Chapter 50 Smoke on the Horizon
(Amani POV)
The road is too quiet.
That’s how I know it’s bad.
Engines should echo through this stretch — Kings patrolling, laughing, arguing through the comms. But tonight, it’s nothing but the wind and the hum of my bike tearing down the asphalt. Zuri rides behind me, her arms around my waist, every muscle in her body coiled tight. I can feel her shaking, even through the leather.
The text keeps flashing through my mind.
THE CLUBHOUSE HAS BEEN HIT.
Rex wouldn’t send that unless he had no choice. Unless the fire had already swallowed half our world.
The sky ahead glows faint orange — the kind of glow that means smoke, not sunrise. My gut twists.
“Hold on,” I shout over my shoulder. She nods, but her voice doesn’t come.
We cut through the last turn. Then I see it.
The clubhouse — what’s left of it — is bleeding fire.
The flag is gone. The steel doors blown inward. The sign with the Kings’ skull emblem half-melted and hanging by one bolt.
For a moment, I can’t move. It’s like the night collapses inward, pressing on my chest.
Then I’m off the bike, running through smoke that stings my eyes, through the smell of gasoline and ash and gunpowder.
“Rex!” I roar.
No answer.
Zuri follows, coughing, eyes wide. She looks like a ghost — hair tangled, soot streaking her cheeks.
We step into what used to be the main hall. Tables flipped, walls shredded by bullets, floor slick with oil and blood. My boots slide.
Then — a sound. A groan.
Rex crawls out from behind a broken bar, clutching his arm. Blood everywhere, but he’s breathing.
“Amani…” His voice cracks. “They came fast. Two trucks. Syndicate crest on the doors. They—” he winces, “—they had inside help.”
My stomach drops. “Who?”
He shakes his head. “Didn’t see. But they knew the layout. Went straight for the comms room and the vault.”
Zuri kneels beside him, hands steady even though I see them trembling. “Where’s Ghost?”
Rex looks up, eyes glassy. “He was here. Pulled three guys out before the blast. Then… gone.”
Gone. Again.
For a second, all I hear is the crackle of fire, the ticking of something metal cooling nearby. I stare at the wreckage — the place where I built everything. Every brother. Every oath. Gone in smoke.
Zuri reaches for me. “Amani—”
I pull away before I can stop myself. “No. Don’t.”
Her face falters, but she doesn’t move. She just watches, waiting for me to breathe again.
I kick a chair, the crash echoing off the broken walls. Rage feels safer than grief.
“This was supposed to be untouchable,” I say, voice raw. “We kept our codes buried, routes off-grid, no trace. You said your father wouldn’t—”
“He wouldn’t hit blindly,” she cuts in, her tone calm but cold. “He hit here because someone showed him where to aim.”
She’s right. I hate it, but she’s right.
I grab the nearest crate, shove it aside. Underneath, the floorboards are scorched but intact — the emergency hatch still locked. I force it open. Inside, the backup data drives are gone.
“Vault breach confirmed,” Rex mutters. “They took everything.”
I slam the hatch shut. My pulse feels like it’s clawing through my throat.
Zuri steps closer, lowering her voice. “We can rebuild.”
I laugh, sharp and hollow. “You don’t rebuild a ghost town, Zuri.”
She doesn’t back off. “Then you burn theirs instead.”
That gets me to look at her. And damn it — she means it. There’s no fear in her eyes, only fury. Smoke curls around her like a crown. For the first time, I see the thing her father created — not a girl running from bloodlines, but the heir who could burn empires.
I take a step closer. My voice drops. “You’d go to war again?”
“For them?” she nods toward Rex and the wreckage. “For us? Always.”
The word us hits harder than the explosion.
Before I can answer, Rex coughs and points toward the gate. “You might want to see this.”
We follow him out through the smoke. The wind’s picked up — carrying ash across the yard. On the gate, scorched into the metal, a symbol glows faintly red from heat. The Syndicate crest — the Moretti serpent, its fangs dripping flame.
Beneath it, someone scrawled four words in dark paint — maybe blood.
THE QUEEN BELONGS TO THE THRONE.
Zuri goes still.
Her breath trembles, but her eyes harden. “He’s not just hunting me,” she whispers. “He’s calling me home.”
I stare at the message, fists curling until my gloves creak.
“No,” I say. “He’s declaring war.”
Zuri looks at me, and in her gaze I see it — fear, guilt, and the spark that’s kept us alive this long.
“We go south,” I say. “To the Vault. We end this before he does.”
She nods. “Together.”
And as the fire behind us roars higher, I know this isn’t the end of the war — it’s the beginning of the reckoning.