CHAPTER TWELVE: Let the War begin

Omar skillfully navigated through the sea of exuberant dancers; their rhythmic movements synchronized with the pulsating beats of the reggae music. The vibrant colors of the crowd's clothing added to the kaleidoscope of the reggae concert atmosphere. As he reached the bustling bar, the air was infused with the aroma of jerk chicken and the distinct scent of cannabis. He patiently waited his turn, the anticipation of a cold beer mingling with the infectious energy of the reggae tunes. The bass reverberated through the venue, creating a palpable vibration that resonated with the collective spirit of the crowd. The flickering lights illuminated the venue, casting an ethereal glow over the revelers. In the midst of this reggae-infused ambiance, he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned around, only to be met by the lady who had stood him up in Mombasa. Her afro wig added a playful touch, and the vibrant Jamaican dress she wore swayed with the rhythm of the music. Despite recognizing her, he couldn't help but be captivated once again by her undeniable beauty. Her infectious smile, illuminated by the kaleidoscope of lights, was a mesmerizing sight.

 "Hey!" she exclaimed, her voice riding the crest of the reggae beats, creating a momentary pause in the dance around them.

The vibrant pulse of reggae music enveloped Nikita and Natalie as they made their way to the crowded reggae concert. Amidst the rhythmic beats and the sea of swaying bodies, Natalie decided to unburden herself, confessing the unexpected encounter with the man in their kitchen earlier. Surprisingly, Nikita took the revelation in stride, expressing her nonchalant stance on the prospect of dating one of her students, as long as discretion prevailed. The concert venue buzzed with the fervor of Kenyans expressing their deep appreciation for Jamaican reggae songs, a cultural resonance that ran in their veins. Amidst the pulsating rhythms, they bumped into old friends, adding a touch of familiarity to the electrifying atmosphere. As Nikita scanned the crowd, her attention was captivated by the presence of a Somali Greek god. Conflicted thoughts wrestled within her, contemplating whether to approach him. However, her body seemed to act of its own accord, propelling her toward the bar where he stood, patiently waiting for his drink. The moment his gaze met hers, an inexplicable smile adorned her face. Yet, as quickly as the connection ignited, he walked away, leaving her standing there, watching his departure with a sense of unexplained longing. In the echoes of the reggae tunes, Nikita found herself pondering a familiar question: Why did she always find herself drawn to those who seemed to embody a certain aloofness and mystery, often labeled as "assholes"? The answer remained elusive amidst the captivating rhythm of the music and the dance of emotions in the crowded reggae concert.

In the dimly lit streets of Nairobi, the air hung heavy with a mixture of intrigue and danger. Omar, captivated by the lady in the Jamaican dress, was on the verge of offering a reply when a sudden shift in the atmosphere caught his attention. The subtle hum of the reggae concert became a distant melody as he sensed an ominous presence. As his gaze scanned the surroundings, he spotted a group of menacing figures, their eyes fixated on him with an unsettling intensity. A chill ran down Omar's spine as he recognized the distinctive cross tattoo on their foreheads – the unmistakable mark of Madam Mbithi's merciless mercenaries. Time seemed to freeze for a moment as the weight of the situation sank in. Realizing the imminent danger, Omar made a split-second decision for the lady's safety. With a heavy heart, he regretfully withdrew, leaving her behind as he stealthily maneuvered through the crowd. Ducking under a nearby taxi, he concealed himself from the prying eyes of the goons. The shadows played their part as the mercenaries, sporting a mixture of frustration and menace, scanned the area in vain. Unable to locate their target, they begrudgingly mounted their bikes and sped away into the night. Seizing the opportunity, Omar slipped into a waiting taxi, the tension in the air dissipating as he distanced himself from the scene. However, the relief was short-lived as his phone buzzed with an incoming call from Scar – a harbinger of more trouble. The news Scar delivered sent a shiver down Omar's spine – the corpses of the individuals they had dealt with earlier had been discovered. The gravity of the situation intensified, and Omar, feeling the weight of impending consequences, swiftly turned on the television, his senses on high alert as the unfolding events threatened to close in on him.

"Good evening, I am your anchor Serena Mghalu. We have just received breaking news that earlier this morning in Nyali Mamba hotel, two corpses were found. It was revealed that they were found sealed in the wardrobe of one room. According to the source we got from the police, the bodies must have been there for at least three days. My colleague who is at the crime scene will take you through from here," the news anchor said, her voice steady and composed. 

The screen transitioned to a field reporter standing outside the Nyali Mamba hotel. The camera focused on her as she began, "Thank you, Serena. I'm here at the hotel, where a shocking discovery has sent shockwaves through the community. The police have cordoned off the area, and the hotel has been shut down temporarily as investigations are underway." The reporter, holding a microphone, continued, "The bodies, believed to have been concealed in the wardrobe for several days, were found by the hotel staff during a routine check. The identities of the deceased and the circumstances leading to their tragic end are yet to be disclosed by the authorities." She gestured towards the hotel behind her. "As you can see, law enforcement is on-site, and forensic teams are working diligently to gather evidence. The atmosphere here is tense, and the once prestigious Nyali Mamba hotel now stands as a grim crime scene." The camera panned to capture the gravity of the situation, and the reporter concluded, "We will keep you updated as more information becomes available. Back to you, Serena, in the studio." 

The screen returned to the news anchor, who nodded solemnly. "Thank you for that update. We'll be following this story closely as details unfold. Our thoughts go out to the families affected by this tragic incident. Stay tuned for more on this developing story."

Omar began hurling objects against the wall. This was destined to invite problems, not just from law enforcement but also from their higher-ups. In that moment, his phone rang, displaying Truth's name on the screen. He gazed at the ringing phone, uncertain about how to proceed.

In the opulent living room adorned with antique furniture and subdued lighting, a lady sat on an intricately designed armchair, her eyes fixed on the television screen. As the news unfolded, revealing the grim images of her beloved nephew, Baraka, encased in a black body bag, tears streamed down her weathered cheeks. The room fell into a heavy silence, accentuated by the tremors in her frail hands. The men positioned behind her exchanged uneasy glances, anticipating her reaction. Suddenly, five of her trusted henchmen entered, reporting the loss of their intended target. The atmosphere shifted as she swiftly reached for her gun, unleashing a torrent of bullets that silenced the disobedient subordinates. "Good for nothing!" she declared, wiping away her tears with the cold metal of the gun. The lifeless bodies were efficiently removed by a team of eight cleaners, maintaining an eerie silence in the aftermath. Rising from her seat, she grasped a polished walking stick and made her way to the grand fireplace. A fit of maniacal laughter escaped her lips, echoing through the room. Seizing her phone from the table, she dialed her longstanding rival. As the call connected, her voice hardened, delivering a chilling threat.

 "You're dead!" she declared before abruptly ending the call. Summoning her trusted advisor, she outlined a retaliatory plan. The goons were to be readied for an imminent attack on one of the Supreme's storage facilities. However, her advisor proposed a more strategic approach, suggesting they issue a warning first.

In the eerie silence of the graveyard, Truth and his men toiled under the dim moonlight, shoveling dirt into open graves to conceal their gruesome secrets. The air hung heavy with the scent of freshly turned soil and the weight of their clandestine activities. As Truth plunged the shovel into the earth, disrupting the final resting places of the deceased, his phone buzzed, cutting through the macabre atmosphere. Setting the shovel aside, Truth retrieved his phone, the stressed voice of the Supreme resonating through the receiver. "Consider it done," he assured, his tone unwavering, before abruptly ending the call. Turning his attention back to the grim task at hand, Truth pushed the lifeless body of a girl into the open grave, where a desolate skeleton awaited its new companion. With a mixture of nonchalance and grim humor, he fashioned a cross from a nearby twig and uttered a short, mocking prayer. As the words lingered in the night air, he proceeded to bury the deceased, entombing them in the cold embrace of the earth, their secrets buried alongside them.