LOVE AND BULLET
PART 12
The list burned in Ava’s hands like live coal.
Twenty-three names. Twenty-three powerful players in Nigeria’s underworld—judges draped in false honor, politicians with venomous smiles, bankers who moved money like puppet masters pulling strings.
And now, they were all targets.
Obinna stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows of his penthouse, the morning sun painting his bare torso in gold. He sipped his coffee, watching the city below with the calm of a predator surveying his territory.
“We hit them where it hurts,” he said, his voice smooth as aged whiskey. “Not their bodies. Their empires.”
Ava traced a finger over the first name on the list—Chief Adebayo, the so-called “Kingmaker” of Lagos politics.
“He’s untouchable,” she murmured.
Obinna’s lips curled into a smirk. “Everyone bleeds, sweetheart. Some just hide it better.”
Chief Adebayo’s mansion was a fortress—high walls, armed guards, surveillance cameras at every corner.
Ava and Obinna didn’t bother with the front gate.
Dressed in all black, they scaled the back wall like shadows, their movements synchronized from months of fighting side by side. The humid night air clung to their skin as they slipped through an open bathroom window on the second floor.
Inside, the house was eerily silent, the only sound the faint hum of air conditioning and the distant clink of dishes from the kitchen.
Ava moved first, her footsteps silent on the plush carpet. The master bedroom door was slightly ajar, revealing Chief Adebayo asleep in his massive four-poster bed, his wife snoring softly beside him.
Obinna stepped forward, pressing a gloved hand over the Chief’s mouth.
The man’s eyes flew open, wide with terror.
“Good evening, Chief,” Obinna whispered, his voice dripping with false sweetness. “We need to talk.”
They didn’t lay a finger on him.
They didn’t need to.
Instead, Ava slid a tablet across the silk sheets, the screen displaying a series of bank transfers, clandestine meetings, and damning voice recordings.
“You’ve been a busy man,” she said, crossing her arms. “Skimming public funds, selling contracts to the highest bidder, even trafficking young girls under the guise of ‘charity work.’”
Chief Adebayo’s face paled. “W-what do you want?”
Obinna leaned in, his smile chilling. “Your resignation. By morning.”
“Or?”
Ava tapped the tablet, pulling up a pre-written email addressed to every major news outlet in Nigeria. “Or the whole country finds out what a monster you really are.”
The Chief’s hands trembled as he reached for the device.
By dawn, Chief Adebayo’s resignation shocked the nation.
By noon, two more names on the list abruptly “retired” from public life, citing “health reasons.”
And by nightfall, the remaining twenty were scrambling, their carefully constructed facades crumbling like sandcastles under a tidal wave.
Ava watched it all unfold from Obinna’s penthouse, her bare feet propped on the coffee table as news channels erupted with speculation.
“They’re panicking,” she observed, sipping her wine.
Obinna joined her on the couch, his arm draping over her shoulders. “Panicked animals are dangerous animals.”
She turned to him, arching a brow. “You think they’ll fight back?”
His fingers traced idle circles on her skin. “I’m counting on it.”
They didn’t have to wait long.
Ava’s phone buzzed with an encrypted message—an address, a time, and a single word:
“Come alone.”
Obinna snatched the phone from her hands, his jaw tightening as he read it. “It’s a trap.”
“Obviously,” Ava said, taking the phone back. “But it’s also our chance to draw out the head of the snake.”
Obinna’s eyes darkened. “If you think I’m letting you walk in there alone—”
“Who said anything about alone?” She smirked, pulling out a second phone from her pocket—this one tapped into NDLEA’s secure frequency. “Sergeant Kola owes us a favor.”
TO BE CONTINUED...
LOVE AND BULLET
PART 12
The list burned in Ava’s hands like live coal.
Twenty-three names. Twenty-three powerful players in Nigeria’s underworld—judges draped in false honor, politicians with venomous smiles, bankers who moved money like puppet masters pulling strings.
And now, they were all targets.
Obinna stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows of his penthouse, the morning sun painting his bare torso in gold. He sipped his coffee, watching the city below with the calm of a predator surveying his territory.
“We hit them where it hurts,” he said, his voice smooth as aged whiskey. “Not their bodies. Their empires.”
Ava traced a finger over the first name on the list—Chief Adebayo, the so-called “Kingmaker” of Lagos politics.
“He’s untouchable,” she murmured.
Obinna’s lips curled into a smirk. “Everyone bleeds, sweetheart. Some just hide it better.”
Chief Adebayo’s mansion was a fortress—high walls, armed guards, surveillance cameras at every corner.
Ava and Obinna didn’t bother with the front gate.
Dressed in all black, they scaled the back wall like shadows, their movements synchronized from months of fighting side by side. The humid night air clung to their skin as they slipped through an open bathroom window on the second floor.
Inside, the house was eerily silent, the only sound the faint hum of air conditioning and the distant clink of dishes from the kitchen.
Ava moved first, her footsteps silent on the plush carpet. The master bedroom door was slightly ajar, revealing Chief Adebayo asleep in his massive four-poster bed, his wife snoring softly beside him.
Obinna stepped forward, pressing a gloved hand over the Chief’s mouth.
The man’s eyes flew open, wide with terror.
“Good evening, Chief,” Obinna whispered, his voice dripping with false sweetness. “We need to talk.”
They didn’t lay a finger on him.
They didn’t need to.
Instead, Ava slid a tablet across the silk sheets, the screen displaying a series of bank transfers, clandestine meetings, and damning voice recordings.
“You’ve been a busy man,” she said, crossing her arms. “Skimming public funds, selling contracts to the highest bidder, even trafficking young girls under the guise of ‘charity work.’”
Chief Adebayo’s face paled. “W-what do you want?”
Obinna leaned in, his smile chilling. “Your resignation. By morning.”
“Or?”
Ava tapped the tablet, pulling up a pre-written email addressed to every major news outlet in Nigeria. “Or the whole country finds out what a monster you really are.”
The Chief’s hands trembled as he reached for the device.
By dawn, Chief Adebayo’s resignation shocked the nation.
By noon, two more names on the list abruptly “retired” from public life, citing “health reasons.”
And by nightfall, the remaining twenty were scrambling, their carefully constructed facades crumbling like sandcastles under a tidal wave.
Ava watched it all unfold from Obinna’s penthouse, her bare feet propped on the coffee table as news channels erupted with speculation.
“They’re panicking,” she observed, sipping her wine.
Obinna joined her on the couch, his arm draping over her shoulders. “Panicked animals are dangerous animals.”
She turned to him, arching a brow. “You think they’ll fight back?”
His fingers traced idle circles on her skin. “I’m counting on it.”
They didn’t have to wait long.
Ava’s phone buzzed with an encrypted message—an address, a time, and a single word:
“Come alone.”
Obinna snatched the phone from her hands, his jaw tightening as he read it. “It’s a trap.”
“Obviously,” Ava said, taking the phone back. “But it’s also our chance to draw out the head of the snake.”
Obinna’s eyes darkened. “If you think I’m letting you walk in there alone—”
“Who said anything about alone?” She smirked, pulling out a second phone from her pocket—this one tapped into NDLEA’s secure frequency. “Sergeant Kola owes us a favor.”
TO BE CONTINUED...
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