Chapter 3 :Fire on the Island
1277 Words
Location: Banana Island – The Governor’s Daughter’s Secret Visit
The black bulletproof Mercedes glided like a shadow through the pristine streets of Banana Island.
Silence wrapped around it like velvet.
Three Hilux trucks flanked it — two in front, one behind. Armed escorts sat alert, eyes scanning every corner.
But the girl in the back seat?
She wasn’t thinking about danger.
She adjusted her pearl earrings and checked her lip gloss for the third time.
> It was Adaora’s birthday. A private girls-only brunch in Ikoyi. No press. No speeches. Just freedom.
The governor’s daughter smiled at her reflection.
> “Finally, a day that’s not about politics…”
She had no idea how wrong she was.
---
Elsewhere…
Taye lay flat on a rooftop four buildings away.
His heartbeat was calm.
Too calm.
The sniper rifle nestled in his arms, cold steel pressed against his cheek.
He’d done stupid things before—but nothing like this.
> This isn’t hustle. This is war.
Beside the gate on the ground below, Tola stood in all black—ski mask on, eyes burning, an RPG resting heavy in his grip.
An M-16 was strapped across his back.
He didn’t blink.
Didn’t fidget.
Just waited.
Then—
pop!
A nail strip under the lead Hilux burst a tire.
Sparks. Screeching. Confusion.
The convoy stuttered to a halt.
Men jumped down, barking orders.
Then—
Rat-tat-tat!
Silenced rounds. Precision. One by one, the escorts dropped.
First the front truck.
Then the rear.
The governor’s daughter sat frozen, hands over her mouth.
> “What the—”
BOOM!
The RPG roared from Tola’s side.
It slammed into the side of the Mercedes.
The world turned upside down.
Metal screamed. Glass shattered. The car flipped like a toy.
Smoke. Fire. Chaos.
Tola sprinted through the dust, bullets flying past him.
Taye’s voice crackled in his earpiece.
> “Now! Grab her!”
He kicked the mangled door.
Reached in.
Grabbed her by the arm.
She screamed.
Fought.
Too late.
Tola threw her over his shoulder and ran for the getaway van.
---
Taye fired from the rooftop, covering his brother.
Each shot clean. Precise.
But then—
New gunfire.
Different.
Sharp.
Disciplined.
Not the regular police.
> Special Forces.
A nearby squad, returning from an assignment, had heard the explosion and were closing in.
> “s**t,” Taye muttered. “Military.”
Tola dragged the girl, firing back blindly with one hand.
“MOVE!!” the getaway driver yelled.
“Get in! Get in!!”
But just as Tola reached the van—
Taye screamed into his mic:
> “DROP HER! RUN!”
Something was wrong.
Too many soldiers.
Too much noise.
This wasn’t how it was planned.
> “Get in!” the men inside the van yelled.
Tola shoved the girl inside, tried to climb in after her—
SCREEEEECH!
The van sped off without him.
> “Wait! HEY!!”
He stumbled after it, limping.
Then—
BANG!
A bullet tore through his leg.
He crashed to the ground.
Screams.
Sirens.
Flashlights.
Footsteps pounding closer.
He turned.
They were everywhere.
Camo uniforms. Loaded rifles.
Hands in the air! Drop your weapon!
Tola collapsed. Blood gushed from his thigh.
He didn’t move.
> He didn’t run.
He couldn’t.
---
A block away...
Taye was no longer a sniper.
He was just a boy.
Hiding.
Inside a women’s public restroom, crouched low behind the stalls, sweat dripping from his forehead.
Through the cracked, dirty window—
He watched.
Helpless.
Officers kicked Tola.
Dragged him by the arms.
Beat him.
Cuffed him.
His brother’s scream echoed into the night.
Taye’s hands trembled.
> “This wasn’t the plan…”
---
Back in The Den, Baggy sipped beer, feet kicked up on a stool.
A football match blared from a dusty TV.
He laughed at a joke no one told.
Lit another cigarette.
> “Dem go learn,” he muttered.
---
> One brother behind bars.
The other in hiding.
Both betrayed.
> The street promised freedom.
But it gave them a funeral wrapped in lies.
The Den was alive with chaos.
Heavy bass throbbed from battered speakers, drowning the stench of sweat, weed, and sin.
Laughter echoed from dark corners, wild and cracked, like the walls holding it all in.
> This was no club. No home. No safe place.
This was The Den — where dreams died cheap, and men like Baggy reigned.
Baggy sat on his makeshift throne — a pyramid of rusted chairs stacked unevenly.
His shirt hung open, belly jiggling with each laugh.
A cigarette dangled from his lips, smoke curling around his beady eyes.
A cold bottle of Trophy beer sweated in his hand.
He was a god here.
And gods didn’t worry about who bled beneath them.
Then—
BA!!!
The metal doors slammed open with the force of a storm.
Music skipped.
People turned.
And Taye walked in.
> No smile.
No hesitation.
Just rage.
His chest rose and fell like a drumline, his fists clenched tight at his sides.
His eyes—bloodshot. Hollow.
Baggy raised a brow, amused.
> “Who be this one?”
Laughter exploded.
Some threw popcorn. One guy clapped.
But Taye didn’t laugh.
He didn’t blink.
He walked deeper into the room, voice low and trembling with fire.
> “So you just left us?”
Baggy didn't answer.
> “For two days, my brother's been in that cell. Beaten. Starved. Tortured.”
> “And you? You’ve been here... drinking… dancing… acting like it never happened.”
Baggy took a drag of his cigarette, exhaled slow.
> “He failed. That one no concern me. No girl, no ransom. No ransom, no profit. You know how the game go.”
He waved it off like dirt on his shoulder.
> “Street no dey pity failure.”
Taye’s jaw tensed. His lips twitched.
He stepped forward, slow.
Each breath heavier than the last.
> “You used us.”
Baggy’s smirk widened.
> “I use everybody. You just be the next on the line. You want clap for yourself?”
Taye’s eyes darkened.
His hand moved fast.
CLICK.
Gun out.
Pointed straight at Baggy’s forehead.
Silence crashed into the room like a hammer.
The music stopped.
The laughter froze.
Every eye locked on him.
Baggy didn’t flinch.
He stared down the barrel, cigarette still between his lips.
Then—
CLICK. CLICK. CLICK.
Over 50 weapons c****d from the shadows.
From behind crates.
From under tables.
From balconies.
The Den was filled with killers. And loyalty didn’t live here.
Taye stood, still breathing hard, finger twitching on the trigger.
Baggy slowly grinned.
> “This one get mind.”
> “Shame you go die for free.”
Then—
They rushed him.
Boots.
Fists.
Steel-toed kicks.
Broken bottles.
Blood.
He swung.
He fought.
He screamed his brother’s name.
> “TOLA!!!”
But the weight was too much.
And the world turned black.
---
Hours Later…
A rusty hospital gate creaked open.
Two men dragged Taye’s broken body through the dirt.
His face was swollen, blood crusted across his forehead, lip split.
One of them muttered, “Na him lucky. Baggy say make we no kill am.”
They dropped him like trash at the back entrance of the government hospital.
> His blood painted the concrete.
His breath was shallow.
His soul — shattered.
---
> One brother behind bars.
One dumped like garbage.
Used. Betrayed. Broken.
And the man who sent them into fire…
Was still drinking beer at The Den.
---
- Writer
