You Can't Stop The Unraveling Truths

Chapter 2

Peter paced the edge of the veranda, voice low but quick. “Elias, yes—this is it. You play it smooth. Act like you're close to the celebrant, like you're someone important to her. You see that phone she’s always flashing? That’s one of the latest in town.”

Elias leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “And you think I should just take it?”

Peter nodded, eyes sharp. “She won’t suspect if you do it right. Be professional about it.”

Elias raised a brow. “And what about you? What’s your role in this professional setup?”

Peter smirked. “I’ll take whatever I can grab. But I move with instinct. I’ll know what’s best when the moment comes.”

Before Elias could respond, a knock sounded on the door—two quick taps.

He turned sharply. “Who’s knocking at this time?”

The door creaked open, and Finn stepped in, shoulders slightly hunched like he wasn’t sure if he was interrupting something.

Elias straightened. “Oh. How far? You good?”

Finn nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Peter opened his mouth to continue the earlier plan, but Elias shot him a quick look—just a flick of the eyes, but sharp enough to silence him.

Peter clamped his mouth shut mid-sentence.

Finn glanced between them. “What’s going on here? Did I walk into something?”

Elias forced a small laugh. “No, nothing serious. Just messing around. How’s the birthday sketch coming?”

Finn reached into his bag and carefully unfolded a sheet of drawing paper. “That’s actually why I came. Wanted you to see it first—tell me if it really looks like her.”

Peter stepped closer, peering over Elias’s shoulder. “Damn… you can draw, for real. She’s even finer on paper.”

Elias nodded, impressed. “You’ve got a gift, bro.”

Peter grinned. “So how much is she paying you for this masterpiece?”

“N15,000,” Finn said.

Peter let out a low whistle. “Guy, you’re really making money.”

Finn smiled, but it faded quickly. “Yeah… my mum’s already expecting something from it. But I’m not giving her everything.” He folded the drawing carefully. “I’ll keep five thousand. She doesn’t need to know.”

The Next Day

Mercy didn’t knock. She stormed straight into Finn’s room, her voice sharp and cutting.

“Where do you think you went to yesterday?”

Finn looked up from his bed, barely awake. “I was just with Elias,” he said, voice flat.

Mercy folded her arms tightly. “Don’t you know it was already dark? Elias didn’t even come here—probably because he has more sense than you. What exactly were you two talking about?”

Finn’s jaw tightened. He sat up, voice sharper than he meant it to be. “I went to show him my drawing. I wanted to know if it was good enough.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Has she paid you yet?”

He looked away. “No.”

Mercy clicked her tongue and muttered something under her breath as she left the room.

---

Meanwhile…

Paul wiped the sweat from his forehead with the edge of his shirt as he leaned against the side of the car. He motioned to the young man working under the hood.

“You can start it now.”

The engine roared to life—but not smoothly. It coughed, rattled, and groaned like something on its last legs.

“You hear that?” the man called out, voice barely rising over the noise. “That sound shouldn’t still be there.”

Paul shrugged, folding his arms. “In this workshop, your car is the only one that has ever given me this kind of wahala. Honestly, you need a new car. That one’s done.”

“How much?”

“₦5,000.”

The man raised an eyebrow. “Just make sure you didn't fix it in a way that’ll force me to come back. That’s what mechanics always do.”

He laughed as he said it, but Paul just gave a tight smile, already halfway under the hood again.

---

At the Party

Music pulsed through the speakers. Bright lights swung lazily overhead as the crowd thickened. Laughter, clinking glasses, and the chorus of “Happy birthday, we wish you many more years!” echoed around the space.

Arlo stood by the edge of the gathering, looking sharp and impossible to miss. His outfit fit just right, drawing second glances from nearly everyone—especially the girls. But his eyes weren’t on them.

At a distance, Finn stood with Elias, holding his drawing in a neatly rolled sheet.

“So how do you plan to give it to her?” Elias asked, adjusting his collar.

“I figured I’d wait till they start giving her gifts,” Finn said, scanning the crowd. “That way, I’ll just blend in.”

Elias grinned. “Smart move. You’ll be noticed. People respect that kind of thing.”

They found a free round table near the back and sat down.

Moments later, Elias’s crew filtered in—four of them. They sat around the table like it was nothing, but their silence was heavy. No greetings. No nods. It was like they didn’t know Elias at all.

Finn watched them carefully. One of the guys leaned slightly back, slipping his hand behind him—Finn caught the flash of metal before the guy tucked it into his back pocket and pulled his jacket over it.

His heart skipped.

Finn’s POV:

What did I just see? Was that a gun? Why would he bring that here? Am I safe?

He looked at another one of the boys—he was watching Elias, and Elias gave a subtle nod back.

Finn: “Elias…” he whispered, leaning in. “I think something’s off. That guy over there? He keeps looking at you weird, and I swear I saw him hide something in his pocket.”

Elias didn’t respond. He didn’t even blink.

“Let’s leave,” Finn said, standing. His voice was low, urgent. “Now.”

But Elias didn’t move.

Finn hesitated—then turned and walked away, heart pounding. He didn’t stop until he found a quiet corner at the edge of the hall, behind one of the pillars. Somewhere he could breathe.

Across the room, Arlo had noticed.

He’d been watching the crowd loosely, trying to enjoy the energy—but his eyes kept drifting. Toward him. Toward the boy now sitting alone in the corner. No girl by his side. No group. Just… quiet.

Sandra leaned in. “What are you staring at?”

Arlo blinked. “Nothing. Just looking that way.”

Sandra followed his gaze. “That boy? You’re looking at him.”

“I’ve seen him before. At school.”

Sandra’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Be careful. Not everyone is meant for you.”

Arlo didn’t answer. But he didn’t look away either.

---

Time passed. The music dipped, and the host took the mic, calling out, “It’s time for gifts!”

People cheered, clapping as a line began to form at the small stage. Wrapped boxes. Perfume bags. Envelopes.

Finn stepped forward, holding his rolled artwork like it was made of glass. His palms were sweaty, his heartbeat uneven. When he reached the center of the stage, he carefully unrolled the drawing and lifted it high for everyone to see.

Gasps broke out across the crowd.

“Whoa!”

“Is that really her?”

“That’s crazy!”

Voices echoed from every side.

“Can you draw me next?”

“I need one too, please!”

“Guy, where did you learn to do that?!”

What began as admiration turned into a chaotic flood of requests. Finn smiled faintly, overwhelmed but proud. He turned to hand the framed portrait to the celebrant, who was beaming.

Then—

“I can’t find my phone,” a girl beside him whispered, checking her purse again. Her brows pinched with panic.

Another voice rose behind her. “Mine too!”

The emcee’s voice cut into the mic again, this time tense. “Someone’s phone is missing. If you see it, please bring it to the front.”

But before the words could settle, more voices joined in.

“My wallet’s gone!”

“I swear my phone was just here!”

The celebration shifted into confusion. People began to murmur, look around, search the ground. The music stopped. The once buzzing crowd turned anxious and tight.

Finn: “What’s going on…?”

He tried to step down from the stage, but the crowd was pushing now—moving in every direction. Someone brushed hard against him, and he stumbled, his foot catching on the edge of a speaker cord.

He was falling.

But before he hit the floor, a hand gripped his arm, steadying him.

Arlo.

“Hey,” Arlo said, leaning close, voice barely rising over the rising noise. “You’re a good artist.”

Finn looked up, breath catching in his throat. “Yeah… thanks.”

Arlo hadn't expected anyone to notice, much less catch him, but the moment his balance slipped, strong hands steadied him. His heart skipped at the unexpected contact, and for a second, all he could do was stare into the face of the boy who’d saved him from the fall.

Finn’s voice broke the silence, low and soft, still holding a trace of concern.

"Can I do something for you?"

Arlo blinked, his lips parting slightly, but no words came at first. His throat felt dry.

He cleared it, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. "No... I mean, not really." The answer came too quickly, too defensive, and even he could hear the hesitation behind it.

But then he shifted on his feet, glancing at Finn with more honesty than he’d meant to show. "Actually... if it isn’t too much — would you draw me?"

Finn tilted his head slightly, as though trying to decide whether Arlo was joking. When he saw the quiet sincerity in his face, the corner of his mouth lifted in the smallest smile.

"We’ll see," he said, voice light but not unkind.

He turned to leave, but Arlo reached out, almost without thinking, and his fingers brushed around Finn’s wrist — stopping him. The touch lingered for a breath too long, soft and careful, and the moment Finn turned to face him, Arlo quickly withdrew his hand.

"Sorry," he murmured, feeling heat crawl up his neck. "I just... wanted to say I hope we can be friends."

Finn's lips curved into something that was almost a smirk, almost a smile. "Aren’t we already?" He made it sound easy, but something in his eyes gave away that he was just as unsure.

Arlo shifted his weight, lowering his voice. "No — I mean real friends. Someone I can trust. Someone I can call my best friend."

The words hung between them, and for a moment Finn didn't answer, his chest tightening with emotions he wasn’t prepared to name.

"What's your name?" he asked finally, though part of him already knew.

"Arlo."

The name felt different now, like it held more weight than it had just minutes ago.

Without saying anything more, Arlo slipped a phone from his pocket, the sleek surface catching the light, and held it out toward Finn.

"Here. Save your number."

Finn glanced at the phone, then at him. "Why do you want it?"

A soft smile tugged at the corner of Arlo’s mouth, but his eyes held a quiet seriousness. "Because I meant what I said... unless you were just playing along when you agreed."

Finn let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head slightly. "I wasn’t."

Arlo’s face softened with relief, and as Finn keyed in his number, the air between them felt warmer — like a thread had been pulled between two hearts, and neither of them knew what it would mean yet.

But the noise swallowed them. Shouts. Feet moving fast. People bumping past. Finn turned away, slipping through the chaos without another word.

Arlo stood there, watching him disappear into the crowd.

Arlo’s POV:

I think I like this guy. He’s just… perfect. Calm, talented, not trying too hard. But how would I even talk to him? What if he shuts me out? Maybe… maybe it’s safer to be just friends. For now.

---

The next scene shifts.

The air in the room was thick—dark, hot, suffocating. A dusty bulb swung from a bent nail, casting shadows that moved like ghosts.

Smoke drifted lazily from a half-burnt cigarette in Boss Man’s fingers. His voice broke the silence.

“Where the phones and money wey una don collect? Don’t play with me.”

Peter stepped forward, hesitating. “Boss… I tried. But I swear, I didn’t get anything. The only one I reached for, they nearly caught me.”

Boss Man didn’t blink. His face stayed hard.

“Stone.”

A tall, broad guy stepped forward.

“Treat this guy.”

Peter’s eyes widened. “No—wait, wait, boss I—”

But Stone already grabbed him by the back of the shirt. Dragged him into a side room. The sound of fists hitting flesh echoed through the walls like thunder.

And still, Boss Man didn’t flinch.