nods, agreeing to help which is surprising.He tells me that the news about Conall was popular when he was still an upcoming journalist. My heart races as I listen to him, hoping to find out more about the man I never knew."What kind of man was Liam Conall?" I ask nervously.Mr. Wilson shrugs and says, "He was wanted by the FBI for the longest time, but the last straw was when Conall murdered a police officer and his wife in their home."My heart sinks as I process his words. I didn't know
THE HOSTAGE'S DILEMMA The File That Shouldn't exist
DREWThe silence of Aaron’s house wraps around me, heavy and comforting in its familiarity. For some reason, I’m always comfortable in any place that’s not mine. I’m sprawled on the oversized leather sofa in the living room, empty soda cans lying below the sofa. Stella will have my neck if she comes out here and sees the mess. My phone sits beside it, forgotten. Work and the mafia are quiet. Maybe too quiet but for now, there was no emergency.But even in peace, my mind wanders. It always does. I head to Aaron’s study. Maybe I can find an unsolved mafia issue or just anything to keep me busy. My gaze drifts, scanning the meticulously organized room. My eyes land on a stack of files in the corner of his desk. My eyes stop at a particular cream coloured envelope.A flicker of recognition sparks in my memory. This isn’t just any file. The one that, in an unforeseen twist of fate, brought Mia into our lives. I remember the chaos, the frantic pursuit, the sheer disbelief when Aaron first t
THE HOSTAGE'S DILEMMA 'A Name Worth Killing Twice'
NATALIE The scent of paint that usually calms my nerves feels like poison to me now. I clean out the used paint brushes in annoyance. My uncle has a way of getting free labour from me. My uncle hums tunelessly by the register, counting the day’s meager earnings. His body sways comically, and I wonder what exactly makes him happy all the time. His slightly grey hair, usually meticulously combed, is disheveled, proof of a day spent wrestling with canvases and confused customers. He catches my eye and offers a tired but genuine smile. “Almost done, Nat. Then we can finally get some of that awful takeout you like.”I return his smile, a warmth spreading through me. “It’s not awful. You just have bad taste buds.” I finish cleaning a glass cabinet, the reflection of my face staring back at me. A girl I can barely recognize these days.Just as I’m about to reach for the next shelf, my phone vibrates in my pocket. The sudden buzz jolts me, a sharp contrast to the gentle rhythm of the shop.
THE HOSTAGE'S DILEMMA The Truth She Packed Away
MIAEmpty boxes neatly stacked to a corner makes me a little satisfied. Cleaning really does a number on a persons state of mind. Instead of leaving every other thing to go through the strange document I found, I decided to clean up and unpack instead. I need to feel settled first. My hands ache from lifting, my back protests from bending, but there’s a stubborn satisfaction in seeing the last of the kitchen utensils in their drawers not that there is a lot since everything is intact already, the books on the shelves, the clothes neatly folded in the closet. I collapse onto the plush, still-new couch, a sigh escaping my lips. The silence of the apartment wraps around me, broken only by the hum of the fridge. This is my space now. My safe space. Or so I hope.My gaze drifts to the lone brown envelope sitting on the coffee table, a stark contrast to the ordered neatness I’ve just created. It’s thick and I wonder what else will be inside.I reach for it, my fingers tracing the outline
THE HOSTAGE'S DILEMMA When Legends Choose Sides
AARONThe city lights shimmer outside my window. But all I see is Mia. Her laugh, the way her green eyes crinkle at the corners, and the delicate scent of her skin that still lingers in my memory. My fingers twitch, the urge to reach for my phone, but I stop myself. My thumb hovers over her contact, the name a silent plea on the screen. Meeting up with Mia now is like putting a target on her, a flashing sign screaming 'vulnerability' to my grandfather. And I can’t, I won't risk that. Not now. Not ever. I can’t give him that pleasure.A sharp buzz from my phone shatters the quiet, pulling me back from the precipice of dangerous longing. I glance down. ‘Vee’ flashes across the screen. My brow furrows. Vee, leader of the Vikings, one of the top five mafia groups, rarely calls me directly. She’s a strong woman in her forties, sharp as a whip and colder than a winter storm. She respects power and uses it. A call from her usually means business, or a warning shot fired across allied lines,
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