Chapter 16:THE END
1555 Words
Chief Akindele did not matter.
Only this.
His hand.
My name.
Rule 8.
We end this.
The cars behind us got closer.
Black.
Fast.
No plates.
Vera’s men.
Her father’s men.
Maybe both.
Elias looked in the rearview.
Jaw tight.
“Hold on,” he said.
He swerved.
Hard left.
Down a side street.
Madrid was a maze.
Old city.
Narrow roads.
Good for losing people.
Bad for running.
Tires screamed.
My shoulder hit the door.
He grabbed my thigh.
Kept me steady.
Still driving.
Still protecting.
“Phone,” he said.
I dug it out.
New one.
From Jacob’s bag.
“Call Damian.”
I did.
Rang once.
“Where?” Damian said.
No hello.
No wasted words.
“Madrid center,” Elias said.
Loud.
Over the engine.
“They found us. Airport was a trap. Multiple cars. Coming now.”
Silence.
Then—
“Location,” Damian said.
Elias rattled off street names.
Spanish.
He learned them.
On the drive in.
Always planning.
“Got it,” Damian said.
“Warehouse. South district. You know it. 20 minutes. Can you make it?”
Elias looked at me.
At the cars behind us.
Three now.
Gaining.
“Yeah,” he said.
“We make it.”
Click.
“Warehouse?” I said.
“Damian’s men,” he said.
“From yesterday. Six mercs. Guns. It is our only chance.”
Another turn.
Right.
Buildings blurred.
People on sidewalks.
Pointing.
Phones out.
Recording.
200 million naira would do that.
Gunshot.
Back window exploded.
Glass everywhere.
I screamed.
Ducked.
Elias did not.
Could not.
Had to drive.
“You hit?” he shouted.
“No,” I said.
Checking.
Hands.
Arms.
Chest.
“You?”
“No.”
Another shot.
Hit the car door.
Metal pinged.
Too close.
Elias pulled his gun.
One hand on the wheel.
One hand shooting back.
Through the broken back window.
Did not look.
Just fired.
Three shots.
One car swerved.
Hit a pole.
Two left.
“Rule 7,” he said.
Breathing hard.
“We live.”
“We live,” I said.
Back to him.
---
Warehouse.
South district.
18 minutes.
We made it.
Barely.
Tires smoking.
Car door full of holes.
The mercs were ready.
Gates open.
Guns out.
Not six men.
Twelve.
Damian sent more.
We drove inside.
Gates slammed shut behind us.
Metal.
Heavy.
Safe.
For now.
Elias stopped the car.
Hands still on the wheel.
Knuckles white.
Then he let go.
Looked at me.
Really looked.
“Okay?”
I nodded.
Could not speak.
Heart too fast.
He got out.
Came to my side.
Opened the door.
Helped me out.
Legs shaking.
His hands steady.
The lead merc walked over.
Same one from yesterday.
Scar across his face.
“Trouble followed you,” he said.
Not a question.
“Yeah,” Elias said.
“How many?”
“Two cars. Maybe eight men. Vera’s. Her father’s.”
The merc nodded.
Looked at the gate.
“They will come,” he said.
“I know,” Elias said.
“We ready?”
“We are ready.”
Elias turned to me.
“Inside,” he said.
Pointed to a small office.
Back of the warehouse.
“Lock the door. Do not come out. No matter what you hear.”
No.
“Rule 3,” I said.
“No one takes you from me.”
“Ava,” he said.
First time he used my name in front of them.
Real name.
“Please. I cannot fight if I am worried about you.”
I wanted to argue.
Wanted to stay.
Wanted to fight.
But his eyes.
Begging.
Not boss.
Not mask.
Just Elias.
“Okay,” I said.
“Okay.”
He kissed me.
Hard.
Fast.
Like goodbye.
Like not goodbye.
Like see you soon.
“Rule 7,” he said.
Against my lips.
“We live.”
“We live,” I said.
I ran to the office.
Locked the door.
Two deadbolts.
Small window.
Could see the warehouse.
Could see him.
---
They came in 5 minutes.
Not through the gate.
Too strong.
Too guarded.
Through the roof.
Skylights.
Ropes.
Men in black.
Like movies.
But real.
Blood would be real.
Shooting started.
Immediate.
Loud.
Echoing.
Metal walls.
Concrete floors.
Every shot was thunder.
I counted.
Elias.
He was moving.
Cover to cover.
Shooting.
Not missing.
Even with the scar.
Even with Morocco still in his bones.
He was him.
The man from Lagos.
The man who did not lose.
One merc went down.
Then another.
Then one of theirs.
Then two.
It was war.
In a warehouse in Madrid.
For us.
Because of us.
Then the gates opened.
Not from inside.
From outside.
Exploded in.
Metal flying.
A car drove in.
Black.
Not the ones from before.
Bigger.
Armored.
It stopped.
Door opened.
Vera.
She stepped out.
No black dress.
Tactical gear.
Black.
Gun in her hand.
Big one.
Her father behind her.
Older.
But same eyes.
Same rage.
“Stop!” she shouted.
Voice cut through gunfire.
Everyone stopped.
Like she owned them.
Maybe she did.
She looked around.
Found Elias.
Behind a crate.
Gun up.
Pointed at her.
“Hi, baby,” she said.
Smile.
No warmth.
All teeth.
“Miss me?”
“Vera,” Elias said.
No baby.
No love.
Just name.
Like a curse.
“Drop the gun,” she said.
“Or I burn this whole place down. With her in it.”
She looked at the office.
At me.
Through the window.
She knew.
Of course she knew.
Elias did not drop it.
“I will shoot you,” he said.
Simple.
Truth.
“No, you will not,” she said.
“You love me. You said it. Six weeks ago. Before her.”
“I lied,” Elias said.
“I do not love you. I never did.”
She flinched.
First time.
Real hurt.
Under the rage.
Then it was gone.
Replaced.
With worse.
Her father stepped forward.
“Enough,” he said.
Voice deep.
Used to commands.
“Elias. Come home. Marry my daughter. This ends. No one else dies.”
“Or?” Elias said.
“Or she dies,” Chief Akindele said.
Pointed at the office.
At me.
“Then you die. Then Damian dies. Then everyone you ever talked to dies. 200 million buys a lot of death.”
Silence.
Whole warehouse.
Just breathing.
Just guns.
Just choices.
Elias looked at me.
Through the window.
One second.
Two seconds.
A lifetime.
Then he lowered the gun.
Slow.
Put it on the ground.
Kicked it away.
No.
No no no.
“Elias!” I screamed.
Pounding on the glass.
“Do not!”
He did not look at me.
Looked at Vera.
“Let her go,” he said.
“Right now. Plane. Anywhere. You do that, I come with you. I marry you. I do whatever you want.”
Vera smiled.
Won.
She thought she won.
“Deal,” she said.
Motioned to her men.
“Get the girl. Put her on a plane. Spain to Brazil. No return.”
Men moved toward the office.
Toward me.
Elias watched them.
Hands in fists.
Jaw locked.
Waiting.
Until they were close.
Until they were past him.
Until their backs were to him.
Then he moved.
Fast.
Not like a man with a scar.
Like the man from Day 1.
You are fired.
He grabbed a gun.
Off the ground.
Not his.
One of the mercs.
Dead merc.
And shot Chief Akindele.
Chest.
Heart.
Once.
Clean.
The Chief dropped.
No words.
No last breath.
Just gone.
Vera screamed.
Sound broke.
Not human.
“Daddy!”
She turned.
Gun up.
At Elias.
Finger on trigger.
I broke the window.
With a chair.
Glass everywhere.
Ran out.
Did not think.
Just ran.
“Vera!” I shouted.
She turned.
To me.
Gun swinging.
From Elias to me.
We fired at the same time.
Me.
Gun from a dead man.
On the floor.
I did not know whose.
Did not care.
Her.
Gun meant for Elias.
Now for me.
Two shots.
One second.
Pain.
My shoulder.
Fire.
White hot.
I dropped.
Silence.
Again.
Then Elias.
Screaming my name.
“Ava! Ava!”
Running.
To me.
Dropping beside me.
Hands on my shoulder.
Pressing.
Blood.
Everywhere.
“Stay with me,” he said.
Crying.
He was crying.
“Rule 7. Rule 7. We live. You promised.”
I looked past him.
Vera.
On the ground.
Not moving.
Blood.
Chest.
Eyes open.
Not seeing.
Dead.
Her father.
Dead.
200 million.
Dead.
I smiled.
Could not help it.
“We... live,” I said.
Blood in my mouth.
“Yeah,” he said.
Crying harder.
“We live, baby. We live.”
Sirens.
Real ones.
Police.
Ambulance.
Coming.
Close.
Elias picked me up.
Like I weighed nothing.
Like I was everything.
“Damian,” he shouted.
To the mercs left.
“Clean this. Now.”
He ran.
With me.
Out the back.
Through a door.
Into Madrid.
Into the night.
Into whatever was next.
The warehouse burned behind us.
Damian’s men.
No evidence.
No bodies.
No Vera.
No Chief.
Just us.
Running.
But not away.
Toward.
Toward Rule 6.
We stop running someday.
Someday was now.
And no one was taking us from each other.
Not anymore.
Ever.
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