Amias stood in the dimly lit corridor outside the main room, the weight of the decision pressing on him like a physical burden. The warehouse air hung heavy with dust and neglect, the scent of rust and stagnant water permeating everything. Behind him, A2, Wyge, and Oakley waited in silence, their faces half-shadowed in the weak light filtering through the dirty skylights.
A2 shifted his weight, the floorboards creaking beneath him. "Let me finish this," he said, voice low but firm. "I'll make it quick." He moved to step forward, but Amias raised a hand, stopping him.
"No," Amias said. "It has to be me."
"You sure about this, bro?" Wyge asked, concern evident in his eyes. "This ain't something you can undo."
Oakley studied his cousin's face intently. "You don't have to do this yourself. That's why family exists."
Amias shook his head slowly. "I started this. I need to end it."
A moment of silent communication passed between them, years of friendship and family ties condensed into a single look. Then A2 reached into his waistband and pulled out a matte black Glock, checking the chamber before offering it to Amias.
"You know how to use it," A2 said. It wasn't a question.
The gun felt heavier than Amias expected, its weight significant beyond mere physics. He tucked it into his waistband, the metal cold against his skin.
"How long?" Amias asked.
"Fifteen minutes," Oakley replied. "Then we come in, regardless."
Amias nodded, drew a deep breath, and pushed open the door.
The room beyond was larger than he'd anticipated, most of it shrouded in darkness except for a single area illuminated by a bare bulb hanging from a chain. Beneath it sat Apannii, bound to a metal chair, head lowered to his chest. Blood matted his hair on one side, evidence of the blow that had incapacitated him during the crash.
Amias walked forward slowly, each step echoing in the cavernous space. He reached for a second chair positioned opposite Apannii and dragged it closer, the metal legs screeching against the concrete floor. The sound caused Apannii to stir, his head lifting slightly.
Amias sat down, the gun still concealed at his waist. He reached up and twisted the bulb slightly, increasing the circle of light around them.
"God," he whispered to himself, barely audible, "this is another sin you'll have to forgive me for."
Apannii blinked rapidly as consciousness fully returned, his eyes narrowing as they focused on Amias. For a moment, confusion clouded his features, then recognition dawned, bringing with it a twisted smile.
"Well, well," Apannii rasped, voice dry from unconsciousness. "Familiar vibes, ain't it? Except the positions are reversed." He tested his restraints, the zip ties biting deeper into his wrists. "Think you're tough now, yeah? Got your boys to jump me, tie me up?"
Amias remained silent, watching.
Apannii's smile widened, revealing teeth stained with his own blood. "You know what's funny? I was actually starting to rate you. Thought you had some heart, standing there in that café, not blinking when I put the gun to your head." He shifted in the chair, wincing slightly. "But this? This is pussy behavior. Real men face each other on equal ground."
The lone bulb swayed slightly overhead, casting shifting shadows across Apannii's face as he spoke, turning his expression from menacing to pathetic and back again with each oscillation.
"Where's your cousin now? Capari? Still limping from that bullet I put in him?" Apannii chuckled, the sound hollow in the vast space. "And your mother? She's next, you know. My boys are probably looking for her right now. I've got people everywhere, Amias. You think this ends with me?"
Amias continued his silence, studying Apannii with detached interest.
"Where's Kevin?" Apannii demanded, voice rising slightly. "What did you do to him? And Ekane—that little snake. He's probably pleading for his life right now, telling you it was all my idea." He laughed again, harsher this time. "As if that weasel didn't come to me first, begging to be let in. 'Amias doesn't show love,' he kept saying. 'Amias takes me for granted.' Some friend you had there."
The light flickered momentarily, plunging them into darkness for a heartbeat before returning.
"You know what your problem is?" Apannii continued, leaning forward as far as his restraints would allow. "You think you're different from me. Special. Better. But we're the same, you and I. Products of these streets. The only difference is I accepted what I am, while you're still pretending."
He paused, eyes narrowing as he studied Amias's impassive face.
"You remember that night? When I killed your friend Mason?" Apannii's voice dropped to a near whisper, intimate and cruel. "The way he begged? The sounds he made when the knife went in? I see it in my dreams sometimes, you know. One of my prouder moments."
A muscle twitched in Amias's jaw, the only indication that the words had reached him.
"And that girl—Aisha," Apannii continued, a new edge entering his voice. "The way she squirmed. The way she cried. Almost as good as the kill, that was."
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of listening, Amias spoke, his voice soft but steady.
"You know, I don't think I hate you anymore," he said thoughtfully. "At least, not in the way I used to."
Apannii's monologue stumbled to a halt, surprise momentarily registering on his face.
"I always hated you for killing Mason," Amias continued, fingers absently tracing the fresh graze on his cheek where Apannii's bullet had kissed his skin. "I was so headfirst at getting rid of you that I couldn't think of anything else. You've given me two scars now—this one, and the one on my arm. You almost killed me. Shot my cousin. But I don't necessarily feel hate for you anymore."
He leaned forward slightly, eyes locked with Apannii's.
"What I feel is disgust," Amias said, the word falling between them like a stone. "I've been thinking about Aisha. How could a grown man see a girl and decide, 'Yeah, I want to abuse her'? Is she even the only one? How many others have there been?"
Something shifted in Apannii's expression—a flicker of defensiveness, quickly masked by bravado.
"You don't understand how the world works," Apannii replied, voice hardening. "Women have been doing the same to men for centuries. When I was a kid, my father's girlfriend used to—" He stopped, swallowed. "This is just how it is. Nature. Power. The strong take what they want."
"That's interesting," Amias said quietly, genuinely contemplative. "My father made me drink alcohol when I was seven. I still drink to this day, not much, but still." He paused, considering. "Maybe I need to have my own chat with my vices."
Apannii sensed an opening, leaning forward eagerly. "Exactly! You get it. We're all products of what happened to us. I didn't choose—"
"Those who worship at the altar of violence," Amias interrupted, his voice taking on a rhythm like poetry, "will eventually be sacrificed upon it."
In one fluid motion, he drew the Glock from his waistband and fired.
The shot echoed in the cavernous space, amplified by the concrete walls. Apannii jerked backwards, a scream tearing from his throat as blood bloomed across his stomach. He doubled over as far as his restraints would allow, gasping and groaning.
"Amias... wait," he pleaded, voice suddenly small, stripped of all its previous menace. "Please. I can give you names, locations. Money. Whatever you want."
Amias stood slowly, the gun hanging at his side. "I feel no remorse for removing cancer from the world," he said softly, raising the weapon again.
The second shot was louder than the first, or perhaps it only seemed that way in the suddenly silent room. Apannii's head snapped back from the impact, then slumped forward, chin resting on his chest. Blood trickled from the neat hole in his forehead, running down his nose to drip steadily onto his lap.
Amias exhaled slowly, a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
"That's one kill, Apannii," he murmured, referencing their conversation in the café. "You said I hadn't killed three people tonight. Let's start counting from now."
He turned toward the door, where A2 and Wyge now stood, watching in silence. Their faces revealed nothing—no judgment, no approval, just the steady gaze of men who understood what had been done and why.
"Ekane," Amias said simply. "Please."
They nodded in unison, disappearing back into the hallway. Moments later, they returned, half-dragging, half-pushing a struggling figure between them. They forced him to his knees in front of Amias, who had resumed his seat in the metal chair, the gun resting on his thigh.
Ekane looked up, his eyes widening as they took in first Amias, then the slumped form of Apannii behind him. "Amias, bro," he began immediately, words tumbling over each other in his haste. "This isn't what it looks like. I was trying to protect you, I swear."
Amias raised a finger to his lips. "Shhh," he said softly. "Don't beg. It's disgusting."
Ekane's gaze kept darting to Apannii's body, his breathing shallow and rapid. "Listen, I never meant for any of this to happen. Apannii approached me, not the other way around. He threatened my family, said he'd kill my sister if I didn't—"
Amias sighed, almost imperceptibly, and fired. The bullet tore through Ekane's thigh, eliciting a howl of pain as he collapsed fully to the ground, clutching at the wound.
"Right," Amias said calmly. "From the top. Why?"
Ekane opened his mouth, another plea forming on his lips, but the sight of the gun now aimed at his head stopped him cold.
"Alright, alright, I'll explain," he gasped, words punctuated by pained breaths. "I... I wanted to take over your weed operation. You never showed love like that, never gave me the position I deserved. I went to Apannii... offered to give you up for fifteen grand. Information, locations, schedules... everything."
Amias's expression didn't change, but something in his eyes deepened—a profound disappointment that cut more sharply than anger would have.
"So not only did you betray me—the first person to give you an opportunity to put bread in your pocket—but you actually approached him?" Amias clarified, voice soft with disbelief. "Wasn't even coerced? And all this talk about 'no love'... when I trusted you with my business, my home, my family?"
Ekane's eyes filled with tears, genuine now. "I fucked up, bro. I know I fucked up."
"You gave these people my address," Amias continued, as if Ekane hadn't spoken. "Where my mother lays her head at night."
A tear spilled down Ekane's cheek. "I'm sorry," he whispered.
"What about Zane?" Amias asked suddenly, his voice dangerously quiet.
Ekane swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing visibly.
"Are you the reason Zane is on the brink of death in a hospital right now?" Amias pressed, leaning forward slightly. "When Apannii's boys came to my apartment looking for my mother?"
"Your mom wasn't there," Ekane said desperately. "They got pissed... what was I supposed to do? I just told Zane that I saw people roll up to the building. I didn't know they'd hurt him, I swear."
Amias shook his head slowly, a gesture of profound weariness rather than denial. "You were my friend," he said, the words weighted with something beyond anger. "I considered you a brother."
Ekane's face lit with desperate hope. "I am your brother, Amias. We still are. I made a mistake—a terrible mistake—but we can fix this. I'll do anything."
"You're my friend," Amias repeated thoughtfully, "so I can't just look you in the eyes and shoot you in the head. The dead carry your gaze with them to whatever comes next."
"Thank you," Ekane breathed, relief washing over his features. "Thank you, thank you."
"So instead," Amias continued as if he hadn't heard, "I'll look away while I put three bullets in you."
The hope on Ekane's face crumbled. "What? Amias, no, please—"
Amias turned his head to the side, gaze fixed on some indeterminate point in the darkness of the warehouse. Ekane struggled to his feet despite his wounded leg, hands still bound behind him.
"Amias, no, please!" he cried, voice breaking. "We grew up together! Remember when—"
The first shot caught him in the stomach, doubling him over. The second, a moment later, struck him in the chest. He fell to his knees, a gurgling sound escaping his lips. The third bullet found his head, and he collapsed completely, body twitching once before going still.
Amias did not turn back to look at the body. "Kevin," he said quietly.
A scuffle at the door preceded the arrival of the third man. Unlike Ekane, Kevin had to be physically dragged in, his resistance more pronounced, his terror more evident. He fell to his knees where A2 and Wyge positioned him, immediately breaking into desperate pleas.
"Please," he sobbed, not even attempting dignity. "Please, I have a daughter. She's only four. She needs me."
Amias regarded him dispassionately. "I don't know you, Kevin," he said. "Not personally. But I know you helped Apannii clean up after he raped Aisha. I know you killed Aisha's mother."
"I never wanted to!" Kevin cried, rocking back and forth on his knees. "He made me do it! He said he'd kill my family if I didn't help. Please, you have to believe me."
"I've killed two people tonight, by my count at least," Amias said reflectively, thinking of Capari's hands forcing that knife down.
"And Apannii said I never did three. So I should make it three." He paused, considering. "But in truth, I have killed three people already: Apannii, Ekane, and lastly, the old me. The boy who thought violence could be contained, that vengeance could bring peace."
Kevin latched onto this philosophical turn, hope sparking in his eyes. "Yes! Exactly! Violence only brings more violence. Mercy is strength. Please, show mercy—"
"Its funny—" Amias stood, tucking the gun into his waistband.
"How people tend to transform into poets when faced with death."
For a moment, it seemed he might walk away, leaving Kevin alive. Then, in one swift motion, he drew the weapon again and fired three rapid shots into Kevin's chest.
"And you don't deserve to live either way," he said softly as Kevin's body collapsed to the floor. "Some sins can't be washed away with tears or pleas or promises."
The warehouse fell silent except for the gentle drip of water from somewhere in the darkness and the faint buzzing of the overhead bulb. Amias stood motionless, surrounded by the dead, the gun still warm in his hand. The blood pooled outward from the bodies, creeping across the concrete floor like dark tendrils reaching for his feet.
He didn't move to avoid it.
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Chapter 37 is on disc