Chapter 23

ZUKO POV

The silence in the office was deafening, but inside my head, a siren was screaming.
I stared at my phone screen, my thumb hovering over her contact name. I pressed dial for the twentieth time in the last two hours. *"The subscriber you are trying to reach is currently unavailable. Please try again later."* The robotic voice of the network lady felt like a physical slap to my face.
"Fak!" I roared, slamming my fist down onto the desk. The wooden surface groaned, the stacks of cash shifting under the force of my blow.
She had blocked me. I knew it. The moment I confessed about Amanda over the phone, the line had gone dead, and my world had started spinning on a faulty axis.

I knew she was angry. She had every right to be. I had ruined the one clean, beautiful thing in my life with the messy residue of the streets. But this absolute silence? It didn't feel right. A dark, heavy dread was settling deep into my gut, a suffocating weight that had nothing to do with

I grabbed my secondary phone, the encrypted one, and pulled up the localized tracking software I had covertly linked to the silver necklace I gave her. I had told myself it was for her protection.

The screen loaded, a small, blinking red dot materializing on the digital map. It was pinned directly over her campus residence building.

"Okay. Okay, she's at res," I muttered to myself, running a rough hand over my face, trying to force my erratic breathing to level out. She was just hiding away in her room, nursing her hurt, refusing to speak to the street dog who had broken her trust.

I could deal with anger. I could crawl on my knees and beg for forgiveness. As long as she was safe.
But then my eyes locked onto the timestamp of the tracker. *Last ping: 3 hours ago.*

The red dot wasn't live. The signal had gone cold right around the time the campus went dark.

A cold sweat broke out across my neck. I bolted out from behind the desk, grabbed my leather jacket, and practically ripped the office door off its hinges as I sprinted out through the back exit of the tavern, ignoring the loud music and the shouts of the patrons. I jumped into the driver's seat of my car, my hands trembling against the steering wheel as I jammed the key into the ignition.
I needed eyes on the ground. I couldn't just barge into a female residence hall at midnight without causing a scene, but I knew someone who could.

I dialed Sibongile's number, stepping hard on the accelerator as the engine roared to life, tearing out of the dusty parking lot. The phone rang once, twice, three times.
"Zuko?" Sibongile's voice came through, sharp, annoyed, and thick with sleep. "Why the hell are you calling me at this hour? If this is about whatever rubbish you and Shakes are up to—"

"Sibongile, listen to me," I interrupted, my voice dropping into a desperate, gravelly register that instantly cut her off. "Is Omphile with you?"
There was a brief pause on the other end, the sound of sheets rustling as she shifted in bed. "No? She went back to her own room after her commercial law test this afternoon. Why?"
"I need you to go check her room. Right now," I ordered, my grip tightening on the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turned white. I swerved into the main road, the tires screeching against the tarmac.
"Zuko, what is going on?" Sibongile's tone shifted from annoyed to deeply defensive, the fierce protective streak she had for her friend flaring up. "Did you do something? She mentioned something about Amanda... If you hurt her—"

"Sibongile, please!" I roared, completely losing my composure. "I know I fucked up! I will deal with that, I swear to God I will bleed for it if I have to! But right now, her phone is off, and the tracker on her necklace hasn't pinged in hours. Just go to her room and tell me she's sleeping."

The sheer panic in my voice must have hit her hard. I heard a loud thud as Sibongile scrambled out of bed, her breathing turning frantic. "Okay, okay, hold on. I'm putting on my gown. Stay on the line."
The line fell into a torturous stretch of silence, broken only by the sound of Sibongile's hurried footsteps echoing through the residence corridors. Every second felt like an eternity. I was driving like a maniac through the dark streets, running red lights, my heart hammering a frantic, violent rhythm against my ribs.

*Please let her be there. Please let her just be ignoring the world.*

"I'm at her door," Sibongile whispered breathlessly. I heard her knock loudly against the wood. "Omhile? Omphile, open up, it's me."
Nothing. Total silence.
"Omie, please open the door!" Sibongile knocked harder, her voice rising in panic. I heard the distinct rattle of a door handle being twisted. "Zuko... the door is unlocked. I'm going in."
A second later, a sharp, suffocating gasp echoed through the phone speaker.
"Sibongile! What do you see?" I shouted, my chest heaving as I slammed my hand against the dashboard.
"She's... she's not here, Zuko," Sibongile stammered, her voice trembling, on the verge of tears. "Her backpack is on the chair. Her books are here. And... oh my god."
"What?"
"The necklace you gave her. It's sitting right here on the headboard. She took it off. Zuko, her keycard is gone but her jacket is still here. She wouldn't just leave the building late at night without her jacket."
The world violently tilted on its axis. The cold reality crashed over me like a tidal wave, crushing the air straight out of my lungs. She was gone. The tracker was on the headboard, that's why the signal was stationary.

"Stay there," I growled, my voice turning ice-cold as a dark, vicious fury began to replace the panic. "Lock the door and don't touch anything."

I hung up the phone, my breath coming in short, jagged gasps. I was losing my mind.

If anything happened to her because of my mess, because I brought the filth of my life near her light, I would never survive it.
I swerved the car, abandoning the route to the university, and headed straight toward the older parts of the township. I needed to check one more place. A desperate, foolish hope flickered in my chest. Maybe she had run to her mother. Maybe she had gone home to find comfort away from me.
Ten minutes later, I screeched to a halt outside her mother's house. The small home was completely dark, peaceful, entirely detached from the nightmare unfolding in my chest. I crept up to the window, my eyes scanning the perimeter.

Her mother was asleep. Omphile wasn't here. If I knocked on that door and told her mother that her only daughter was missing, it would destroy the woman.

I backed away into the dark, my hands tearing at my hair as a raw, guttural scream formed in my throat. She was gone. Really gone. And in my world, people didn't just disappear; they were taken.

I jumped back into my car, the engine screaming as I tore down the road. I pulled out my secure phone, skipping my usual contacts, and dialed a direct, encrypted line to one of my high-level IT guys—a guy who handled the digital footprints for our heist syndicates, a ghost who could see through every camera.

The line picked up, a groggy voice answering. "Yeah?"
"Wake the fak up, Sipho," I hissed, the gravelly authority in my voice leaving no room for argument. "I need a live triangulation right now. I don't care what protocols you have to break. Drop everything."
"Zuko? What's wrong?"
"Omphile is missing," I growled, my jaw locked so tightly it ached, a deadly, calculated calmness settling over my panic. The streets had taken my mother's mind, but I would burn this entire province to the ground before I let them keep my girl. "I want you to hack the campus tower logs from the last four hours. Track her phone's IMEI number before it went dead. Find every CCTV camera feed near the residence courtyard on the main road. I want a vehicle description, a license plate, a shadow—anything."
"Give me twenty minutes," Sipho said, the seriousness of the situation hitting him.
"You have ten," I stated coldly, slamming the phone down onto the passenger seat.
I gripped the steering wheel, my eyes fixed on the dark, winding roads of Johannesburg . The hunt was on, and whoever had their hands on my woman was going to find out exactly why they called me a monster.

OMPHILE

I held my breath, letting my shoulders slump as I stared down at the cold concrete floor. I needed him to believe the lie. I needed him to see exactly what he expected, a broken, terrified university girl who had completely surrendered to his power.
Zolani smiled, a smug, victorious grin stretching across his face. He actually believed he had tamed me in a matter of minutes. He stepped closer, the arrogant gleam in his eyes telling me everything I needed to know.
"See? That's my good girl," he murmured, his voice dripping with condescension. He reached behind his back, pulling a small silver pocketknife from his tailored coat. "Let me get those ropes off you, Omphile. A prize like you shouldn't be in chains."
I didn't move an inch. I kept my muscles perfectly loose, even as the cold blade sliced through the coarse fibers wrapping around my wrists. The moment the tension snapped and the ropes fell away, my blood rushed back to my hands, tingling with a sudden, vicious shot of adrenaline.
*Now.*
The very second Zolani closed the knife and turned his back to pocket it, the submissive act vanished. I launched myself off the wooden chair, driving my entire weight straight into his back.
"Fak!" Zolani roared as the unexpected impact threw him completely off balance.
We both crashed heavily onto the damp concrete. He fell flat on his face, the air escaping his lungs in a loud, painful grunt. I didn't waste a single breath. Before he could roll over, I scrambled on top of him, blindly reaching for the heavy wooden chair I had just been tied to. I gripped one of the legs with both hands, raised it high above my head, and slammed it down with everything I had left. It clipped his shoulder, shattering against the concrete wall behind him.

Through sheer, brutal reflexes, he pinned my leg with his foot and rolled violently, throwing me off his back. I hit the floor hard, the wind knocked completely out of my chest. Before I could scramble back to my feet, the heavy steel door burst open with a loud groan. Three of his henchmen rushed into the room, their guns drawn, their faces twisted in panic.

"Boss!" one of them shouted.
Zolani was already pushing himself up from the floor. He wiped a streak of dark blood from his cheek where the concrete had scraped his skin, his eyes flashing with a sudden, deadly fury. The charming, flirting facade he had been wearing earlier was completely gone, replaced by the face of a cold-blooded killer.

"Tie her!" Zolani hissed, his voice trembling with a terrifying, quiet rage. *"Ibopheni le nja!"*

The three men lunged at me. I kicked, scratched, and screamed, digging my nails into the face of the first man who grabbed me, but it was useless. Their heavy hands pinned my arms back, dragging me forcefully back into the chair. They wrapped the fresh, thick ropes around my torso and wrists, pulling them so tight it bruised my skin, completely cutting off my circulation.
Once I was securely immobilized, the men stepped back, leaving me panting, covered in sweat and dust, staring defiantly through the tears blurring my vision.
Zolani stepped forward slowly. In one fluid, terrifying motion, he reached into his waistband and pulled out his heavy, black pistol. The metallic *clack-clack* of him chambering a round echoed like a thunderclap in the small room.
He didn't aim it at my head. Instead, he casually rested the cold, heavy barrel right against my chin, tilting my face up so I had no choice but to look into his empty, psychopathic eyes.
"You really thought you did something there, didn't you, Omphile?" Zolani whispered, his jaw ticking as he looked down at me. He let out a dark, mocking laugh that sent a chill straight to my bones.

"That was pathetic. Truly pathetic. You thought because you date a street dog like Zuko, you suddenly know how to fight in the trenches?"
He pressed the barrel harder against my bone, making me wince.
"Let me tell you something about your little boyfriend," Zolani sneered, leaning in close, his breath hot against my face. "Zuko lives on emotion. He fights with his heart, and that's exactly why he's going to die. But me? I am a businessman. I don't feel pain, and I don't give second chances. You just exhausted the only drop of mercy I had for you."
He pulled the gun back slowly, tucking it back into his waistband, though his eyes never left mine.
"You want to play rough? Fine. We'll play rough. By the time I'm done breaking Zuko's empire, you'll be begging me to touch you. Mark my words."

ZUKO

The back office of the tavern felt like a pressure cooker on the verge of exploding.
Sipho, my IT guy, sat huddled over his high-powered laptop at the desk, his fingers flying across the glowing keyboard in a frantic rhythm. Shakes was pacing the floor behind him, his usual jokes entirely gone, replaced by a dark, dangerous scowl that meant he was ready to kill. I stood by the window, staring out into the pitch-black Johannesburg night, my chest heaving as a toxic mix of panic and pure, unadulterated rage poisoned my blood.
*Zolani.*

The name had been floating through the streets for months, a ghost trying to claw at the edges of my operations. But taking Omphile? Crossing the line into my personal life because he couldn't beat me on the black market? That was a death sentence.

"I've got it! I've got the triangulation!" Sipho suddenly yelled, slamming his hand on the desk.
Shakes and I descended on the desk instantly, leaning over his shoulders. On the screen, a digital map of the outer industrial zone near the bypass was glowing. A red marker was pulsing steadily over an abandoned brick-making warehouse.

"The IMEI from her phone pinged that tower right before it went dark, and I just intercepted an encrypted radio transmission between two vehicles entering that perimeter," Sipho explained, his voice shaking slightly under the weight of my stare. "It's Zolani's crew. They have her there, Zuko."
"That bastard," Shakes hissed, his jaw locking as he looked at me. "He really thinks he can touch our people? In our city?"
I didn't say a word. The panic that had been suffocating me for the last three hours instantly solidified into an ice-cold, lethal clarity. I walked past them, stepping toward the heavy, floor-to-ceiling bookshelf against the back wall. I reached behind a row of thick accounting ledgers, found the hidden mechanical release, and pulled.
With a low grind, the false wall clicked and swung open, revealing the heavy iron safe embedded in the concrete. I punched in the sequence, threw the heavy lever, and pulled the door wide.
The scent of gun oil and cold steel filled the room. Inside lay our true capital.
"Shakes," I growled, my voice dropping into a register that didn't even sound human. "Load up."

Shakes stepped up beside me, his movements fluid and practiced. He reached in and pulled out a heavy, matte-black tactical shotgun, racking the slide with a loud, terrifying *clack-clack* that echoed off the walls. He began shoving high-velocity slug rounds into his pockets, his eyes completely dead.

I reached into the deep shelf and pulled out my favorite, a modified CZ 9mm pistol, checking the magazine before slapping it home with the heel of my palm. The solid, heavy weight of the metal in my hand felt right. But it wasn't enough. Not for what I was planning to do to Zolani. I reached back in and dragged out an automatic rifle, adjusting the sling over my shoulder.

"Zuko, man," Sipho whispered from the desk, his face pale as he watched us stack magazines and weapons onto the table. "You guys are going in heavy. That's a war zone."

I turned slowly, looking at him, and the sheer malice in my eyes made him take a step back.

"He took the only thing that keeps me human, Sipho," I said, my voice dangerously quiet, vibrating with an unhinged fury. "He thinks he's a businessman? I am going to teach him the cost of doing business with me. I'm not leaving a single stone standing in that warehouse."

I grabbed an extra tactical knife, tucking it securely into my boot, and pulled my leather jacket back over my shoulders, concealing the harness, my mind, fueling the fire burning in my gut. I had promised her a perfect life. I had promised her protection. And a street dog like Zolani thought he could put his filthy hands on her?
"Let's go," I growled at Shakes, turning toward the door.
"I'm right behind you, broer," Shakes replied, his grip tightening on the shotgun. "Let's go bring our girl home."

The layout of the abandoned brick-making warehouse was glowing in stark blue lines across Sipho's laptop screen. It was a death trap, a massive, hollowed-out structure of crumbling concrete and rusted corrugated iron, surrounded by a perimeter of overgrown weeds and broken machinery.

"Listen to me carefully," Sipho said, his finger tapping the trackpad to zoom in on the structural blueprint he'd pulled from the municipal archive logs. "Zolani has at least eight guys outside patrolling the yard, and probably another four inside with Omphile.

There are only two main ways in. The front loading bay of which is heavily guarded and this old ventilation breakdown shaft at the back."

"We don't do stealth when it comes to my woman," I growled, my hands resting heavily on the edges of the desk, my knuckles white. "We go in hard."

"No, Zuko, think," Ta Zet interrupted, his deep, weathered voice cutting through my unhinged fury. Ta Zet was an old-school veteran of the taxi wars, a man whose name alone made generals in the criminal underworld hesitate. He stood in the corner, calmly loading brass cartridges into the cylinder of his heavy .357 Magnum. "If you charge through the front gate like a madman, they'll kill the girl before you even clear the courtyard. We need a distraction."

Shakes leaned over the map, his face grim. "I'll handle the distraction. Sipho, can you loop the security feeds if they have any?"

"They're using local radio comms and portable generators," Sipho nodded, typing furiously. "I can clog their radio frequencies with static the moment you hit the perimeter. They'll be blind and deaf for at least two minutes."

"Good," Ta Zet said, adjusting his leather trench coat. "Shakes, you breach the southern fence line. Create enough noise to draw the courtyard guards away from the main building. Me and Zuko will split the entrances. I'll take the back ventilation shaft and clear the blind spots. Zuko... you take the front loading bay. Once the static hits and Shakes opens fire, you drive straight through the belly of the beast."
Just as we stood up to leave the office, the back door clicked open. Ma Shakes stood in the doorway, her hands trembling as she clutched a woolen shawl tightly around her shoulders. Her kind eyes were wide with a profound, suffocating fear. She had already lost people to the streets; she knew exactly what kind of bloodbath was about to unfold.

"Zuko... Sfiso," she whispered, her voice cracking as she looked at her son and then at me. "Please. Bring her back alive. But don't leave your own souls out there in the dark. I am scared for you boys."

I couldn't look her in the eye. The human part of me that she had nurtured was locked away in a dark room. Right now, I was nothing but a weapon primed to detonate.

The midnight air of Johannesburg shattered as three modified e30 BMWs roared to life in the tavern courtyard. The deep, guttural thrum of their straight-six engines vibrated through the tarmac, sounding like three apex predators growling in the dark.

We tore out of the gates and hit the deserted bypass road like a synchronized squadron of fighter jets.
The speed was terrifying. The digital speedometer on my dashboard climbed violently—140, 160, 180 kilometers per hour. The rain had stopped, but the tarmac was still slick and gleaming like black glass under the dim streetlights. We weren't just driving; we were racing against death itself, the tires screaming as we pushed the machines to their absolute limits.
I led the pack in my blood-red Gusheshe. The car had an almost demonic aura tonight, the twin headlights cutting through the midnight mist like the eyes of an angry god. Behind me, Ta Zet's pitch-black Gusheshe glided through the shadows like a phantom, its exhaust popping fiercely with every downshift. Flanking us was Shakes in his navy-blue Gusheshe, the metallic paint catching the strobe-like flash of the passing streetlights.
As we hit the long stretch toward the industrial zone, the fury inside my chest boiled over. I slammed my foot flat against the floorboard. The red Gusheshe's rear tires broken traction for a split second, fishtailing wildly at 170km/h before the rubber gripped the asphalt, propelling me forward with a terrifying surge of power.
Shakes pulled up aggressively on my left, his navy machine roaring as he tried to take the inside line of a sharp bend. I didn't give him an inch. With a vicious pull of the steering wheel, I drifted the red Gusheshe sideways through the corner, the smoke from my burning rubber blinding his view as I cut him off with calculated, lethal precision. I was driving with pure, unadulterated malice. Every gear shift was a violent slam; every turn was a gamble with gravity.
Ta Zet utilized the opening, his black Gusheshe overtaking Shakes in a smooth, menacing slipstream maneuver, the dark vehicle effortlessly slicing between us like a blade through water.
We were flying through the night, a trio of roaring steel monsters tearing through Johannesburg . Inside my cockpit, the music was off. The only sound was the screaming turbine of my engine and the heavy, ragged breath escaping my chest. My jaw was locked so tight my teeth ached. My vision narrowed into a sharp, tunnel-like focus.
Zolani thought he knew what violence was. He thought he could touch Omphile and live to tell the tale. As the red Gusheshe rocketed toward the industrial sector, the headlights illuminating the distant silhouette of the warehouse, a cold, deadly smile touched my lips.
The devil was at his doorstep, and I was driving a red car.

The screech of three sets of tires tearing into the gravel outside the abandoned brick-making warehouse was swallowed by the sudden, deafening static that Sipho jammed into the area's radio frequencies.
Right on cue, Shakes' navy Gusheshe swerved violently toward the southern fence line. The metal gates groaned and twisted as his car crashed straight through the perimeter, the engine roaring like a beast as he threw the BMW into a wild, smoky donut. He rolled down the window and opened fire with the tactical shotgun—*BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!*—the high-velocity slugs tearing into the concrete pillars and sending Zolani's courtyard guards scattering in utter confusion.
"They're under attack! Get to the south gate!" a voice screamed in the dark, the guards completely falling for the bait.
With the courtyard distracted, Ta Zet's black Gusheshe glided silently toward the rear of the structure. The old man stepped out of his vehicle with fluid, terrifying calmness, his heavy .357 Magnum already raised as he slipped into the ventilation shaft to clear the blind spots.
I didn't waste a single second. I slammed my foot onto the accelerator of the red Gusheshe, driving straight through the front loading bay door. The rotting wood and rusted iron shattered into a million splinters against my reinforced bumper. The car screeched to a halt inside the dusty, cavernous belly of the warehouse.
I vaulted out of the driver's seat before the dust could even settle, my CZ 9mm raised and my automatic rifle slung over my shoulder. Two of Zolani's men turned around, startled by the intrusion, but they were too slow. *Bang! Bang!* Two precise shots dropped them instantly to the damp concrete.
Gunfire was echoing from every corner of the building, the booming thunder of Shakes' shotgun from the south and the sharp, rhythmic snaps of Ta Zet's Magnum from the rear. It was a perfectly coordinated symphony of violence. I moved through the shadows like a wraith, my heart hammering a brutal rhythm, guided entirely by the distant, muffled sound of a manic laugh coming from the upper offices.
I kicked open the heavy steel door of the back room, and the hinges ripped right out of the wall.
"Step back!" I roared, my gun raised, my vision instantly locking onto Omphile. She was strapped tightly to the wooden chair, her face bruised and covered in sweat, but her eyes flared with a desperate, triumphant hope the moment she saw me.
Standing right beside her was Zolani, his heavy black pistol resting in his hand. He didn't look panicked. He looked completely unhinged.
"Zuko," Zolani sneered, a twisted, sickly smile stretching across his face as he slowly raised his weapon, aiming it straight at my head. I didn't hesitate; I stepped forward, burying the cold barrel of my CZ 9mm directly against his throat. At the exact same microsecond, he lunged, pressing the cold steel of his own pistol right against mine.
We stood chest-to-chest, the barrels of our guns biting into each other's flesh.
"Let her go, Zolani," I growled, my voice vibrating with a lethal, ungodly fury. "You cross me on the streets, you touch my supply routes, you threaten my people, I can tolerate business. But you put your filthy hands on my woman? You're a dead man."
"Your woman?" Zolani barked out a wild, high-pitched laugh that echoed off the damp concrete walls. He was trembling, not out of fear, but out of absolute, obsessive mania. "She's not yours, Zuko! All of it, the hijacked trucks, the blocked routes, the threats at your tavern, you thought that was about the money? You thought it was about territory? No! It was always about her!"

I stared into his eyes, and a cold, sickening realization washed over me. This guy wasn't a rival businessman. He was mental. He was genuinely sick.

"I saw her first!" Zolani hissed, his jaw ticking violently as his thumb clicked the hammer of his gun back against my throat. "I saw her at the car spinning event before you even knew she existed! You have everything, Zuko. You walk these streets and everyone bows. You're at the top level now, sitting pretty with Ta Zet, well-respected by every crew in the Johannesburg. And then you get to have a girl like this? Pure? Untouched by the filth we live in? I want what you have! And I'll never be happy until I strip it away from you!"

"You're a psychopath," I muttered, my grip tightening on my trigger.

"Go ahead! Shoot me!" Zolani dared, his eyes wide and vacant. A smug, arrogant grin broke through his mania. "But you won't. I know you won't do it, Zuko. You've grown soft. This university girl made you weak. You're too afraid of what she'll think of you if you blow my brains out right in front of her."

I lowered my chin slightly, loosening my stance just a fraction, letting my shoulder drop as if his words had actually struck a nerve.

"See?" Zolani chuckled, completely relaxed, his arrogance blinding him. "I knew you were weak—"

*BANG! BANG!*
Two blinding flashes shattered the dim light of the room. I drove two hollow-point rounds straight into his right shoulder, right where the joint met the collarbone.

"AAAAHHH!" Zolani screamed, a spray of dark blood hitting the wall as the sheer force of the close-range shots lifted him off his feet. His pistol clattered uselessly to the floor as he fell flat on his back, clutching his shattered shoulder, gasping and writhing in agony.

"I'm not weak, Zolani," I whispered, stepping over his bleeding body and looking down at him with absolute indifference. "I'm just smarter than you."

I spun around toward Omphile. She was panting, her wide eyes staring at me in total shock. There was no time to untie the coarse knots by hand; the gunfire outside was getting closer as the remnants of Zolani's crew realized their boss was down. She was chained up.

"Phile, close your eyes! Don't move!" I commanded sharply.
She slammed her eyes shut. I raised my CZ 9mm, lining up the iron sights with terrifying precision, and fired twice—*BANG! BANG!*—the bullets instantly severing the heavy iron chains and thick ropes binding her arms to the chair. It was a scary, reckless move, but the steel snapped away, freeing her instantly.

I dropped the pistol into its holster, grabbed her by the waist, and pulled her forcefully to her feet. "I've got you. Look at me, Phile, I've got you."

"Zuko," she sobbed, burying her face into my chest for a split second, her hands gripping my leather jacket for dear life.
"We need to move, now!"
I threw my automatic rifle over my shoulder, keeping my arm wrapped tightly around her waist as I hauled her out of the room. The warehouse was chaos. As we sprinted down the concrete corridor toward the front loading bay, two of Zolani's remaining men burst from a side door, their guns blazing.

*RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!*
Bullets chewed into the brickwork right above our heads, showering us in plaster and dust. I shoved Omphile behind a thick concrete pillar, spun around, and unleashed a merciless barrage from my rifle, dropping both men before they could reload.
"Move! Move!" I shouted, pulling her back into my side as we broke into a sprint through the settling dust, heading straight for the idling, blood-red Gusheshe that was going to take us far away from this hell.