Crossfire

The rain didn’t stop.

If anything, it came down harder—each drop a tiny hammer on the tin roof of Malik’s safehouse. I’d barely caught my breath when Malik said the one thing I didn’t want to hear.

“They know where we are.”

I turned from the window. “You saw them?”

He shook his head. “Didn’t have to. You think a guy like Nabil follows you and doesn’t plant eyes nearby? You left a trail, Arman.”

He wasn’t wrong. My jacket was still dripping, my shoes tracking muddy water across the floor. If Nabil didn’t know this place before, he did now.

Malik grabbed his phone and made a quick call. “We’re moving in ten.”

“To where?” I asked.

He didn’t answer.

We slipped into the alley behind the safehouse, the city lights glowing like a wet mirage ahead of us. Malik had a plan—cut through the old textile district, then down toward a hidden dock where a friend owed him a favor.

Halfway there, the first headlights appeared.

Two black SUVs, engines growling, boxed the alley entrance behind us. From the other end, the low, unmistakable hum of a motorcycle.

Nabil.

I recognized the cadence of that engine like a heartbeat.

At first, I thought both SUVs were Farid’s crew. But when the doors opened, I saw otherwise.

One group wore Farid’s dark jackets, machetes and pistols in hand. The other group… cleaner, sharper suits, silver pins on their collars. Kamal’s men.

And between them, leaning casually on his bike, Nabil.

The air went electric.

Farid stepped forward. “He’s ours.”

Kamal’s second-in-command, a tall man with scarred knuckles, replied, “Kamal disagrees.”

Nabil smirked. “You’re both wrong. He’s mine.”

It didn’t take long for the shouting to turn into shooting.

The first shot came from Farid’s side, a muzzle flash that lit the rain red for a split second. Kamal’s men answered with a volley that sent chunks of brick flying.

Malik shoved me down behind a row of stacked crates. “Stay low!”

But Nabil… he didn’t take cover. He moved—darting between bursts of gunfire like the rain itself was bending to let him through. One second he was beside Farid’s SUV, the next he was right on top of Kamal’s gunman, disarming him with a twist and a shove.

He wasn’t fighting for either side. He was feeding the chaos.

A bullet smacked into the crate inches from my head, splinters stinging my cheek. Malik dragged me deeper into the alley, but the crossfire was everywhere—ricochets ringing off metal shutters, sparks dancing in the puddles.

We slipped into a side corridor between two warehouses, but Nabil’s voice carried through the noise.

“Run, Arman! It makes it more fun!”

Something in me snapped. I stopped.

I knew the smart thing was to keep running, but I’d spent too long letting other people decide my fate. I grabbed a loose pipe from the ground and turned toward the chaos.

Through the rain, I saw him—Nabil, helmet gone, eyes lit up like a man who’d been waiting for this moment all his life.

I charged.

He caught the pipe mid-swing, twisting it out of my hands and shoving me against a wall. His knife was out, the blade cold against my neck.

“See?” he said, almost gently. “You’re not prey. You’re bait.”

In that instant, I understood. The gangs weren’t hunting me for themselves—they were hunting me for him. Nabil had dangled me like a lure, pulling both Kamal’s and Farid’s crews into the same kill box.

“You wanted them to fight each other,” I said.

“And you delivered them to me,” he replied. “Now all I have to do is watch them burn.”

He stepped back, letting me go—not because he was done, but because he wanted me to watch, too.

Before I could react, Malik came roaring down the alley on a stolen delivery bike, sliding sideways through a puddle and nearly clipping Nabil. “On!” he shouted.

I didn’t think. I jumped on the back, gripping Malik’s soaked jacket as he gunned the engine.

Bullets followed us, but the rain and the narrow streets gave us cover. Behind us, the firefight raged, Farid’s and Kamal’s men tearing each other apart while Nabil stood in the middle of it like a conductor

We didn’t stop until we reached the dock. Malik killed the engine, both of us breathing hard.

“You think they’ll stop?” he asked.

I shook my head. In my mind, I could still see Nabil’s smile in the rain. “No. This was just the opening act.”

Somewhere, back in that alley, the city’s teeth had sunk in—and I knew it was only a matter of time before they found me again.