The wind howled fiercely, carrying waves of sand that crashed against my Jeep Wrangler, the sun burned high above the deserted island, heat rising from the endless sand like waves of fire.
A two convoy of rugged vehicles roared across the open ground, their engines loud as dust rose behind them.
The sound of tires tearing through the sand echoed across the empty landscape.
Suddenly, the silence shattered. Gunshots cracked through the air. One of the vehicles swerved sharply, trying to avoid the bullets that struck the sand around it.
I maneuvered my car and stepped on the pedal to push it harder, racing across the dunes as the chase grew more intense. Sand sprayed everywhere as the vehicles climbed and dropped over the shifting hills.
Another gunshot rang out, sharp and sudden. I quickly swerved the wheel to avoid the gun fire.
I steadied the wheel and fired back. My shot hit the driver of one of the pursuing vehicles. The car immediately lost control, its tires skidding wildly across the sand. The vehicle spun violently before crashing straight into another car, the impact sending both machines tumbling through the dust and explode.
Smoke lingering in thin air and through the rearview mirror, I watched the wrecked vehicle burn, its flames flickering as I drove farther away.
The ride stretched on for what felt like hours, the tires grinding over the rough desert road. Just when I spotted it—a lone payphone standing by the side of the road, its metal frame faded and weathered by the sun.
I eased the car to a stop and stepped out, dust clinging to my clothes, heart still pounding from the chase. I needed to call someone—Nigel,
I dropped a few coins into the payphone before punching the digits, the metal clinking softly. A few rings later, a voice finally answered.
"Yeah... who is this?" Through the receiver, I could clearly hear the pounding of hooves.
"It's me" I said.
"Z? Hold on..." There was a pause, and I could feel him moving away—the background noise fading. he continued"... been waiting for your call, I lost your location in Moscow; I try to track your location but no vail"
"I need to cut the communication, Gil, I don't want to take any risk. And the last thing I needed was not to be found too soon. For now, I had to lay low."
"For goddam sake Z, we thought we lost you" His voice cracked through the line, sharp and strained
"Still kicking," I muttered, a faint smirk tugging at my lips. "So far."
"Not a good time for Jokes" A quiet chuckle escaped, the kind that didn't come from amusement, but from exhaustion
"Stick to the plan,Gil" I said firmly, letting no room for argument "also, wire me some money, a new ID, and a passport."
There was a brief silence on the line.
"Where are you?"
"Jordan." I gave him my location, but vague enough to stay safe.
There was a sharp intake of breath at the other end, yet I ended the call and slipped the receiver back into its cradle.
I didn't linger—I hit the road once again.
Another hour passed, tires grinding over desert roads and sand-blasted highways, before I finally reached the outskirts of the city by midnight,
I slowed the car, scanning the streets for any sign of movement. The chase was far from over, but for now, the city offered a fragile kind of cover.
I abandoned my car in a deserted lot, tucked between crumbling walls.
I checked around carefully, scanning for any signs of surveillance, trackers, or someone watching from the edges. The lot was empty and silent
I slipped out of the lot and kept my pace steady, blending into the dim streets. I had to move quickly before anyone noticed the car and started tracing it.
A few blocks later, I found a small apartment building—cheap and unremarkable, I rented the first unit, enough to spend a few nights without drawing attention.
Inside, I dropped my bag, stripped off the dust and grime from the desert chase, and took a quick shower. The cold water washed away the tension, but not the adrenaline.
Afterward, I changed into fresh clothes from the bag I had been carrying on.
I placed several firearms on the table and carefully reloaded, the soft clicks of metal echoing through the small apartment. I also kept my knife within reach.
The clock ticked in the quiet apartment, each second stretching longer than the last. Single drop of water fell echoing softly against the sink.
A pale light spilling through the cracks in the blinds. At exactly 5 a.m., the sound of footsteps jolted me awake.
I sprang up, my hand finding the pistol under the pillow. I checked the barrel quickly, sliding it back into my grip, and hid behind the door frame.
My knife was tucked against my waist.
The footsteps outside grew heavier, deliberate, each one sending a pulse of tension through the floorboards.
My breath slowed, measured, every sense straining to catch the smallest sound.
Then, at 5:15 a.m. on the dot, the door shook violently under a hard slam.
The door slammed open, my hand went to my pistol,
Three men appeared suddenly, guns raised. I didn't hesitate—three quick shots rang out, each finding its mark. They hit the ground before they could react.
One of them rolled out from cover, firing wildly in my direction. I ducked behind a wall as bullets shredded the air around me. I fired once more, hitting the mark, we exchanged fire after fire.
but soon my magazine ran dry.
I slipped silently behind the kitchen wall, pressing my back against the cold concrete, knife tight in my hand.
The shouting outside grew louder, echoing through the narrow hallway. the tension in the air crept.
Three-armed men stepped in.
One of them walked deeper into the room, scanning the area but missing the spot where I stood.
He didn't see me.
The moment he passed the wall, I struck. I lunged forward, grabbing him and driving the knife straight into his neck. A wet gasp escaped his throat as his body collapsed against me.
But the noise was enough and one of the others turned instantly.
A gunshot exploded in the apartment
I threw myself aside just as the bullet tore past where I had been standing. Without wasting a second, I grabbed the firearm from the man I had just stabbed, ripping it from his weakening grip.
My hands moved on with instinct.
I reloaded the gun.
Then I raised it and fired at the remaining two intruders as they rushed toward me, the thunder of gunshots filling the apartment.
Bodies lay scattered across the floor. but there was no time to dwell on it. I had to get out of this place.
I darted toward the bed where I had left some of my things. My hands sweep few belongings into my bag—several bundles of cash, spare magazines, and a firearm. Just enough to survive.
I checked the barrel one last time, slid the gun behind my cargo belt, and stepped into the hallway.
Chaos had erupted in the building. Residents screamed and fled in every direction, panicked by the gunfire. Doors slammed, feet pounded the stairs, and shouts echoed down the narrow corridors. I blended into the turmoil, unnoticed.
I burst out of the apartment and just as I was about to leave the area.
Two back SUVs had blocked the narrow street alley
"Shit," I muttered.
I sprinted down the opposite alley
Dust rose from the dry street as my shoes pounded against the ground. Market stalls lined up the road, and a few vendors shouted in surprise as I rushed past them, nearly knocking over crates of mangos and oranges.
I ran weaving through the crowded streets as I dodged more civilians people carrying baskets of fruit, sacks of rice, and plastic containers of water.
I turned sharply down another street of alley, the smell of smoke from cooking fires mingled with the dust and a stray dog barked, strained against a leash tied to a metal pole.
I kept running, my lungs burning, until I slammed into a dead end.
"Fuck" I muttered frustratedly to the situation.
I took the wrong street. A massive wall blocked my path, towering me over.
Behind me, I could hear the armed men closing in. I turned around and my hands moved with the instinct , I pull my gun out, ready to attack at any range, at any moment.
Six vs one, what a hell of the odds, they were fully armed.
Then the growl of an engine cut through the tension. My eyes flicked to the street. Another black SUV rolled smoothly into view, its glossy surface reflecting the harsh sun.
The door swung open, I froze.
"For Fuck's sake," I muttered again
A tall, broad-shouldered man stepped out.
his posture was confident, every movement was controlled, deliberate—like a predator surveying his territory, His face was sharply defined and for the god damn mercy I know that face very well.
His eyes were icy blue, cold and piercing, sharp enough to unsettle anyone who met his gaze.
There was a calm calculation In line between glint of menace that warned of violence at any moment
His dark hair was neatly slicked back, but a few strands had fallen loose, brushing against his forehead.
He wore a tailored suit that hugged his form perfectly, each crease and fold meticulously. A subtle gleam of gold from a watch and ring hinted at wealth and influence, but it was his aura—the mix of authority and fucking danger, that made him unmistakably a man to be reckoned with.
Khalib Dasirov,
A Russian figure whose presence alone could silence a room.