Chapter 4:The Price of Failure
1250 Words
Location: The Den — 11:47 PM
Two nights after the failed k********g.
The Den was no longer alive.
No music. No laughter. No girls.
Only silence.
The kind that chokes.
Ashes lay cold in the rusted oil drum, smoke curling like ghosts.
At the center of the room, Baggy knelt on the bare floor—shirtless, sweating, trembling.
His hands were bound behind him with copper wire that bit into his skin.
Blood ran down his chin, mixing with the dirt.
He wasn’t the king tonight.
He was prey.
Across from him, dressed in an all-black Agbada tailored to perfection, stood Honourable James.
Five armed men flanked him—silent, stiff, soulless.
Not thugs.
Professionals.
His presence filled the room like poison.
He didn’t yell.
He didn’t need to.
> “You said it was a sure thing, Baggy.”
His voice was silk.
But every syllable sliced like glass.
> “You promised me no noise. No eyes. No trace.”
Baggy coughed, spitting blood to the side.
> “We… we tried, boss. We were close. Tola got her—he did—but the girl fought. Special Forces showed. We didn’t plan for—”
WHACK!
A gun’s butt crashed across his face.
Baggy’s head snapped sideways.
He hit the floor like a bag of meat.
A thin moan escaped his mouth.
James didn’t blink.
> “You failed me. In front of enemies. In front of friends. In front of my name.”
He paced slowly, adjusting his gold wristwatch.
> “I gave you boys. I gave you weapons. I gave you my trust.”
Baggy lifted his head, barely.
His voice cracked like dry leaves.
> “Honourable… please. One more chance. I swear—I’ll clean it up. Just give me—”
CRACK!
A boot to the ribs this time.
Baggy gasped. Folded in. Spat foam.
James inhaled deeply. Like someone smelling rain.
Then—
A signal.
Two fingers.
One of the men stepped forward, silent as death.
He carried a sleek black case. He opened it slowly.
Inside—
A branding iron.
Already glowing red.
Like hell had been summoned into the room.
Baggy’s eyes widened in horror.
> “No—no no no, abeg—Honourable—please—don’t do this—”
> “Shhh.”
James held up a finger.
> “Let this moment speak louder than your excuses.”
Then—
Sssssssssssssssst!
The metal kissed Baggy’s chest.
A scream tore from his lungs—raw, unfiltered, animalistic.
The scent of burnt flesh rolled into the air. Acrid. Heavy. Final.
Baggy shook uncontrollably.
And then—silence.
Unconscious.
His body slumped sideways, the red welt glowing on his chest.
James adjusted his cufflinks.
> “Let him go,” he said, smooth as ever. “Let him remember how it feels to fail me.”
Two guards released Baggy’s restraints and dumped his body to the side like trash.
James didn’t even look at him.
He turned to the man beside him. The one with the hawk eyes.
> “Now. The boy.”
The man tilted his head. “Taye?”
James nodded once.
> “The one who survived. The one who remembers.”
He walked slowly to the broken window, the wind whispering in from the rain outside.
He stared into the night.
> “Find him.”
A pause.
> “Silence him.”
Lightning cracked in the distance.
Then came the line. Soft. Measured.
> “This entire thing ends the moment his heart does.”
---
> Somewhere across the city, Taye slept—his wounds healing, his mind still reeling.
He thought the worst was over.
> But death now had his name.
And it wore a senator’s smile.
Six Days Later – 10:38 AM
St. Flora Memorial Hospital – Care Unit, Lagos Mainland
The small hospital TV buzzed overhead, its screen cracked at the corner.
Blurry images flickered through static—uniforms, press conferences, screaming headlines.
Nurse Ajoke sat on a worn plastic chair, half-listening, her eyes trained on the news anchor’s lips as she took notes.
> “The attempted kidnap of Governor Olaniyi’s daughter has sparked outrage across the country.
Many are now questioning the competence of internal security agencies…”
Ajoke exhaled sharply through her teeth.
> “Na wa for this country,” she muttered.
The fluorescent lights above flickered. The AC had been broken for months, and the heat made everything feel heavier than it should.
Just then, a young nurse pushed open the door.
“Ma,” she whispered, cautious, “one patient… the one in the care unit. He’s been here six days.”
Ajoke looked up. “Which one?”
“The young man. No ID. No visitors. Quiet, just dey look window.”
Ajoke frowned, setting her notes aside. “Six days, no visitors?”
“Yes, ma. And he hasn’t said a word since day one. Nurses say he doesn’t sleep. Just sits. Staring.”
Ajoke’s brows furrowed. “You said he's in Bed Seven, abi?”
“Yes.”
She sighed. “Alright. I’ll check his file now.”
But before she could rise—
BANG! BANG!
Three hard knocks hit the office door.
Ajoke didn’t flinch. “Come in.”
The door swung open with force.
Dr. Bami—balding, always angry, always sweating—marched in, coat half-buttoned.
> “That madman in Bed Seven—discharge him before tomorrow morning or you’ll be paying his bills!”
Ajoke blinked. “But, sir, he just—”
> “I said discharge him!”
He stormed out before she could reply.
Ajoke rubbed her temples.
> “Who be this madman self?”
She rose, grabbed a file, and began walking down the dim hallway.
The walls were peeling. The lights buzzed.
The care unit felt colder than the rest of the hospital, like something had died there and refused to leave.
She pushed open the door to Bed Seven.
And paused.
---
Taye sat by the window, upright, back straight, face gaunt.
He looked like he hadn’t blinked in hours.
Eyes hollow.
Skin pale under the fluorescent lights.
A light bandage circled his head.
He didn’t turn when she stepped in.
Ajoke’s breath caught. Something about him didn’t feel… normal.
Not dangerous.
Not crazy.
Just broken.
> “Good day, sir…” she said gently. “I’m Nurse Ajoke. You’re being discharged.”
Still nothing.
No blink. No nod.
Then slowly—he turned his head.
Just his head.
His eyes met hers.
> Dead.
But focused.
> “Who brought me here?” he asked, his voice rough like stone dragged on concrete.
Ajoke hesitated.
> “Two men. Middle of the night. Said you were in danger. Dropped you off at the gate and vanished.”
Taye blinked once.
> “They pay?”
Ajoke nodded. “Yes. Paid cash. No names.”
Taye rose, slow but steady.
No limp. No stagger.
Just silence.
He didn’t speak again.
Didn’t say thank you.
Didn’t ask for help.
He walked past her like a ghost in human form.
Ajoke stood frozen, goosebumps crawling up her arms.
> Her heart raced.
She didn’t know who he was.
But something told her—his story wasn’t over.
And neither was the danger.
---
Behind her, the bed still carried his warmth.
But the man himself had already stepped back into the storm.
- Writer
