"Fucking hell, Amias," Apannii snarled, all pretense of calm abandoned. "You're really, really getting on my nerves."
The smoking revolver trembled in his hand, a thin wisp curling from the barrel. Amias felt the warm trickle of blood down his cheek where the bullet had grazed him, but he remained still, his gaze unwavering. Something had shifted inside him—the fear that had been his constant companion since Mason's death had crystallized into something harder, colder, more dangerous.
—
TEMI
The rain fell in relentless sheets, drumming against the hood of her mother's car as she sat in the darkness, knuckles white on the steering wheel. The clock on the dashboard read 5:44 AM. The street before her remained empty, the shuttered storefronts and darkened windows offering no answers, no comfort.
She pressed redial again, heart hammering against her ribs as the phone rang uselessly in her ear. The twentieth call in as many minutes, each one met with the same hollow silence.
"Fuck," she whispered, ending the call. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."
Her phone screen illuminated her face in the darkness, casting harsh shadows across features usually so carefully composed. Now, alone in her car, that careful mask had slipped. The worry that creased her brow, the fear that tightened her jaw—these weren't the expressions of a girl chasing clout or playing games. These were the raw indicators of someone watching their carefully constructed plan unravel.
The message she'd sent to Amias still sat open on her screen: "You're looking for Apannii, right? And you got his location? Don't go. It's a trap."
Too little, too late. She should have told him everything from the beginning.
Rain pounded harder against the windshield, almost drowning out the soft ping of an incoming message. Temi snatched up the phone, hope flaring—only to die just as quickly when she saw it wasn't from Amias.
They're at the café on Princedale Road. Apannii's got them.
Temi closed her eyes briefly, fighting the wave of nausea that threatened to overwhelm her. This was what she had feared most—what she had worked so hard to prevent. Her fingers flew across the screen in response:
How many of Apannii's men?
The reply came almost instantly: Not sure about inside but I see your friend and another person at a table with Apannii.
Two people at Apannii's behest. And one of the two was Amias.
Her mind flashed back to that moment in the studio—Amias' breath hot against her neck, his hands uncertain but eager on her body. The day, when he'd told her Central Cee was his cousin. When it had all clicked to her.
When Apannii's informant referred to the boy they were looking for as Central Cee's cousin she was perplexed, even more so when they referred to him as 'Ami'.
But Central Cee had the backing of 12Anti and by extension, his cousin likely held the same.
She'd attempted to manipulate the situation in her favour, beyond protecting the careless boy—Amias—who could have easily been caught at school if she hadn't been directing Apannii's attention elsewhere with half-truths and lies. When Amias showed up at Jaden's party with a large group, she'd seen an opportunity she simply couldn't have passed up, a strike at fine gold.
One that she took with little hesitance and sent a message to Apannii that had sparked this all.
One of Amias' friends are here. By himself.
True to his nature, Apannii had sent three men, more than necessary to kill a unexpectant unarmed teen who'd likely be intoxicated.
She'd watched from the porch, amidst a collection of weed smokers, too high out of their mind to recognize the coming violence that had started only feet away from them.
She'd watched as Kenzo, Mooney and Alfredo entered the gate their exit a stark contrast from their initial bold approach as they turned tail and were chased into the forest, Amias amongst the interceptors.
And she was all to exuberant when she learned that out of Kenzo, Mooney and Alfredo only one of them had made it out the forest. Alive.
Amias' kidnapping on the other hand…
She hadn't planned for that—for the guilt that now clawed at her insides. He was supposed to be a means to an end, nothing more. A connection to the world that had destroyed hers.
Temi's thumb hovered over her contacts, scrolling until she found the name she needed. Not Amias this time, but someone who might still be able to help.
Wyge.
Amias' cousin. Who, according to everything she'd learned over these careful months of planning, had no love for Apannii either.
Before she could second-guess herself, she pressed call.
—
WYGE
The BMW cut through London's predawn darkness like a shark through murky waters, sleek and purposeful and deadly. Inside, tension crackled between the two occupants—Wyge gripping the wheel with white-knuckled intensity, A2Anti beside him, phone pressed to his ear.
"Two more down on Latimer," A2Anti reported, his voice tight. "That's seven of ours tonight. And that's just the one's we know about."
Wyge swore under his breath, the car accelerating as his foot pressed harder on the pedal. The streets were eerily empty, the usual pulse of London nightlife long since faded, leaving behind a hollow shell of a city. Streetlamps cast pools of amber light on wet pavement, the recent rain leaving everything with a slick, oily sheen.
They passed a body sprawled on the corner of a side street—a crumpled form being attended to by paramedics, blue lights flashing silently against brick walls. Neither commented on it. Death had become an ambient soundtrack to this night, something expected rather than shocking.
"This is mad," A2Anti muttered, ending his call. "Someone's feeding them information. Has to be."
Wyge didn't respond immediately, his mind racing through possibilities. The coordinated attacks, the precision of the strikes—this wasn't random beef. This was tactical, planned, executed with military precision.
"Whoever it is," he finally said, voice low and dangerous, "they're dead when I find them."
His phone rang, the sound jarring in the tense silence of the car. Unknown number. Normally, he'd ignore it—too many opps had his number, too many traps had been set this night. But something compelled him to answer.
"Who's this?" he demanded.
A female voice, young but steady: "Wyge?"
He frowned, slowing the car slightly. "Wagwan, who's this?"
"Your cousin is about to die."
The words hit like a physical blow. Wyge's hand tightened on the wheel, his heart rate spiking. His first thought was his brother—the one person he'd do anything to protect.
"Oakley?" he asked sharply.
"Amias."
Amias. His younger cousin. The quiet one who'd somehow avoided getting deep into the road life beyond drugs, who'd been showing promise with his music. Who shouldn't have been anywhere near a war.
His mind whirled with a myriad of connections. Apannii. Amias. Capari leaving with groups deep into W10 and W11. Capari's phone going straight to voice mail.
"What do you want?" Wyge growled, suspicion and fear battling for dominance in his mind. "If you've touched him—"
"I don't have him," the girl interrupted. "I warned him about the situation he's in right now. But I have someone's location that can help you stop all this."
Wyge exchanged a look with A2, whose face had hardened into a mask of suspicion. "Right," Wyge said carefully. "And who's that?"
The answer came without hesitation: "Jordan Bedeau and Herbert."
Sav'o and Digga D.
Wyge slammed on the brakes, the car screeching to a halt in the middle of the empty street. He and A2Anti stared at each other, shock and disbelief passing silently between them.
Before Wyge could respond, the girl added: "White BMW. Car park in Ladbroke. Southwest corner," and hung up.
The silence in the car was absolute. A2 spoke first, his voice barely audible: "Could be a setup."
Wyge stared at the phone in his hand, then at the dark road stretching before them. If it was a setup, they'd be walking into an ambush. If it wasn't...
He threw the car into gear and accelerated sharply, tires spinning against wet asphalt. "Only one way to find out."
As they sped through the emptying streets, Wyge's mind turned to Amias. The cousin he'd tried to keep away from all this when they'd all made the transition away from that lifestyle, seeing a brighter future ahead through Oakley. The kid who'd always been different—more sensitive, more thoughtful, more talented in ways that had nothing to do with street respect or violence.
"If something happens to him..." he began, then fell silent, unable to complete the thought.
A2Anti nodded grimly. "We'll find him."
The Ladbroke estate materialized out of the gloom—concrete towers rising like monoliths against the lightening sky. Dawn was coming, but slowly, reluctantly, as if the sun itself dreaded what it might illuminate.
Wyge cut the headlights as they approached the car park, rolling silently into a position that offered both cover and a clear view. Sure enough, a white BMW sat in the southwest corner, four figures clustered around it, the orange glow of a blunt brightening occasionally as someone took a pull.
"That's them," A2 whispered, recognition and disbelief mingling in his voice. "That's actually fucking them."
Wyge's hand moved to the waistband of his jeans, fingers closing around cold metal. "Let's go."
They moved like shadows, utilizing the skills that had kept them alive through countless confrontations. The four men by the BMW were relaxed, laughing, passing a bottle between them—clearly taking a break from whatever havoc they'd been wreaking elsewhere.
They never saw Wyge and A2Anti coming.
"Don't fucking move," Wyge hissed, pressing the barrel of his gun against the back of Digga D's head.
The laughter died instantly. Bodies froze. The bottle slipped from someone's hand, shattering on the concrete with a crash that echoed through the empty car park.
"Put them hands up my brothers," A2Anti added, his own weapon trained on the other three men.
Slowly, reluctantly, they complied. Digga D raised his hands, turning slightly to meet Wyge's gaze. Recognition flickered in his eyes, followed quickly by resignation.
"Fuck," he muttered.
"Yeah, fuck innit," Wyge agreed, a cold smile spreading across his face. "Didn't expect to see us tonight, did you?"
One of the others—Sav'o—shifted slightly, earning a warning jab from A2's gun. "Stay still, bruv," A2 warned. "Don't make this messier than it needs to be."
"I could kill you right now, you know," Wyge said conversationally to Digga D, pressing the gun harder against his skull. "After what you man have done tonight, no one would blame me."
Digga D remained silent, his face a careful blank.
"But I won't do that," Wyge continued. "What you're gonna do is call all this off. Man done got killed on both sides, it's gonna be hot with police after. Enough blood's been spilled."
A moment of hesitation, then Digga D nodded slightly. "Aight, brother. We can talk."
"Now," Wyge said, his voice hardening, "where is my cousin?"
Digga D's eyebrows rose in genuine confusion. "What?"
"Amias," Wyge clarified, fighting to keep his voice steady. "Where is he?"
The confusion in Digga D's eyes deepened, a frown forming between his brows. "Amias?" he repeated. "Who the fuck is Amias?"