Since its Easter Sunday and I'm a Christian here's an extra chapter.
And since I'm feeling generous, I'll be dropping one extra chapter on the disc for the next 3 chapter drops.
Meaning you can read chapter 36 on discord right now.
So, now you have another reason to say thanks to Jesus Christ.
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11:00 AM - Range Rover Sport, West London
The Range Rover's leather seats squeaked under Apannii's restless shifting. He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, each tap a contained explosion of impatience. The vehicle—gunmetal gray with murdered-out windows—was parked across from a row of shops, engine idling.
Kevin slouched in the passenger seat, scrolling through his phone, deliberately ignoring the tension radiating from the driver's side. The sound system pumped out drill beats, bass vibrating through the dashboard.
"Spinning man down, let it sing like Adele," Apannii rapped along with the track, voice flat, eyes fixed on the café across the street. "Caught him slipping, now he bleeding, ring the bell."
Kevin joined in half-heartedly, "Opps don't want it with us, they know that we—"
"When I see Digga, bro," Apannii interrupted, shifting gears from rap to rage without transition, "I swear to God, I'm gonna put one right between his fucking eyes."
Kevin sighed, lowering his phone. "Chill, fam. It ain't worth getting heated over."
"Nah, fuck that." Apannii twisted in his seat, eyes flashing. "Them man wanna move pussy all of a sudden? After everything was set? After we had Central Cee's fucking cousins right there? Right fucking there?"
"But you had your chance though," Kevin said, voice careful. "In the café. You had them both."
The silence that followed was visceral, dangerous. Apannii's head turned slowly, mechanically, like a predator fixing on movement.
"What fam?" His voice dropped to a whisper. "Are you telling me what I had?"
Kevin raised his hands, placating. "Chill, bro. I'm just saying—"
"Don't tell me to fucking chill," Apannii snapped, but some of the heat had already dissipated. He slumped back against his seat, eyes returning to the café. "I'm starving anyway. Got the munchies like mad."
"Could grab something from there," Kevin nodded toward the café. "Get some of those custard donuts. The ones with the filling."
Apannii chuckled, the sound hollow. "You fat fuck." But he was already putting the car in drive.
As they waited at a red light, Apannii's attention drifted to the pavement, where a young woman in a form-fitting dress walked briskly despite the morning chill. He cranked down his window, the sudden rush of cold air filling the car.
"Oi, gorgeous!" he called out. "Where you rushing to?"
The woman glanced over, a hesitant smile forming when she saw the Range Rover, the smile people reserve for what might be an opportunity or might be danger—the line often blurred in London.
"Work," she replied, slowing slightly.
Apannii's smile widened, showing too many teeth. "Let me and the man dem run through you first. Make you late but worth it, trust."
The woman's expression shifted instantly from cautious interest to disgust. She quickened her pace, clutching her bag tighter.
Apannii's laughter followed her down the street. "Look at the arse on her though," he remarked to Kevin, watching her retreat. "Might need to find where she lives, fam."
Kevin just shook his head, a practiced neutrality masking his discomfort.
The light turned green. As Apannii accelerated, his phone buzzed with an incoming voice note. He glanced at the screen, face souring.
"What does this yute want?" he muttered, tapping to play the message. "He's lucky I ain't killed him at that café for that price he asked me for."
Ekane's voice filled the car: "Fam, Amias is at this warehouse talking to Wyge and A2, bro. It's just them. Easy lick, fam, I swear."
Apannii stared at the phone for a long moment, then burst into laughter, sharp and sudden. "Blood, you think I'm stupid?" He addressed the device as if Ekane could hear him, jabbing his finger at the screen. "You dickhead. You think I can't recognize a setup? You lil pussy flaked out—"
The Range Rover jerked forward as Apannii stomped on the accelerator, tires squealing against asphalt.
"Yo!" Kevin shouted, scrambling to brace himself against the dashboard. "Why are you still going then fam?"
But Apannii wasn't listening. The vehicle shot forward, weaving through traffic with reckless precision. Red lights became suggestions, other cars became obstacles in a video game. All the while, drill music blasted from the speakers, the violent lyrics providing a soundtrack to their frantic journey.
"Dip that shank in deep, twist it like a key," Apannii chanted along, voice rising with each word, hands gripping the wheel with white-knuckled intensity. "If I catch an opp slipping, it's RIP."
The landscape shifted as they left central London behind, buildings growing sparser, warehouses replacing shops and homes. Apannii navigated the industrial area with the familiarity of someone who'd been there before, perhaps too many times.
"There," he said, nodding toward a concrete structure set back from the road. His eyes narrowed, calculating. "We're not going in the front though. Too obvious."
He swung the Range Rover wide, aiming for a service bridge that would take them around to the back of the compound. His mind was already racing ahead, visualizing entry points, escape routes, the exact position where Amias and his crew would be standing when he put bullets in their heads.
"They won't even see us coming," he murmured, more to himself than to Kevin.
The bridge loomed ahead, a narrow concrete span. Too late, Apannii noticed the glint of metal across the road—a spike strip, professionally deployed.
"Fuck—"
The impact was immediate. The distinctive pop-pop-pop of tires bursting, then the sickening lurch as the vehicle lost traction. The Range Rover spun, once, twice, a deadly pirouette of metal and momentum.
Kevin's scream merged with the squeal of rubber. Apannii's world became a blur of motion, time stretching like taffy as the vehicle careened sideways.
Then darkness.
Blink.
Blink.
Pain. Dull, throbbing pain radiating from the base of his skull.
Apannii opened his eyes to darkness, momentary panic flaring as he wondered if he'd gone blind. But no—there was faint illumination from somewhere, enough to make out shapes and shadows. He was seated, arms secured behind him, the bite of zip ties cutting into his wrists.
"Fuck," he whispered, testing his restraints. No give.
Memory returned in fragments—the warehouse, the spike strip, the crash. Kevin? No sign of him in the dim space.
As his eyes adjusted, details emerged. He was in a large open area, walls of bare concrete rising to a distant ceiling. A warehouse, but not the one he'd been heading toward. Somewhere else. Water dripped steadily from a leaking pipe, the sound echoing in the cavernous space.
A door opened somewhere behind him, the sudden shaft of light momentarily blinding. Footsteps approached, unhurried, confident.
"He's awake," a voice said—familiar, but Apannii couldn't immediately place it.
More footsteps, multiple people entering the space.
"Good," another voice replied. "Let's get started then."
9:00 PM - Earlier That Evening
"He's been working for Apannii the whole time," Amias said, his voice flat with disbelief. The BMW cut through the night, streetlights creating a rhythmic pattern of light and shadow across their faces.
Wyge cursed, knuckles white on the steering wheel. "Mad. Absolutely mad."
A2 leaned forward from the back seat. "You sure about this, fam? Ekane's been with us time."
"Temi confirmed it," Amias replied. "Says he's been feeding Apannii information for months. That's how they knew about my flat. That's how they nearly caught us at the café. She could be lying but I've though over it, there's just way too many red flags that's been coming from him for it to not be the truth."
Oakley—who'd been uncharacteristically quiet—finally spoke. "We need to be strategic about this. No more running in guns blazing."
"What you thinking?" Wyge asked, glancing at him.
"We turn it around on them," Oakley said simply. "Use Ekane to feed false information. Set a trap."
Amias nodded slowly, the pieces falling into place. "And when Apannii shows up..."
"We'll be waiting," Oakley finished.
The car accelerated, purpose giving new urgency to their mission.
9:30 PM - Ekane's Flat, South London
Exhaustion weighed on Ekane's shoulders as he climbed the stairs to his flat. The events of the night had left him drained—the gunfight, the betrayals, the constant tension of playing both sides. All he wanted now was a hot shower and twelve hours of oblivion.
He fumbled with his keys, cursing under his breath when they slipped from his fingers. Retrieving them, he pushed open the door and stepped into the darkened flat.
"Yo, Tai!" he called out. "You ain't did the dishes, bro!"
Silence greeted him, unusual for this hour. Taiwo—his flatmate and fellow runner for Amias—should have been home before him, probably playing FIFA or watching anime on the sofa to clear his mind of the grime of the night.
"Tai?" Ekane called again, flicking on the hallway light.
Still nothing.
A prickle of unease crawled up his spine as he moved toward the living room. The flat was too quiet, the silence unnatural, oppressive.
"Tai, you here?"
He pushed open the living room door, reaching for the light switch.
Before his fingers found it, the room illuminated on its own. And there they were—Amias, Oakley, Wyge, and A2, arranged around his living room like they'd been waiting for hours.
Wyge sat in the armchair by the window, methodically sharpening a blade against a whetstone, the gentle scrape-scrape-scrape the only sound in the room. A2 and Amias were on the sofa, sharing a plate of sandwiches, watching a football match on mute—Brighton versus Crystal Palace.
Oakley stood by the bookshelf, phone in hand, his expression unreadable.
Ekane froze, one hand still on the door handle, fight-or-flight instinct screaming in his veins.
Amias reached for the remote, clicking off the television. The sudden silence was deafening.
"What's up, Ekane?" Amias said, voice unnervingly casual as he set his sandwich down. "Let's have a little chat, bro."
The gentle scrape of the blade against stone continued, punctuating the silence like a metronome counting down to something inevitable and violent.
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