Mike felt the weight of Felix’s words settle over him like a noose tightening around his neck.

  Someone close to him. Someone he trusted.

  He clenched his jaw, running through every possibility. The crew wasn’t big—Amina, Felix, Kamau, Eliza, and a few others who came and went.

  No one made sense.

  And yet, someone had set them up.

  Amina’s voice cut through his thoughts. "We need to move. Now."

  Felix nodded. "There’s a safehouse outside Emali. We can regroup there."

  Mike didn’t like the sound of ‘safehouse.’ He had learned the hard way that safehouses were rarely safe.

  But they had no choice.

  They stuck to the shadows, weaving through the undergrowth, every step calculated. The gunmen were still out there, hunting.

  After twenty minutes, they reached a narrow dirt road. Felix crouched low, glancing around. "Truck comes through here every few hours. If we’re lucky—"

  Headlights appeared in the distance.

  Mike tensed. "Lucky’s not really our thing."

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  The truck rolled closer, an old Mitsubishi Canter, its paint peeling, loaded with sacks of what looked like charcoal.

  Felix grinned. "That’s our ride."

  Mike frowned. "You arranged this?"

  Felix shrugged. "Sort of."

  Amina’s glare could’ve melted steel. "What does ‘sort of’ mean?"

  Felix didn’t answer. Instead, he stepped onto the road and flagged the truck down.

  The driver—a middle-aged man with tired eyes and a cigarette hanging from his lips—slowed, frowning as he took in the trio.

  Felix walked up to the window, leaning in. "Tunakutana na boss huko mbele." (We’re meeting the boss up ahead.)

  The driver exhaled a long stream of smoke. "Sina time ya shida." (I don’t have time for problems.)

  Felix flashed a wad of cash.

  The driver sighed. "Panda haraka." (Get in quickly.)

  Mike didn’t waste time. He and Amina hopped into the back, settling between sacks of charcoal. The truck rumbled forward.

  Amina nudged Mike. "Do you trust this?"

  Mike exhaled. "Right now, I trust anything that keeps us alive."

  Amina didn’t look convinced.

  Felix climbed into the passenger seat, chatting casually with the driver. But Mike saw it—the tension in Felix’s shoulders.

  Something was off.

  They drove in silence, the road bumpy beneath them. The night air was thick, the scent of dust and charcoal clinging to everything.

  Then—headlights appeared behind them.

  Mike stiffened.

  Amina cursed under her breath. "We’re being followed."

  The truck picked up speed. The vehicle behind them—a **black Land Cruiser Prado—**stayed close, its high beams cutting through the night.

  Then—the first gunshot.

  Amina ducked. "Damn it!"

  The driver shouted something in Kikamba, slamming the gas pedal. The truck swerved, kicking up dust.

  Mike grabbed onto a wooden plank, keeping low. "Felix, tell me you planned for this!"

  Felix shouted back. "Not exactly!"

  The Land Cruiser accelerated, pulling up alongside them. A window rolled down—a rifle barrel emerged.

  Mike didn’t think. He grabbed one of the heavy charcoal sacks and hurled it.

  It slammed against the windshield, shattering glass. The driver lost control.

  The Land Cruiser swerved—straight into a ditch.

  Amina let out a breath. "That was—"

  Then, a second car appeared.

  Black, tinted windows. Smooth, steady.

  More professionals.

  Amina’s eyes darkened. "We have a real problem."

  Mike gritted his teeth. "We’ve had a problem since this whole thing started."

  The new car pulled up beside them. The window rolled down.

  And inside—a familiar face.

  Mike’s breath caught.

  Amina went pale.

  Felix swore.

  Because sitting in that car, cool as ever, was someone they all knew.

  Someone who wasn’t supposed to be there.

  And that’s when Mike knew—Felix had been right.

  The traitor was one of them.