Jomiloju's POV
The safehouse felt like a coffin.
Not the elegant kind carried by marble and men in dark suits—but the raw, forgotten kind buried beneath too many secrets. The air was dry, stale with dust and desperation. It wasn't fear that lived here. It was memory.
The walls were too tight.
The silence was too thick.
And I couldn't stop shaking.
I stood in front of the cracked mirror above the sink, staring at the woman in torn red silk, blood speckled across her collarbone like an unfinished war painting. The makeup was half-smudged, the lipstick gone. My hair—once sculpted for seduction—was now wild from smoke, sweat, and survival.
But my eyes?
They hadn't changed.
They burned.
Behind me, Steve hadn't moved since we came in.
He stood at the far end of the room like a statue carved from tension—shoulders squared, jaw clenched, hands braced against the edge of the wooden table like he was holding the world back.
"I'm fine," I said finally.
The words cracked as they left me.
He didn't answer.
Didn't look at me.
Didn't even breathe loud enough for comfort.
"I said I'm fine."
"You could've died," he said without turning.
His voice didn't rise. It dropped low—like thunder waiting to become a storm.
Steve's POV
I saw her in his sights.
Saw Koleosho raise the gun, finger curling on the trigger like the moment was a slow dance between life and erasure.
And for a breath—a single, fucking breath—I thought I was too late.
And the rage that erupted inside me since then hadn't calmed.
She was still alive.
Still breathing.
Still standing.
But he had seen her. Spoken to her. Branded her with truths she never asked for.
And that—somehow—was worse.
I turned around slowly.
Met her eyes.
She wasn't shaken anymore. Just stubborn.
"You ran into a room with a man who's orchestrated civil unrest, assassinations, and silences people for sport."
"I had to look him in the eye," she replied, chin high. "Had to tell him I wasn't his."
My fists curled.
"You could've told him with a bullet."
She stepped toward me. Her voice didn't raise. It softened, which somehow made it cut deeper.
"I'm not you, Steve. And maybe that's why you love me."
Jomiloju's POV
The moment fractured something.
Something brittle and sacred between us.
And the silence—oh God, the silence—burned hotter than any fight.
I didn't want to be touched gently. Didn't want to be handled like I was glass that cracked beneath pressure.
I wanted to be claimed.
Wanted to feel alive, not just alive again.
So I moved.
So did he.
We collided like fire to gasoline.
His lips crashed into mine with hunger, guilt, fury, and something gentler buried beneath. His hands were already at my waist, tearing at the shredded gown.
I kissed him like a survivor desperate for meaning.
He pulled back the fabric—slow enough to feel every inch tear, fast enough to not let me doubt.
"Don't scare me like that again," he growled against my throat.
"You don't own fear, Steve," I breathed, nails dragging across his shoulder blades. "You just taught me how to live with it."
He kissed me again—harder.
And this time, we didn't stop.
Steve's POV
She was everything and nothing like war.
She was fire when I needed warmth.
Knife when I needed defense.
And grace when I forgot how to be anything but broken.
The way her mouth met mine—furious, forgiving, free—stilled something inside me.
We didn't speak again.
Didn't need to.
We made love on the edge of revenge.
On the floor. Against the wall. Between grief and glory.
She burned herself into my bones.
And when she finally collapsed into my arms, sweat-slicked and breathless, I knew:
There was no going back.
Jomiloju's POV
Later, wrapped in one of Steve's oversized shirts and the heat of his arms, I traced the scar across his chest.
He didn't flinch.
Didn't stop me.
Just let me memorize it.
"You would've killed him," I said softly.
His voice rumbled beneath me.
"I still might."
"You won't shoot quick," I murmured. "You'll make it count."
"I want him to suffer first," he said. "The way I did. The way we did."
I closed my eyes.
"I want that too."
Scene Shift — Downstairs: Tunde's POV
The knock was deliberate.
One knock. Pause. Two quick taps. A final rap.
Ada opened the back door and found him—one of our runners—bruised and gasping. A blood-streaked envelope dangled from his hand.
"Take it," he said through cracked lips. "They said... 'make sure it gets to them.'"
Inside the envelope was a photo.
Ajike.
Tied to a chair.
Blood trickling down her temple. Her tech vest ripped open. A single word scrawled in black ink across her cheek: TRAITOR.
The note folded beside it was simple.
Next time, we won't miss.
Ada's knuckles turned white as she slammed her fist into the table.
Tunde—watching from the shadows—picked up the photo.
Then the phone.
He dialed without hesitation.
"We go tonight."
Steve's POV
Lightning flashed beyond the shuttered windows, crawling across the Lagos skyline like an omen.
I stood by the window, the photo of Ajike in my hand, fury mounting with every second.
Tunde entered, rifle strapped to his back, jaw locked.
"They moved her to Koleosho's Ojodu base," he said. "Two hours ago. Intel confirmed."
I nodded. "We strike at midnight. No waiting."
Behind me, footsteps. Then her voice.
"I'm coming."
I turned to see Jomi—dressed in black pants, tight tank, robe loosely tied at the waist. Eyes steady. Pulse calm.
"No," I said.
"Yes," she replied.
"You're not ready for another war tonight."
"I'm already in it," she snapped. "You trained me. Trusted me at the masquerade. You don't get to protect me now that I've proven I can bleed."
I moved closer.
"Jomi—"
"Let me be your fire this time," she whispered.
Her hand slid into mine.
And I didn't have it in me to say no.
Final Scene — Elsewhere: Koleosho's POV
The security monitors flickered like ghosts warning of storms.
Ajike screamed in the feed—muffled by the gag in her mouth. Her head lolled from pain, but her spirit hadn't cracked yet. Good girl.
Bako stood at the corner of the room, arms crossed.
"They'll come for her."
"I know," Koleosho said, sipping his brandy.
Bako watched him. "And you're just going to wait?"
Koleosho turned slowly.
Smiled.
"No. I'm going to welcome them."
He paused, then walked to the screen, fingers brushing the edge like a priest before a sacrifice.
"Let's see what love looks like under fire."