Pain. That was the first thing Ochieng felt as he regained consciousness. His ears rang, his vision blurred, and the taste of blood filled his mouth. Smoke curled around the wreckage, casting eerie shadows across the battlefield.
"Ochieng! Ochieng, do you copy?!" Lucy's voice crackled through his earpiece, thick with panic.
He forced himself up, his muscles screaming in protest. The explosion had ripped through their ranks. Jeff was slumped against an overturned SUV, blood streaking down his face. Paul was nowhere to be seen.
And then he saw them—figures emerging through the smoke.
Walter.
Flanked by his men, his smirk was the embodiment of arrogance. "Well, well… the legendary Ochieng. Not so untouchable now, are you?"
Ochieng wiped blood from his lip and glared. "This isn't over."
Walter chuckled. "Oh, I think it is."
He snapped his fingers. His men moved in.
Ochieng was on his feet in an instant, twisting around as a blade swiped past his face. His instincts kicked in—strike first, think later. His fist connected with a guard's jaw, sending the man staggering. Another lunged at him, but he grabbed the attacker's wrist, twisted, and slammed him into the wreckage.
Jeff groaned, struggling to his feet. "Ochieng… they took Victoria."
Ochieng's blood ran cold.
Walter stepped closer. "If you want her back, you know where to find me."
Then, with one final smirk, he turned and disappeared into the shadows.
Ochieng clenched his fists, rage burning through his veins.
This was no longer just business.
This was war.