They broke her grandfather’s spirit, but they forgot that Lucy was carved from tougher stone. Now, the tea shop runs on blood.
Writer’s Prompt
The rain in Chinatown didn’t wash away the grime; it just made it slick. Inside the Jade Willow Tea Shop, the scent of jasmine was choked out by the metallic tang of fear.
Yeye was in the ICU with a shattered forearm and a jagged blade-swipe tracing his jawline. NaiNai sat by the register, her usually stoic frame reduced to trembling, inconsolable leaks of grief. A new crew—the Red Dragon Syndicate—wanted protection money. Yeye had said no.
“Go to the hospital, NaiNai,” Lucy said, her voice like grinding stones. “I’ll watch the shop.”
But Lucy was planning to watch more than the register.
She waited until midnight. The neon signs bled crimson onto the wet asphalt outside. When the bell above the door chimed, it wasn’t a customer. It was three of them. Silk jackets, cheap cologne, and eyes like dead fish. The leader, a twitchy kid with a fresh tattoo on his throat, slammed a heavy iron pipe onto the glass counter.
“Where’s the old man?” he sneered. “We came for our cut.”
Lucy didn’t flinch. Her hand slipped beneath the counter, fingers wrapping around the cold, textured grip of Yeye’s old snub-nosed .38. She stepped out into the dim light, her jaw set harder than shoe leather.
“The old man is out,” Lucy said, bringing the barrel up, leveling it right at the twitchy kid’s chest. “But I’m open for business.”
The two goons behind him reached into their coats. The kid smirked, betting she didn’t have the nerve. Thunder cracked outside, drowning out the tension. Lucy squeezed the trigger.
How does Lucy’s war end? Does she take down the Syndicate, or has she walked into a trap? Write the next line and finish the story.