The explosion tore through the Devil's Club like a monster unleashed from hell.
Ochieng had barely a second to react before the force threw him backwards.
Glass shattered. Flames erupted. The world spun.
His body crashed against a marble pillar, pain searing through his ribs.
Smoke filled his lungs. Heat licked at his skin.
Through the fire and chaos, she was gone.
The White Widow had vanished.
Ochieng's mind sharpened.
Planned.
Every step of this was planned.
He pushed himself up, coughing out the smoke, and surveyed the destruction.
The club was gone.
Bodies burned. The Phantom King was nowhere to be found.
And in the distance—
Sirens.
The city's hounds were coming.
But before Ochieng could make his next move—
A gun pressed against his skull.
--
He didn't need to turn around.
He recognized the voice before it even spoke.
"Sorry, boss."
Ochieng's jaw clenched.
It was Tariq.
His second-in-command.
The man he had trusted in the darkest hours.
And now—a traitor.
Ochieng smirked, despite the gun to his head.
"I was wondering when you'd show your true colors."
Tariq chuckled. "You're too sharp for your own good."
Ochieng slowly raised his hands.
Behind him, he could hear more footsteps.
Not alone.
Of course not.
Tariq never had the courage to do this himself.
"How much did they pay you?" Ochieng asked.
Tariq's grip on the gun tightened.
"This isn't about money."
Ochieng turned his head slightly.
Through the flames, he saw them.
Men in black suits.
The insignia on their chests sent a cold realization through his veins.
The Phantom Syndicate.
So this was it.
They had finally made their move.
Tariq leaned in close.
"I like you, Ochieng," he said, almost regretful.
"But you're standing in the way of something bigger."
Ochieng's fingers twitched.
The fire behind them cracked and raged.
He had seconds.
Not minutes.
Seconds.
Tariq's eyes darkened.
"The order is simple. You die here."
Ochieng sighed.
Then he smiled.
A slow, dangerous, deadly smile.
"Then you should've brought more men."
Tariq frowned.
Too late.
Ochieng moved.
His body twisted in a blur.
His elbow smashed into Tariq's wrist—disarming him.
Before the others could react—he struck.
One kick.
A gun stolen.
A bullet fired.
Headshot.
Blood splattered as the first enemy dropped.
Tariq stumbled back, cursing.
Ochieng didn't stop.
He turned the stolen gun, firing with deadly precision.
One shot.
Two shots.
Three men fell.
Tariq panicked, scrambling for his weapon.
Ochieng closed the distance—fast.
He grabbed Tariq by the collar and slammed him against a burning wall.
Sparks rained down.
Tariq's face was pale.
Fear. Pure fear.
Ochieng pressed the gun against his former friend's heart.
A beat of silence.
Then he whispered:
"You were never worthy of betraying me."
BANG.
---
The body slumped to the ground.
Ochieng exhaled.
The sirens were louder now.
The city was waking up to the fire, the death, the chaos.
But Ochieng was already gone.
Slipping into the night like a ghost.
His enemies thought they had cornered him.
They thought this was the end.
But they were wrong.
This was only the beginning.
---