₦airaland Forum

It has been over four years since I last put pen to paper, or better still, since I last invited you into my world of stories filled with sex, betrayal, vengeance, humor, and lessons. Some of you still remember Countless (A Story of Sex, Betrayal and Vengeance), the book that carried my soul and my madness. And then there was The Dog Attendant, the sequel I began but could not finish. Life happened, devices crashed, and even the completed PDF I had locked away disappeared with my old phone and a forgotten password. For a long while, I thought perhaps the stories had ended there.

But a writer never truly stops writing. The words may sleep, the hands may grow heavy, but the mind never stops whispering. For seven years, many of you have asked, “When will you write again? When will you continue?” I have carried that weight with both pride and guilt, pride that you still remember, guilt that I had gone silent.

Today, silence breaks. I return to you as TheBlessedman, the same pen, the same spirit, but sharper, wiser, and with more scars that only time and life can give. If you thought my earlier works were daring, you are about to discover a new edge. I am older now, hungrier, and my stories have gathered dust, laughter, pain, and vengeance in the waiting.

This new series, Friends, Frenemies & Foes – The Darousmart Chronicles, is my gift to those who waited and those who are just discovering me for the first time. To my loyal readers, thank you for your patience. To the new ones, fasten your seatbelts. We are going on a journey of lust, betrayal, hustle, friendship, deceit, comedy, and raw Naija survival.

I write to entertain, to make you laugh until your ribs ache, to shock you until you curse out loud, and to keep you in suspense until you beg for the next episode. But beyond that, I write to leave lessons hidden between the madness. That has always been my promise as TheBlessedman, and that promise remains.

Four years gone. Today we start again. Welcome back.
TheBlessedman

PROLOGUE.


They say a man is nothing without his friends.

But in my 35 years of surviving this planet called Earth, I’ve learned one bitter truth—
sometimes, it is your friends who sharpen the knife that enters your back.

My name is Darous.
Most people call me Darousmart.

I didn’t come from much.
Born into poverty. Raised by hardship. Baptized by the hustle.

I learned early that life doesn’t give — it collects.
By trade, I’m a building contractor.

By instinct, a survivor.
By nature, a hustler.
But the hardest part of my life wasn’t the hunger.

It wasn’t the sleepless nights.
It wasn’t even the grind.
It was watching the people I trusted turn into enemies… while still calling themselves my friends.

This story isn’t about strangers.
Strangers can’t break you — they don’t have that kind of access.

This is about the people who sat at my table.
Drank my beer.
Shared my secrets.
Laughed at my jokes.

Watched football with me and swore loyalty.
Friends who became frenemies.
Frenemies who grew into full-blown foes.

And yes — there were women.

Women who loved me.
Used me.
Betrayed me.
Some tasted like honey.
Some like pepper.
Some like poison.
I loved them all in my own foolish, hungry, desperate way.

But love in Lagos — love in Nigeria — is never simple.
It always comes with a price.

What you’re about to read isn’t just my story.
It’s my blood on these pages.

Every laugh that turned into a scar.

Every betrayal that birthed vengeance.

Every night of pleasure that ended in regret.

I won’t lie.
There were moments I went too far.

Moments I became the villain in my own story.

But such is life.
Sometimes you’re the hunter.
Sometimes the hunted.
Sometimes you hold the blade.
Sometimes you bleed.

When the dust finally settles in this war between friends, frenemies, and foes, the question won’t be who was right or wrong.

The only question will be:
Who survived?

And if you’re reading this…
know one thing—
Darousmart survived.

At least… for now.

Episode 1 - The Return Of Darousmart.



My name is Darous — short for Darousmart if you’re the type who likes the full package.

Thirty‑five years old, at least according to my birth certificate. Tall enough to reach the top shelf without help, dark‑skinned, with a beard that some girls claim makes me look like I’ve got my life all figured out.

Truth is, I’m still hustling like every other Nigerian man whose dreams are far bigger than his pocket. 

I’m a building contractor — one who knows the weight of cement, the patience of bricks, and the endless chase for the next project.

My services are very affordable. I'm the type of guy you call when you want your house to look like Banana Island even though your budget is telling you to build in Mushin.

I came from a poor background, and poverty taught me two things early: how to survive, and how to never forget a promise, whether good or bad. 

Now, let’s dive into the details of how my life changed from being a regular bricklayer to a man entangled in betrayals, power plays, and a conspiracy older than my parents. From one problem to the next, every step became a lesson in survival, every face a test of loyalty, and every moment proof that destiny can drag even the most ordinary soul into battles far beyond imagination. 

That night, I was sitting in our usual joint — a rough but lively parlour down the street. The smell of suya mixed with cigarette smoke, and the fan overhead was spinning like it was tired of life. My friendship circle was already there.

Jude sat first, sharp guy, thirty-two, slim with restless eyes. He was the type that wore tight shirts and behaved like the whole world was owing him money.

Beside him was Baba T, older, heavy, with a belly shaped like a drum. His Arsenal cap had faded, but he wore it with pride. He's the type of guy that can defend his point of view with his last breath.

Kenny came next, short, stocky, head shining like freshly polished floor. He always wore bright colours that made you wonder if he was trying to start a carnival.

And then there was Bola our female friend.

Bola was thirty, tall, skin like caramel sugar. Her body was full in all the right places, hips that didn’t just move but announced themselves. She wore a black fitted dress that hugged her like it didn’t want to let go.

Her gold earrings danced each time she laughed, and believe me, Bola loved to laugh. She laughs at literally anything that produces sound or motion.

If laughter has a subscription button, I'm sure Bola would have run out of laughs a long time ago.

“Contractor don land!” Jude shouted as I walked in. He slapped the table like he had just discovered crude oil in his backyard.

“Darousmart, the man that carry cement by day and women by night. How market?”

I dropped into a chair and shook my head. 
“The market isn’t smiling, Jude. When I build for people, they delay my payment. When I refuse to build, they will insult me. Tell me, is it by force to build house when you know that you don't have money?”

Kenny laughed so hard his belly shook. “Insult dey sweet for Danfo, my guy. Some people dey chop better with only insult.” he grabbed his half filled bottle and gulped it down.

Bola leaned closer, her perfume slipping into my nose like soft temptation. “Darous, you’re too gentle. If na me, nobody go owe me pass one week.”

Jude gave her a side look. “And how you go collect am? You go send your sweet smile or something stronger as a money collector?”

She smiled wide, her lips shining. “Sometimes smile works better than a slap.”

Everybody laughed, but inside the laughter, I saw Jude’s eyes — sharp, watching Bola’s hand resting close to mine.

I cleared my throat. “So, what are you all drinking? This stress in my body might kill me if I don’t ease it fast.” 

Baba T waved his hand. “Na beer dey here. If you want pepper soup join, just shout.” 

“Bring the pepper soup,” I said, settling back. “But make sure it’s not goat head that they cooked since yesterday o.” 

The drinks came. Conversation flowed. But even with the noise, I felt Bola’s eyes on me — heavy, and at the same time searching.

She shifted her chair closer, her dress brushing my jeans. “Darous, I no go lie, you dey carry yourself different. I like am.”

I smiled but kept my voice calm. “You like wetin you see, abi?”

She held my gaze, her tongue wetting her lips slowly. “Maybe. But I like to confirm with my own eyes.”

Kenny broke the moment with his loud voice. “Abeg, na who dey pay today? Because if na me, make una no order anything again.”

Everybody laughed, but I wasn’t laughing. I was still looking at Bola, and Bola was still looking at me.

Later that night, when the drinks finished and one by one my friends left, Bola didn’t rush to go.

She leaned in, whispering, “Darous, walk me home nau or you want make dem kidnap me.”

I pretend not to care "no be only kidnap... Na adultnap. You know say I don tire sha?"

She laughed softly and pleaded gently. "Please nau.. na beg I beg" she said with pity eyes.

Her house was just two streets away. The night air was cool, quiet, only the sound of distant generators humming. She walked slow, hips moving like rhythm, and I knew what was happening.

At her door, she didn’t fumble with her keys. She looked at me, eyes soft but daring. “You want to come in? Or you dey fear?”

I smiled. “Fear? Me? Bola, when no be say na prison.”

She pushed the door open. The small living room was neat, smelling of lavender. She dropped her bag, turned to me, and before I could say anything, her lips were on mine.

It was fire. Her mouth was soft but demanding. Her hands pulled me close, pressing that body against me. My head spun, but my hands had already found her waist, the curves warm and real.

She whispered against my ear, “I’ve been watching you, Darous. I know you’re not like the others.”

I chuckled, breathless. “And yet, here you are, kissing me like you’ve known me for years.”

Her laugh was low, dangerous. “Maybe I have.”

She pulled me towards the couch, her dress sliding as she moved. My eyes traced every line of her figure, and my heart pounded like I had just climbed three floors carrying cement. She kissed me again, deeper, and her hands…

I won’t describe the rest. But let’s just say Bola was not shy, and she knew exactly what she wanted.

When it was over, we lay there, catching our breath.

Bola traced circles on my chest with her finger, smiling. “Darous, you have no idea what you just entered o.”

I turned to her. “What do you mean?”

She gave me that smile again — the kind that looked sweet but carried something dangerous. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

And right there, I knew this story wasn’t just about sex. It was about something bigger. Something that could make or break me.

To be continued.

TheBlessedMAN:
Episode 1 – The Return of Darousmart

My name is Darous, short for Darousmart if you like full package, you know like you want to finish all your pronunciation subscription. Thirty-five years old according to my birth certificate, tall enough to pick things from the top of the shelve without anyone or anything aiding me, and dark, with a beard that some girls say make me look like I know what I’m doing in life. Truth is, I’m still hustling like every other Nigerian man with dreams bigger than his pocket.

I’m a building contractor — one of those guys you call when you want your house to look like Banana Island even though your budget is telling you to build in Mushin. I came from a poor background, and poverty taught me two things early: how to survive, and how to never forget a promise, whether good or bad.

That night, I was sitting in our usual joint — a rough but lively parlour down the street. The smell of suya mixed with cigarette smoke, and the fan overhead was spinning like it was tired of life. My friendship circle was already there.

Jude sat first, sharp guy, thirty-two, slim with restless eyes. He was the type that wore tight shirts and behaved like the whole world was owing him money. Beside him was Baba T, older, heavy, with a belly shaped like a drum. His Arsenal cap had faded, but he wore it with pride. He's the type of guy that can defend his point of view with his last breath. Kenny came next, short, stocky, head shining like freshly polished floor. He always wore bright colours that made you wonder if he was trying to start a carnival.

And then there was Bola our female friend.

Bola was thirty, tall, skin like caramel sugar. Her body was full in all the right places, hips that didn’t just move but announced themselves. She wore a black fitted dress that hugged her like it didn’t want to let go. Her gold earrings danced each time she laughed, and believe me, Bola loved to laugh. She laughs at literally anything that produces sound or motion.
If laughter has a subscription button, I'm sure Bola would have run out of laughs a long time ago.

“Contractor don land!” Jude shouted as I walked in. He slapped the table like he had just discovered oil. “Darousmart, the man that carry cement by day and women by night. How market?”

I dropped into a chair, shook my head. “Market no dey smile, Jude. I build for people, dem delay my money. I no build, dem insult me. Tell me, who go pay me for the insult and all these disgrace na?”

Kenny laughed so hard his belly shook. “Insult dey sweet for Lagos, my guy. Some people dey chop better with only insult.” he grabbed his half filled bottle and gulped it down.

Bola leaned closer, her perfume slipping into my nose like soft temptation. “Darous, you’re too gentle. If na me, nobody go owe me pass one week.”

Jude gave her a side look. “And how you go collect am? You go send your sweet smile or something stronger as a money collector?”

She smiled wide, her lips shining. “Sometimes smile works better than slap.”


Everybody laughed, but inside the laughter, I saw Jude’s eyes — sharp, watching Bola’s hand resting close to mine.

I cleared my throat. “Abeg, wetin una dey drink? This stress wey dey my body fit kill me if ah no quench am fast”

Baba T waved his hand. “Na beer dey here. If you want pepper soup join, just shout.”

“Bring the pepper soup,” I said, settling back. “But make sure e no be goat head wey dem cook yesterday o.”

The drinks came. Conversation flowed. But even with the noise, I felt Bola’s eyes on me. Heavy and at the same time searching.

She shifted her chair closer, her dress brushing my jeans. “Darous, I no go lie, you dey carry yourself different. I like am.”

I smiled but kept my voice calm. “You like wetin you see, abi?”

She held my gaze, her tongue wetting her lips slowly. “Maybe. But I like to confirm with my own eyes.”

Kenny broke the moment with his loud voice. “Abeg, na who dey pay today? Because if na me, make una no order anything again.”

Everybody laughed, but I wasn’t laughing. I was still looking at Bola, and Bola was still looking at me.

Later that night, when the drinks finished and one by one my friends left, Bola didn’t rush to go. She leaned in, whispering, “Darous, walk me home nau or you want make dem kidnap me.”

I pretend not to care "no be only Kidnap... Na Adultnap. You know say I don tire sha?"

She laughed softly and pleaded gently. "Please nau.. na beg I beg" she said with pity eyes.

Her house was just two streets away. The night air was cool, quiet, only the sound of distant generators humming. She walked slow, hips moving like rhythm, and I knew what was happening.

At her door, she didn’t fumble with her keys. She looked at me, eyes soft but daring. “You want to come in? Or you dey fear?”

I smiled. “Fear? Me? Bola, na house we dey talk about, no be prison.”

She pushed the door open. The small living room was neat, smelling of lavender. She dropped her bag, turned to me, and before I could say anything, her lips were on mine.

It was fire. Her mouth was soft but demanding. Her hands pulled me close, pressing that body against me. My head spun, but my hands had already found her waist, the curves warm and real.

She whispered against my ear, “I’ve been watching you, Darous. I know you’re not like the others.”

I chuckled, breathless. “And yet, here you are, kissing me like you’ve known me for years.”

Her laugh was low, dangerous. “Maybe I have.”

She pulled me towards the couch, her dress sliding as she moved. My eyes traced every line of her figure, and my heart pounded like I had just climbed three floors carrying cement. She kissed me again, deeper, and her hands…


I won’t describe the rest. But let’s just say Bola was not shy, and she knew exactly what she wanted.

When it was over, we lay there, catching our breath. Bola traced circles on my chest with her finger, smiling. “Darous, you have no idea what you just entered into.”

I turned to her. “What do you mean?”

She gave me that smile again — the kind that looked sweet but carried something dangerous. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

And right there, I knew this story wasn’t just about sex. It was about something bigger. Something that could make or break me.


To be continued.....

Welcome back boss

Four years ago, I stopped writing.

And over those years, my inbox kept flooding—messages from people who missed my stories, some people I don't even know or never for once saw their reactions on my posts, and also from people who really cared. At first, I didn’t understand. But then it hit me… so many of you were actually reading, enjoying, and living my story with me but don't care to show reactions or comments.

I remember one day, I typed the title of my story, Countless and The Dog Attendant, into Google. I couldn’t believe my eyes. My story was almost everywhere—on blogs, pages, being copied, shared, getting more attention than I ever got. People were using my own story to gain more fans and readers across the social media space without acknowledging me.

Back then, it crushed me. My morale hit the ground. So I stopped. And I can tell you, if I had kept writing from then till now, my fan base would be in millions by now. The proof is out there, you can verify yourself.

Now, I’m back. I’ve started writing again. I check the comments, the reactions—on my Facebook page (@Darousmart Library), on Nairaland,(@Theblessedman) on my Facebook handle (@Adigun Idowu)—and history seems to be repeating itself. Dey comments after hours of typing and posting.

Here’s the thing: when I hold back from posting updates, the flood of messages I get is more than when I actually drop something. Can you imagine that?

Put yourself in my shoes for a second. I’m a building contractor by profession. I work with my hands, I sweat, I grind. But I still carve out time to write stories for you. And every time I drop something, I make sure it’s worth reading.

Now imagine if you helped me grow my base. Imagine if writing could pay my bills. The time, the tools, the focus I’d have… I could serve you better, forever. You could even say you helped me grow, and that would be the truth.

But some of you… some of you are just cruel. You read and move on, like it doesn’t matter to show a little love—a comment, a like, a reaction.

Even if I stray from the plot, how am I supposed to know if 90% of my readers are ghosts?

It’s not fair.

Great writers don’t become great alone. They become great because they had amazing readers—readers who push them, encourage them, challenge them, and celebrate them.

Please. Let’s do better.

Because I write for you. And I want to keep writing. But I can’t do it alone.

Still I need to appreciate the loyal ones. The ones who knows thunder will fire them if they don't comment.. 😂 The true sons and daughters of Shango... I appreciate you all... Let's keep this movement going. We got more doors to unlock.


I remain your humble Writer. ADUGUN IDOWU. DAROUSMART Theblessedman.

Let's not waste time on this.

Episode 2 – The Beginning of Trouble

I woke up the next morning with a stiff neck and the smell of lavender still in my nose. Bola was already up, standing in front of a small mirror, tying her hair with calmness as if it wasn't her Chelsea that just lost to Bayern Munich the night before. Her black dress from last night was folded neatly on the chair, and now she wore a simple wrapper tied across her chest.

She caught me staring in the mirror and smiled. “Good morning, Mr Contractor.”

I rubbed my face, still heavy with sleep. “Morning, madam. You wake up early. You no dey tire?”

She laughed softly, adjusting the wrapper. “Man like you suppose know say woman no dey ever tire when she get plan.”

That word — “plan” — stuck in my head. I sat up slowly. “Plan? Bola, wetin you mean?”

She turned, her eyes playful but sharp. “Don’t worry, Darous. You’ll understand soon.”


Before I could press her further, her phone rang. She picked it up, walked to the kitchen, and lowered her voice. I couldn’t hear the full conversation, but I caught fragments — “No…not yet…don’t worry, I’ll handle him.”

She came back smiling, but I wasn’t blind. Something was off.

“Who was that?” I asked casually.

She waved it off. “Nobody important. So, are you staying for breakfast or you want to run off like a thief?”

I smiled, though my mind was already ticking. “If you cook, I go stay. But abeg, no use too much maggi.”

She rolled her eyes. " Dem never born you since when I don dey cook" and with that she headed to the kitchen. The smell of fried eggs soon filled the air, and my stomach betrayed me with a loud growl.

We ate, joked, laughed like nothing serious happened. But deep down, I knew this was not ordinary. Bola wasn’t just a woman looking for pleasure. She was playing a bigger game. Like she wasn't looking to only secure promotion into the Premier League, she was competing for the Champions League also.


Later that afternoon, I went to site. The building project was dragging as usual. Workers were arguing, cement was missing, and one labourer swore another man stole his shovel. I shouted until my throat was dry, but the truth was I wasn’t even there mentally. Bola’s words, her smile, that secret phone call — everything played in my head like that movie titled Beauty In Black that I couldn’t pause.

“Boss, abeg no vex,” one mason said, scratching his dusty head. “Na this wood wey dem deliver no strong . If we use am, e go bend and we go fall”

I sighed. “So wetin you want make I do? I look like Plank bender for your eyes?”

They laughed, and I left them to argue. My phone buzzed. It was Jude.

“Guy, where you dey?” he asked.

“Site. Wetin happen?”

“Abeg, close early. We need to talk. Big talk.”

Jude’s voice was sharp, too sharp. Something was wrong.



By evening, I was back at the parlour. The gang was complete — Jude, Kenny, Baba T. But the mood was different. No jokes, no loud greetings. Just silence and eyes darting.

I sat. “Wetin dey sup? Una face dey strong like man wey chop pepper without water.”

Jude leaned forward. He wore a red shirt that clung to his lean frame, and his restless eyes were sharper than usual. “Darous, how well do you know Bola?”

The question hit me like slap. “Which kind talk be that? Why you ask?”

Kenny shifted in his seat, his big belly pressing against the table. “Guy, no vex, but people dey talk. Bola no be ordinary woman. She get history.”

I frowned. “History wey concern me how? Abi who no get history for here?”

Baba T finally spoke, his voice low and heavy. “Because na men like you she dey target.”

The table went quiet. I felt my chest tighten. “Target? Abeg, make una talk well. Wetin una mean?”

Jude looked me dead in the eyes. “You think say you dey enjoy romance? My guy, Bola dey play game wey pass romance. She’s connected. And if you no shine eye, e go end in tears.”

I laughed nervously. “Abeg, na Bola we dey talk about o. Ordinary Bola wey dey sell cosmetics before she rent that house. Which connection again?”

Kenny shook his head. “Ordinary no dey wear gold earring for night joint. Ordinary no dey make phone call wey voice dey change.”

I froze. “Wait. How you know about the call?”

Jude smirked. “Because you no be the only man Bola don carry go that house.”

Silence. Heavy silence.

I stood, ready to defend myself, defend her, but inside me, something cracked. Could it be true?


That night, I couldn’t sleep. Bola’s laughter echoed in my ears. Her words came back: “You have no idea what you just entered into.”

I tossed, turned, cursed myself for getting involved. But when my phone vibrated around midnight, and I saw her name flashing, I still picked.

“Darous,” her voice was soft, almost sweet. “Can you come over?”

Every sensible bone in my body screamed no. But lust and curiosity joined hands and pushed me out of bed.


Her house was dark except for a dim lamp in the corner. She opened the door wearing nothing but another wrapper, loose and careless. Her smile was warm, but her eyes carried secrets.

“Darous,” she whispered, pulling me in. “I couldn’t sleep.”

Before I could say a word, her hands were on me, her lips hungry. My head said run, my mind shouting in Asari Dokubo's voice "No be Juju be that?" kind of tone but my body said stay. And like Bayern Munich beating Chelsea, my body won.

We stumbled to the couch, kissing, touching, clothes falling. Her wrapper dropped, revealing the kind of body sculptors dream about. She kissed me like she wanted to erase doubt, and for a moment, I let her.

But just when it was about to go further, I heard something. A sound. A click. Like a door shutting softly.

I pulled back, breathing hard. “Bola, we’re not alone.”

Her smile didn’t fade. She leaned in, kissed my ear, and whispered, “I told you, Darous. You have no idea what you’ve entered.”

My blood ran cold.

To be continued.

@Divepen1 Obinnau.

Theblessedman is back... Let's bring life back to this literature section please...

Following bumper to bumper. Ride on TBM. It's been long. I miss your pen so much. Glad to have you back. ❤️❤️❤️

SmartestPopQUEEN:
Following bumper to bumper. Ride on TBM. It's been long. I miss your pen so much. Glad to have you back. ❤️❤️❤️

Yes my sister. How have you been? It's been long. Thanks for staying loyal to the station

TheBlessedMAN:
Yes my sister. How have you been? It's been long. Thanks for staying loyal to the station

No be you again @TheBlessedMAN,wey go start better thing come stop half way,I beeg,this na tinubu era ooo,head dey hot now,if you know say you nor fit finish wetin you wan start,just no start am,I no get that kind patient wey I get 7 years ago ooo cos tinubu don show my brains sheke

Any ways welcome back,

I nearly forgot how you infuse current reality to your work bro.
Good job

dawno2008:
No be you again @TheBlessedMAN,wey go start better thing come stop half way,I beeg,this na tinubu era ooo,head dey hot now,if you know say you nor fit finish wetin you wan start,just no start am,I no get that kind patient wey I get 7 years ago ooo cos tinubu don show my brains sheke

Any ways welcome back,

😂 Bro. I understand. But this time around., I'm back... Back for good...we finishing this with your support...

xaviercasmir:
I nearly forgot how you infuse current reality to your work bro.
Good job

nice to know you still got my back boss. 🙏

TheBlessedMAN:
Episode 1 – The Return of Darousmart

My name is Darous, short for Darousmart if you like full package, you know like you want to finish all your pronunciation subscription. Thirty-five years old according to my birth certificate, tall enough to pick things from the top of the shelve without anyone or anything aiding me, and dark, with a beard that some girls say make me look like I know what I’m doing in life. Truth is, I’m still hustling like every other Nigerian man with dreams bigger than his pocket.

I’m a building contractor — one of those guys you call when you want your house to look like Banana Island even though your budget is telling you to build in Mushin. I came from a poor background, and poverty taught me two things early: how to survive, and how to never forget a promise, whether good or bad.

That night, I was sitting in our usual joint — a rough but lively parlour down the street. The smell of suya mixed with cigarette smoke, and the fan overhead was spinning like it was tired of life. My friendship circle was already there.

Jude sat first, sharp guy, thirty-two, slim with restless eyes. He was the type that wore tight shirts and behaved like the whole world was owing him money. Beside him was Baba T, older, heavy, with a belly shaped like a drum. His Arsenal cap had faded, but he wore it with pride. He's the type of guy that can defend his point of view with his last breath. Kenny came next, short, stocky, head shining like freshly polished floor. He always wore bright colours that made you wonder if he was trying to start a carnival.

And then there was Bola our female friend.

Bola was thirty, tall, skin like caramel sugar. Her body was full in all the right places, hips that didn’t just move but announced themselves. She wore a black fitted dress that hugged her like it didn’t want to let go. Her gold earrings danced each time she laughed, and believe me, Bola loved to laugh. She laughs at literally anything that produces sound or motion.
If laughter has a subscription button, I'm sure Bola would have run out of laughs a long time ago.

“Contractor don land!” Jude shouted as I walked in. He slapped the table like he had just discovered oil. “Darousmart, the man that carry cement by day and women by night. How market?”

I dropped into a chair, shook my head. “Market no dey smile, Jude. I build for people, dem delay my money. I no build, dem insult me. Tell me, who go pay me for the insult and all these disgrace na?”

Kenny laughed so hard his belly shook. “Insult dey sweet for Lagos, my guy. Some people dey chop better with only insult.” he grabbed his half filled bottle and gulped it down.

Bola leaned closer, her perfume slipping into my nose like soft temptation. “Darous, you’re too gentle. If na me, nobody go owe me pass one week.”

Jude gave her a side look. “And how you go collect am? You go send your sweet smile or something stronger as a money collector?”

She smiled wide, her lips shining. “Sometimes smile works better than slap.”


Everybody laughed, but inside the laughter, I saw Jude’s eyes — sharp, watching Bola’s hand resting close to mine.

I cleared my throat. “Abeg, wetin una dey drink? This stress wey dey my body fit kill me if ah no quench am fast”

Baba T waved his hand. “Na beer dey here. If you want pepper soup join, just shout.”

“Bring the pepper soup,” I said, settling back. “But make sure e no be goat head wey dem cook yesterday o.”

The drinks came. Conversation flowed. But even with the noise, I felt Bola’s eyes on me. Heavy and at the same time searching.

She shifted her chair closer, her dress brushing my jeans. “Darous, I no go lie, you dey carry yourself different. I like am.”

I smiled but kept my voice calm. “You like wetin you see, abi?”

She held my gaze, her tongue wetting her lips slowly. “Maybe. But I like to confirm with my own eyes.”

Kenny broke the moment with his loud voice. “Abeg, na who dey pay today? Because if na me, make una no order anything again.”

Everybody laughed, but I wasn’t laughing. I was still looking at Bola, and Bola was still looking at me.

Later that night, when the drinks finished and one by one my friends left, Bola didn’t rush to go. She leaned in, whispering, “Darous, walk me home nau or you want make dem kidnap me.”

I pretend not to care "no be only Kidnap... Na Adultnap. You know say I don tire sha?"

She laughed softly and pleaded gently. "Please nau.. na beg I beg" she said with pity eyes.

Her house was just two streets away. The night air was cool, quiet, only the sound of distant generators humming. She walked slow, hips moving like rhythm, and I knew what was happening.

At her door, she didn’t fumble with her keys. She looked at me, eyes soft but daring. “You want to come in? Or you dey fear?”

I smiled. “Fear? Me? Bola, na house we dey talk about, no be prison.”

She pushed the door open. The small living room was neat, smelling of lavender. She dropped her bag, turned to me, and before I could say anything, her lips were on mine.

It was fire. Her mouth was soft but demanding. Her hands pulled me close, pressing that body against me. My head spun, but my hands had already found her waist, the curves warm and real.

She whispered against my ear, “I’ve been watching you, Darous. I know you’re not like the others.”

I chuckled, breathless. “And yet, here you are, kissing me like you’ve known me for years.”

Her laugh was low, dangerous. “Maybe I have.”

She pulled me towards the couch, her dress sliding as she moved. My eyes traced every line of her figure, and my heart pounded like I had just climbed three floors carrying cement. She kissed me again, deeper, and her hands…


I won’t describe the rest. But let’s just say Bola was not shy, and she knew exactly what she wanted.

When it was over, we lay there, catching our breath. Bola traced circles on my chest with her finger, smiling. “Darous, you have no idea what you just entered into.”

I turned to her. “What do you mean?”

She gave me that smile again — the kind that looked sweet but carried something dangerous. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

And right there, I knew this story wasn’t just about sex. It was about something bigger. Something that could make or break me.


To be continued.....

Welcome back Gawd of thunder pikin, e don tay..

Typicool8:
Welcome back Gawd of thunder pikin, e don tay..

yes my bro... It's been long. But we still stand. Let's ride this storm together boss.

TheBlessedMAN:
😂 Bro. I understand. But this time around., I'm back... Back for good...we finishing this with your support...

Oya nau ,let go that lovely ride,I dey ya back like hunchback TBM

Episode 3 – The Stranger in the Dark

My heart was thumping hard as Bola whispered those words in my ear. I froze, listening. At first, there was silence, then a faint shuffle, like someone adjusting their step carefully.

I pushed her gently away and stood firm. “Bola, who else dey this house?”

She just smiled, adjusting her wrapper like nothing was wrong. “Relax, Darous. You’re too jumpy, abi wetin dey worry you sef? You too dey do abegi.”

“Too jumpy? Make I no worry for my life?” I said, scanning the room like the machines in Terminator series. “Bola, I hear sound. This no be rat o, this one na person.”

Then the door to her bedroom creaked. My chest tightened. Out stepped a man.

He was tall, maybe in his early forties, with broad shoulders and a scar that cut across his cheek. His skin was dark, shiny with sweat, and his eyes were cold like stone. He wore black trousers and a plain white vest, and on his wrist was a gold chain that flashed under the lamp light.

He didn’t look surprised. He didn’t look confused. He just stood there, staring at me like I was a meat on his plate awaiting his teeths.

“Bola,” he said, voice deep, rough, and steady. “So this is him.” sizing me up with another deadly stare.

My blood ran cold.

I turned to Bola sharply. “Who is this?!”

She didn’t flinch. She didn’t even pretend. “Darous, meet Chuka.”

The man stepped forward slowly, each step heavy. “So you’re the contractor.” that came out more of a statement than a question.

I swallowed hard. “Contractor, yes. But wetin exactly dey happen here?”

Bola sat back on the couch, legs crossed, smiling like a cat that caught a bird. “Relax. Nothing dey do you tonight.”

I didn’t like that word — tonight.

Chuka stopped right in front of me, his eyes scanning me from head to toe. “You don’t look like much,” he said coldly. “But Bola says you’re different.”

I tried to hold my ground. “Look, I don’t know what kind of setup this is, but if you two have history, abeg count me out. I no dey do triangle relationship. No carry any blue film fantasy near me abeg!” I declared.

Bola chuckled. “Oh, it’s not about love, Darous. Chill na. Just calm. No be man you be?"

Chuka leaned closer, so close I could smell tobacco on his breath. “Do you know what you’ve stepped into?”

I clenched my fists, ready for anything. “I don’t care what it is. If this is trouble, I’m walking away right now.”

But Bola’s laugh stopped me. It was low, dark, almost mocking. “Darous, you can’t just walk away. Not after last night.”

Her words hit like thunder.

Chuka smirked. “She’s right. You’re in already. And once you’re in… there’s no easy way out.”

The silence stretched, heavy like cement on my chest. What does he mean by saying there's no way out like it's some kind of a wrestling theme. But if you look at it very well, the situation kind of relate with a wrestling match in a Hell in a Cell . Chuka (the undertaker) Vs Darous (rey Mysterio).

I finally snapped. “Enough of these riddles! Bola, talk straight. Who is this man? What do you mean I can’t walk away?”

She stood, walked slowly to me, placed her hand on my chest. Her touch was soft, but her eyes were sharp. “Darous, you’ve just been chosen. And you should even count yourself lucky. You see Chuka here… he’s the one that decides if you’re strong enough to enter the game.”

I pushed her hand off, stepping back. “Chosen for what? I resemble a chosen generation member for your eyes? Abeg free me...abi who dey follow you play nonsense games!”

Chuka smiled, but it wasn’t friendly. “We’ll see soon.”

Without another word, he turned and walked out, shutting the door behind him.

I turned back to Bola, anger boiling. “What nonsense is this? You bring me here, then your man appear like ghost? You think I’m a fool?”

But Bola didn’t look shaken. She just tilted her head and said softly, “Darous… if you leave now, you’ll regret it. If you stay, you’ll understand. I just hope you don't make this worst than it needs to be.”

I shook my head, grabbed my shirt from the couch. “You dey craze. I’m leaving.”

She called after me, her voice calm but loaded. “Remember what I said. You can’t walk away.”



The night air outside felt heavy as I stepped out. My mind was racing. Chuka’s scarred face haunted me. Bola’s calm smile scared me even more. What the hell had I stepped into?

By the time I got home, it was past 1 a.m. I locked my door twice, dropped on my bed, and stared at the ceiling. Sleep must be also scared of Chuka because it didn’t come that night. I was wide awake till the next day.


Morning came again the following day. My phone buzzed. It was Jude.

“Guy, abeg, meet us for joint by noon. We need to talk.”

I dragged myself to the beer parlour by noon. The guys were already drinking. Kenny’s laughter filled the place, but when he saw me, his face turned serious.

“Darous,” he said, “you look like person wey see ghost.”

I dropped into a chair. “Not ghost. Worse.”

Jude leaned forward, eyes sharp as usual. “Talk.”

I told them everything — about what happened at Bola's apartment, Chuka stepping out of the bedroom, his words, her talk about being chosen. I didn’t hold back.

When I finished, the table was silent.

Baba T was the first to speak. “Chuka? Did you say his name is Chuka?”

“Yes. Scar on his face. Dark eyes like person wey don smoke his last card. You know him?”

Baba T nodded slowly, face pale. “Everybody knows Chuka. That man is dangerous. He’s not an ordinary street guy. He used to work for one of the big boys in Surulere back then — the kind that run dirty deals, you know, with politicians. People say he vanished after one deal went bad. If he’s back… then Bola is not a small matter be that o.”

My stomach knotted. “So Bola is part of that life?”

Jude slammed the table. “I warned you! I told you Bola no be ordinary woman. Now you see?”

I rubbed my face, stressed. “So what do I do? Walk away?”

Kenny laughed bitterly. “Walk away? well, sha no loose guard bro. No loose guard o. And we gat your back always bro....”

The words chilled me.


That night, I stayed in my room, door locked, lights off. I tried to focus on site work, on invoices, on bills piling up. But my mind wouldn’t rest.

By 10 p.m., my phone buzzed again. Bola.

I stared at the screen, heart pounding.
Like Barcelona knocking on Newcastle door, based on past experience - should I pick or just let this hag wore herself out?

Three rings. Four. Then it stopped.

Relief washed over me — until after like five mins I heard a knock at my door.

Three slow knocks.

I froze.

My phone buzzed again. This time a text message.

“Darous, open the door. It’s me.”

Bola. At my house.

I stood there, phone in hand, staring at the door, sweat rolling down my face.

What if Chuka was with her? What if this was a trap?

The knocking came again, louder this time.

“Darous,” her voice floated through the door, calm, sweet. “I know you’re there. Don’t make me angry.”

My chest tightened.

And then my phone buzzed once more — another message.

“You can't run forever. Man up and open the damn door!.”

I dropped the phone, my hands shaking.

This was no longer a game...no, this Barca wants to turn my Newcastle to Oldcastle by all means necessary.

To be continued....

Indeed we're on alooonngg ride

Episode 4 – The Night Visitor

The knocking came again. Three slow thuds, patient, like she was drumming my fear.

“Darous… open the door. It’s me, I know you can hear me.”

Her voice. Calm, sweet, sharp.

I should have ignored it. I should have stayed quiet. But curiosity is a bastard. Pride is worse. Together, they dragged me to the door like a cow heading towards the slaughter house.

I opened it.

Bola slipped inside, wrapped in cream-colored cloth, smelling of something too soft for the kind of danger she carried. She didn’t wait for permission. Just glided in, sat on my bed like she owned the place.

“You’re shaking,” she teased after settling her gaze on me for some secs.

“I’m not.” I lied so confidently I almost believed myself.

She tilted her head, that wicked smile stretching her lips. “You think I came here to make you feel terrible?”

I folded my arms. “and why else will you be here at this hour after I emphatically told you and that your guy that I don't want anything to do with you or whoever the hell you work for.. I just don't care!.” I roared at her like a frustrated Amorim at his players.

She laughed, low and musical, but it didn’t touch her eyes. “Darous, men like you always think you’re free until the net tightens. You’ve already stepped inside. just stop making this more difficult for yourself bobo yi.”

My chest tightened as those words came out of her mouth.

She leaned close, her wrapper brushing my arm, her voice almost a whisper. “Don’t disappoint me. When I’m disappointed… men disappear.”

Then she stood, smoothed her wrapper, and walked out. Not a bang, not a slam—just the soft click of the door that sounded louder than thunder.

I sat there, staring at the empty room, wondering if she’d just cursed me or seduced me. This definitely isn't what I planned when I stepped foot into this area few years ago.


By morning, I tried to distract myself with work thoughts and scrolling through my phone to check the scores of the football matches that was played the previous day. Then my phone rang. Unknown number.

“Hello?”

“Mr. Darous?” The voice was smooth, confident. A woman’s.

“Yes, speaking.”

“This is Mrs. Adeoye. I was given your number. I have a renovation project. Just a wall extension of my quarters. Can we meet this afternoon?”

I frowned. “Sorry ma, who gave you my contact?”

She chuckled lightly, like the question didn’t matter. “You came recommended. That’s all you need to know.”

I didn’t push further. Money doesn’t like too many questions. “ooookay ma, I’m available.” sounds spelled more than pronounced.

Her house later that day was another world. Big gate, fresh paint, flowers trimmed like they had a monthly salary. Mr Adeoye was a tall, light-skinned woman in a fitted dress, sunglasses balanced on her head. Moderately pretty for a woman of her age. Everything about her said class.

She showed me the area she wanted to renovate, asked questions, listened to answers, and sealed it with a simple, “Send me your estimate asap and please I hate disappointments. So don’t disappoint me.”

No smiles, no riddles. Just business. Even if she knew me deeper than the work, she didn’t show it. I thought of asking her again who recommended me to her so I can atleast say a thank you to the person but I later decide against it. If she wants me to know, she would tell me herself - I thought.

For a brief moment, I felt relief. At least I got something else to focus my brain on aside Bola and her world of madness. I now had money to chase, cement to mix, and a reason to focus.


Later that evening at the joint,

Jude and Kenny were already there, beers in hand Baba T had an appointment with one of his clients so he wasn't on ground.

“You dey shine today,” Kenny said, grinning. “Na Bola touch give you this glow?”

I laughed, too loud. “Forget that one. I even get new job. One fine woman like that. Fine house, fine money.”

Jude raised a brow. “Good for you. But you sure you’re alright? You look… shaken.”

I was about to answer when Kenny chipped in with his phone and begin to show us a comment he made on a Facebook post of one beautiful lady in her early twenties that got him nothing but humiliation.
He had commented that, if the lady was a lawyer, he wouldn't mind committing crime every day of his life just for the chance of hiring her as an attorney.

And the lady had replied with this : "and I would work the case against you and you'll get a life sentence so I don't see your baboon face ever again."

We all burst into laughter after reading the post. But my own laughter was short-lived when I remember it was my involvement with a woman looking so innocent that's currently giving me sleepless nights. Jude noticed this and he asked me again,
"Guy, you sure say you dey okay"

I gulped down the remaining beer in my cup and took a deep breath.

Maybe it was the alcohol courage, maybe the noise, but I told them everything. How Bola came to my room last night. The way she spoke, the way she left.

Kenny froze mid-drink. Jude’s expression turned tight.

“What?” I asked. “Why una dey look me like that?”

Jude leaned in. “ I heard that whenever Bola pays a man a midnight visit… she leaves something behind o.”

“Something like what?” I queried.

Jude lowered his voice. “A mark. Small cloth. Tooth. Even hair. No be mistake. If you see am for your house, it means you’ve been claimed.”

My stomach dropped. “Claimed? Like goat? When I'm not a property..”

Jude didn’t laugh. “Like property. You better check, Darous.”

I forced a laugh. “Abeg, una dey yarn nonsense.” But my heart was already racing.

I didn’t wait till our usual departure time. I ran home.

The moment I opened my door, I knew I'm in a big world of trouble if there's anything true in what Jude just said. On the old chair by the wall, lying too neat to be accident, was a strip of cream cloth.

The same sample of cloth Bola had worn when she entered my house last night.

I picked it up with trembling fingers. Light, ordinary… yet heavy. It smelled faintly of her scent.

I stood there in silence, the city buzzing outside, the cloth burning in my palm.

No more guessing. No more pretending.

I had been marked, and unlike a script, I didn't know my score.

To be continued...

Episode 5 – The Call

I laid the cloth back on my chair like an omen. I stood there, chest rising and falling like I’d sprinted a marathon inside a room when I hadn’t moved one bit.

Close to six months. That’s how long Bola had been in my life. I remembered the first day I met her clearly now, as if my mind had been storing it for this exact moment.

It was at a birthday party—Tayo’s cousin’s bash. She walked in wearing yellow, a scarf tied loose, her laughter loud enough to silence others. She sat beside me, and just like that, we were friends. Not too close, not too far—just enough. She’d call sometimes, show up at the beer parlour and will often offer to buy us drinks. I remember when she even sent a client my way. I thought she was one of those generous spirits Lagos sometimes spat out by accident.

Now, staring at that cloth, I knew she hadn’t stumbled into my life by chance - No, she had planted herself like a seed. Waiting, watching and stalking me like a predator studying every of it's prey movement.

My phone buzzed. Unknown number. My gut clenched. I stared at the phone for some moments thinking of who the caller might be but as a building contractor whose only connection to the world is through his phone, I decided to pick it because you never can tell when a potential client would need your service.

I answered the call with a shrug.

“Darous,” the voice said, calm, rich. Male this time. “Good day to you.”

“Who’s this?” I inquired.

“well, well, for starters, I welcome you into our midst.” He paused probably waiting to get a response from me but when he got none other than my heavy breathing , he continued "now straight to business, you see, when we place a mark on someone, it's always because we saw a potential worth investing on"

My grip tightened on the phone. My jaw locked. “what kind of investment?” I shouted but in a soft tone.

"Calm down and let me talk"

"No, let you talk? You just said you want to invest in me and I don't think I ever made any announcement that I need one... If you don't know what to do with your ill-gotten money, you can go and buy Police station or Manchester United...trust me, that will yield you more profits than I'll ever..... So if you don't have anything else to..."

"Guy, you need to calm down while I'm still asking politely " he cuts in. "Because whether you like it or not, you have already subscribed into this network"

"What network?" I said into the phone as I walked outside to catch some fresh air because of the heat that was boiling inside of me at that moment.

“The Circle,” he said, almost casually, like he was inviting me to join a mobile network. I sat under the Moringa tree situated inside our compound.
“It's a network of visionaries, smart brains like you, including men and women who run this city while the rest of the population think it runs itself. You have potential, Darous. Attention to detail. Impeccable focused brain. Calm under pressure and that's what earned you the invitation.”

I almost laughed. “So that’s what this is? A recruitment drive? You people need a new staff?”

“Don’t mock what you don’t understand,” the voice said, tone tightening. “Most men beg to be noticed. You were chosen. Don’t waste it.”

Before I could answer, Kenny’s voice barked from behind me. “Who you dey follow talk wey make your face hard like Jude yansh?”

I spun. Kenny was standing at my back, Jude right behind him. My phone was still to my ear.

“Who’s that?” Jude demanded.

The voice on the line chuckled. “Ah, your friends. Good. Let them listen. This concerns them too.”

I put it on speaker while I face my friends.

The voice oozed confidence. “all you people need to know is that your friend has been marked. Nothing he can do to make us change our mind. There’s absolutely no harm in joining us. The Circle protects its own. Wealth, power, security. Everything this rotten country denies, we shall provide in multiple folds.”

Kenny spat on the floor. “? This one na whyning, abeg cut the call jare before I call police. Who be small pikin for here?.”

The voice laughed. “The police? Obviously you don't know how rotten this country is. Those men in blue and black uniforms eat from our hand. And the courts? We write their judgments. If you doubt it, try them. See where it gets you, but I must warn you, there will be serious consequences for such actions against the Circle. Any way, I give you till tonight to give me a call back once you've made your decision. If I don't get a response from you by midnight, I'll take it as a no and that, "he paused. "My guy, will make you feel very sorry...”

Jude shook his head, face tight with anger. “We’re not doing this. Darous, don’t even think about it. Forget this Circle rubbish. We go show them who dey run this street.....” He ranted on and on and on.

My chest throbbed. Their voices clashed in my ears—Kenny spitting curses, Jude insisting we could resist, the Circle’s man painting power like paradise.

I cut the line.

For a long moment, silence filled the atmosphere. The tree groaned above us through it's cool breeze.

Finally, Kenny said, voice sharp: “Guy, no even reason am. Don’t bend. If you bow now, you go bow forever...no turn yourself to their mumu boy.”

Jude nodded. “We stand together. No matter what.”

I wanted to believe them. I really did. But my mind slid back to that cream strip I left on the floor of my apartment. Bola’s trap. Bola’s seed. Six months of her smiling, touching my life like she belonged. She’d been patient. Purposeful. And now, this.

Despite the assurances from my friends, i didn’t sleep that night. Midnight came and gone, I didn't call the number but I had a plan in mind. And it starts with seeing Bola the following morning.

At dawn, I went to Bola's place.

Not a big house but it's in a relatively quiet street. Too quiet. Her gate man, an old Yoruba man with tired eyes, shook his head before I even asked. “Madam no dey. She travel since yesterday.”

My stomach sank. “Travel where?” I said faintly.

He shrugged, smiling that half-smile of men who know more than they’ll admit. “ I don't know oga... She no tell me where she dey go.”

I left with nothing but the echo of his word making waves in my head.

Back in my room, I sat with the cloth. Staring. Thinking. Six months of her weaving her way into my life, six months of planting roots so deep I hadn’t noticed. I nearly cried. All my plans to get to the bottom of this situation starts with getting Bola to talk but now she's nowhere to be found.

I was in my room for close to three hours, trying to think of what next to do to get myself out of this situation before my phone buzzed again.

This time, no warmth. No diplomacy. Just a cold blade of a voice.

“Darous.” Same Circle man that called me yesterday.

“What now?” My voice was tired, raw. " I told you I'm not joining any silly organisation. We got law in this country and it says every citizen has a right to freedom of...."

"Will you just shut the Fk up?" He roared into my ear and that was enough to silence my voice.

“You’ve made a mistake. We offered you a hand. You slapped it away.”

“Good,” I said. “Then leave me the hell alone.” I managed to say. "I'm not the only guy with a sharp mind in this country...if your net is as wide as you claimed, you'll easily get yourself another man to make his life miserable....."

The caller interrupted again, his voice sharpened, every word like broken glass. “Well, here's to inform you that your friend Jude is with us now. We always have contingency for situations like yours. I knew you wouldn't make that call. So we got Jude"

"What are you saying? What do you mean you got Jude?"

"Well, he's alive—for the moment. If you care about him, you’ll come by Midnight. To the warehouse by the lagoon. Alone. If you don’t, his blood will be on your hands.”

My chest hollowed out. “You bastard—”

The call ended.

This time, I didn’t shout. I didn’t panic. I just sat there, phone in my hand, heart pounding like a war drum.

Jude. My brother. Almost like a blood to me. They had crossed a line, they had gone too far.

And I knew, deep in my bones in that moment, that my life may never remain the same again.

To be continued.

This one is deep ooo

xaviercasmir:
This one is deep ooo

Indeed my bro... This guy and trouble na 5 and 6 😂😂😂😂😂

E don dey set small small,na from open eye fight dey start

Weldon TBM,in mama peace tone,I say quatinue

Episode 6 — The Trial of Memory.



I picked my phone and dialed Jude's number several times but it wasn't reachable. I put a call through to Kenny - his phone had switched off. I was totally at a crossroad - confused on what next to do. Going to the police isn't an option atleast if what the Circle man said is true. This isn't the time to call his bluff, Jude's life is hanging on every decision I make right from that minute.

The phone buzzed in my hand like somebody was dropping coal inside my chest. Same number. Same cold feeling.

I picked. From his tone this time around, I know it's Chuka.

“Darous. Listen carefully”

Chuka’s voice. Low. Flat. Like a rain that comes slow and wrecks your roof. I could hear someone murmuring behind him.

“now accept the video call,” he said.

I accept the video call with hands that would not stop shaking.

On the screen of the phone was Jude. Tied to a chair. Rope digging into his wrists. His face one mess — swollen, bleeding, eyes raw. The gag in his mouth was already dark. He tried to move his lips around it; sound came out like a wet animal noise.

My legs went weak. For a heartbeat I forgot how to breathe.

Chuka’s voice came again. “You know why we've been calling you. You have a special talent that is crucial to the operation of this network. You see what others miss. That’s why you were chosen. Now if you don't want your friend's body parts to be sent to you in a sack and still get framed for killing him, Tonight you have to prove yourself. Tonight we test you. Twelve midnight. Third Mainland underpass. Warehouse nine. Come alone. No police. No tricks. If we smell anything off? Your friend dies and you still go to prison.”

He hung up.

The flat felt smaller. The sweat trickling down my face felt heavier than a brick.

For a while I sat on the floor, unable to move. Breathing heavily like someone about to die. At that moment, the memory of the incident that made Jude become a crucial part of my life roar through me.

The night I will never forget. I had walked myself to the edge of the Third Mainland Bridge. I had my shoes off, my mind empty, the water looking like a black end. I had typed a message on my phone for whom it may concern and left it at home — the kind of words a man uses when he has decided the world can go on without him. I had climbed the side railing of the bridge. Only thing separating me from the endless pit of water below was just my hands that were still hanging on to the railings. I had made my decision. This life isn't worth living anymore. Debts everywhere. No food to eat. The future looked bleak. No sign of hope from anywhere. No I can't continue like this - I had thought to myself.

I muster up the little courage needed for this final task of my life but then I felt a hand grab me from behind. It was Jude's.

He grabbed me hard enough that my neck burned. “Are you mad?” he shouted in my ear before he dragged me gently back to the roadside. He slapped me. He slapped until my brain came back from the dark. He didn’t beg. He didn’t cry. He shouted. He carried me home like I was a suitcase. He fed me. For nearly eight months, he fed me. Never complained for even one moment. He paid some of my debts. He made sure the landlord didn’t throw all my work tools into the gutter. When I had nothing, he showed up every day with a plate. His hands were rough from work; he still split the last of his food with me. He slept on the floor while I took the bed. He kept me alive when I had already decided to die. He gave me hope. He was the Chelsea my Amorim needed to beat to keep my life.

That is why Jude’s face on that tiny screen punched me so hard — he had once built my life out of nothing. Now his own life depends on me.



I made my decision. I can't let my friend die because of me. No, they might as well kill me too. I won't be able to forgive myself if anything happens to Jude.



An hour to midnight, I was ready. I threw on my jacket, ran to the bus stop, jumped a danfo, then an okada, then walked the final stretch. My feet phased through the city noise. Horns. Music. Football lovers arguing, debating on why Sanchez foul wasn't suppose to earn him a red card- that the referee ought to have pleaded with him not to come out of the box again. The noises were closed but still far away. The only sound my mind concentrated on was the one in my mind repeating Jude’s name.

Warehouse nine sat under the bridge like a rusted tooth. The air smelled of diesel, salt, and something metallic. The door was open when I reached it. They were waiting — of course they were.

Inside the place was darker than the street. A single bulb hung and swung above a chair. Jude slumped there. He lifted his face when he heard me and his one good eye found mine. That look on his eyes said a thousand words, one of which is "I'm counting on you."

Two men quickly stood behind me

They frisked me from head to toe incase I had a weapon on me. They signaled to Chuka who appeared to be their boss. Then Chuka approached me with a revolver in his left hand. He held one live round up and slotted it into a chamber. He spun the cylinder slow. The sound cut the air like a little knife. Cold shivers ran down my spine. Here I am, in this godforsaken place with no hope of getting out alive.

“You are here,” Chuka said, his voice cutting into my thoughts. “Good. We must know what you are this night. Maybe the lady is right about you, it's time to prove it or your friend..... ...” He mouthed the POW sound and mimic a trigger pull with his other hand.

They brought a laptop to my face. The screen flashed a long chain of words. Twenty four words seed phrase thrown up for a blink. Then the screen closed.

Chuka pushed the gun so the barrel rested against Jude’s temple. His voice came soft like a lesson.

“As you can see, there's just one bullet inside this gun. You'll have to complete four memory recall test ” he said. “Two of them about the night Bola came into your room and the other two from what you saw today... Here's where the danger lies for your friend. I'll pull the trigger every ten second till you complete each test and pray the bullet doesn't find it's way into your friend's brain before the final test. You will feel the time. So now, you see, your friend's life depends on you. You are the MC of the occasion.” He ended with a smirk.

I gulped down the lump of saliva piling up inside my mouth.

They did not shout the timer. They let it hang like a noose. They wanted the rules to live inside my mind.

“Question one,” Chuka said. “When Bola came to your house, what were her exact words moments before she left?”

There was no way for that memory to be hard. Truly her voice had been low, a little bored and at the same time a little hungry.

I heard it in my head like it was standing right there. “Don’t disappoint me. When I’m disappointed… men disappear.” I said it quicker than it reads.

Chuka gave a satisfactory nod and shifted his focus to Jude. Jude gave a small choked sound. "Seems your friend here just bought you another ten seconds...ahahahahahahah". He laughed then suddenly paused. “Question two,” he said. “Describe the mark she left behind.”

My fingers went into my pocket, touched the cream cloth, felt the thin cotton, the way the edge curved like a crescent. I said it fast: “Cream, thin cotton, the edge cut in a crescent.”

My whole body was wet with sweat now. Fear was a cold thing, but another thing crawled under it — anger. The thing people break you with is the piece you are proud of.

“Now,” the Chuka said. “We give you the screen test. You had one flash on the laptop before. The seed phrase of a bitcoin wallet was displayed on the screen. Type exactly what you saw. Fail and Jude pays.”

One guy held the opened laptop to my face again. The cursor glowed.

“Start.” Chuka said.

My fingers hovered. I could feel the keys like small bones under my fingertips.

My head clicked through the words — lime, wildebeest, lukaku, sanchez, onana, pendu, balon , dor, robbery, pessi, penaldo, goat, money , ritual, tinubu, pain, mango — the rhythm came back. I started typing.



"Nine" Chuka counted.

My fingers hit keys like a drum. — I hit enter.

The screen flashed green: passphrase accepted — wallet unlocked.

A small sound leaked from Jude. Relief? Pain? I couldn’t tell.

Their eyes watched me like numbers. Nobody smiled except Chuka, the one whose voice had just made the countdown. “You do well,” he said after a puff from the hemp in his hand. “You see and remember. That is useful.”

“ now the Final test.” the leader said. His voice got closer. He pushed the gun a little harder to Jude’s temple. “In the video call I made with you this afternoon where I show Jude to you. There was writing on the wall behind his head. Say what was written on the wall. I don't need to remind you of what's at stake if you fail.”

The video call had been ugly. I had watched it at home and almost choked. Also I had seen the torn poster behind Jude. The letters were smeared, half rubbed away. In the blur, one line stood out enough to prick my memory.

Ten seconds is a long time when your friend is a human metronome for your life.

They counted soft: eight……nine......

I spoke quick, not waiting on them to complete the full stretch. “Safety First — the ‘First’ is smeared at the end, the ink run across the ‘i’,” I said.

A pause. Chuka stared at me. He cocked his head back with utter bewilderment, then hand the gun to one of his guys.

Jude’s head flopped forward a little. A wet sound came from his throat.

They eased. Chuka stepped back, like he’d finished a meal. “We told you what we wanted to know. You answered. You are fast. You are careful.” His voice had the taste of danger.

Chuka’s voice spoke through the silence again, lower, closer, like someone in my ear. “We chose you because you see, you notice patterns, you have a sharp mind but how come you miss Bola?......”

Those words were like a cold wind. They knew. Bola had been careful. She came some months back. Soft at first — fun, drinks at the joint, a call now and then, small favors. She made space in my life.

Chuka the leader sat back and spoke like a man offering advice.

“Bow to us,” he said. “Join the Circle. Use your head. We will give you shelter, money, power. You will not starve anymore. You will not be weak.”

I couldn't speak. Just staring at the large scar that ran across his face.

“But if you refuse,” Chuka said smoothly, “Well, we have our ways to make you feel unimaginable pains. You slapped our hand once and you see how we reacted. You will watch people you love drown. You will watch them bleed until you beg.”

I looked at Jude. He was breathing. His eye found mine and in that look I saw the whole of our past. The bond we shared - deeper than what words could describe.

My hands shook. The cream cloth in my pocket had become a hot thing I could keep touching. I thought of the bridge again — the silence before Jude grabbed me; his hands like an anchor; the slap that was a lifeline. That memory was thicker than fear. It was the aggregate of your past

I swallowed. “If I agree to join you,” I said quiet, “what will I be doing for you?”

The leader’s smile was spare. “Small thing first. Retrieve a package from somewhere. Do it and you earn small trust. Then more. We put you where your mind can help us..”

I thought about telling them to go to hell. I thought about hitting Chuka with the boot on my feet, grabbing Jude and running into the dark. But I also thought about what happens when men like them are pushed to the limits — they are not stupid.

“Give me until dawn,” I said. Not yes, not no. It was a well calculated risk because - time to think is a dangerous thing to ask from people who ply their trade with power and sheer force.

Chuka shrugged. “Dawn,” he said. “We'll wait.” He motioned and a man loosened the ropes around Jude. He released an agonising sound when the gag was removed from his mouth.

I held Jude’s arm a little as they led us out. His skin was warm. He muttered something that came out more like taste than words: “Thank you...”

Outside, it was three am. The city had not stopped. Dawn gave me a little time, and time is a weapon if you know how to use it.

They showed me what they could do tonight. May be tomorrow, I will show them what I can do back.

To be continued

Make Darous make the deal with them,then weaken them from within, sense no go kill me

Talking about "sense" if that stupid Sanchez been getting small,he for not collect red card early into the game, anyways we wey get am not dey to loud am
Weldon TBM,keep the anointing flowing

dawno2008:
Make Darous make the deal with them,then weaken them from within, sense no go kill me

Talking about "sense" if that stupid Sanchez been getting small,he for not collect red card early into the game, anyways we wey get am not dey to loud am
Weldon TBM,keep the anointing flowing

😀😀😀😀 wetin Sanchez do no make sense 😀 in china, that's grounds for cast*ration😀😀😀😀😀

This episode is dedicated to my loyal fans from Countless and The Dog Attendant. Special shout out to Tiffanyfan Dawno2008, and Xaviercasmir. You guys are the greatest fans any writer could ever wish for. Thanks for scratching my back when my hands couldn't reach..



Episode 7 -- Rules of the Circle.

The road back was quiet and thought-provoking at the same time. Jude rubbed his wrists occasionally like the ropes were still there. I told him, “Guy, crash for my side till morning. You no fit go home by this time.”

But he shook his head. “My bro, I need to go home. If Cynthia no see me till morning, she fit run mad. You sabi that girl wahala. Even right now ah no know where I go tell her say I go.”

"Forget wetin Cynthia wan talk this guy..."

"Darous, you know say this thing no suppose leak out.. you know how this people they operate..."

"What are you saying?"

"Make we keep this thing between us.. that's the only way to keep everyone safe.."


"How does keeping this from...."

"Calm...." He cuts in. " What they don't know can not kill them.. better to bury this secret between us than to bury our friends with our own hands... Don't you think?" He stressed emphatically.

I wanted to argue, but I saw the truth in what he said.

He asked me what I've decided about the Circle. I told him I have no choice than to join them,

Just like Dawno, a guy I knew back then use to say, "join them but finish them from within..."

Jude agreed with me on that decision.

So we bid eachother farewell when I put him on a bike heading in his house direction. I watched him disappear into the dark. But me? I carried the Circle on my head like load. All what had happened within the last twenty four hours seemed like a dream to me. I promised them I'll give my response by dawn. I got home thirty minutes after Jude and I departed and fell straight on the bed like a log of wood.

By dawn, I was still working my brains around every possible way to go about this situation without getting myself or anyone I care about in harms way but none was forthcoming.

I picked my phone from the bedside. It's time to give Chuka a call. A call that will eventually determine the course of my life from that moment.
I dialed the number Chuka gave me to call.

He picked on the first ring. This people no dey ever sleep? I thought to myself.
His voice was calm, the kind of calm that comes from a man who already owns the outcome.

"Hello" I said into the phone with a weak and barely audible voice.

"So what have you decide?" He asked. Just straight to business.

"I don't think I have any other choice"

"You don't think?" He released a light chuckle. "Seems you are still having second thoughts "

"Second thoughts? I'm having five hundred billion thoughts right now... don't you underestimate the gravity of what you dropped on me... "

“okay.. let me tell you a quick one. Listen. In this life, there are some things you don't know. And you know the weird part?

"What?"

"There are also some things you don't even know you don't know... So for your sake, I'll send you a WhatsApp link soon. Let me show you what's at stake....,” Chuka said. “Check your WhatsApp in the next five minutes.” He hung up.

Suddenly five minutes seemed like it will never come. I started feeling anxious as soon as he said I had to wait for five minutes - my mind was racing with worst case scenarios.

At exactly five minutes, he sent a link to me through his own private WhatsApp
I clicked on it .
The link opened a secret WhatsApp group. No display picture, no group description. Just a black circle as the icon. Members muted. Only admins could post.

The first message was an automated one. It reads as follows:

“Welcome. This is the Circle. All your rules live here. No arguments. No debates. Just read, obey, delete from memory. If you disobey, the group will kick you out permanently — and we don’t mean WhatsApp kick.”

The messages rolled in one after the other like commandments:

RULE ONE: No police or media is allowed in our business. Not even gist. Even if you are drunk, don't mention their name and don't ever take our business to the media. We have long ears.

RULE TWO: Faces are not your business. You see who you see. The ones you don't see, forget them. Curiosity kills the cat. But here we kill people that ask too much.

RULE THREE: Do the work, take your cut, act normal. Blend in. Smile with neighbors. Price tomato in market. Complain about the economy, Watch football with your guys. But remember — the Circle is your shadow. We are everywhere.

RULE FOUR: The greatest rule of all. Do not under any circumstances watch a Manchester United match before going on any mission. We need you focused and not questioning every life choices.

I read the messages twice again before Chuka dropped another message.

"Before you think of testing boundaries… watch carefully the videos below."

A video format dropped on the screen. I clicked on it.

The clip opens with an old rooftop CCTV footage. A young man in a blue jacket arguing with two men in suits. He refuses something they slide toward him and walks away. The video then cuts to news footage from Arise Tv showing the young man's body on the ground two days later after he “fell” from the 10th floor.
I remember catching the news on a Facebook reel sometimes back and everyone was pointing fingers to the dead guy's close friend. Nobody knew the truth till today. So it was the Circle’s punishment to him for refusing to join them and running to the police.

The first video closed immediately after I finished watching it. Then the second one dropped. I managed to click on it, despite my hands shaking with anticipation.
The clip starts with a screen-record of a viral social media post where a young woman openly called out the Circle. The next cut is CCTV outside her apartment: two shadowy figures leave something at her door. Seconds later, she opens it and the screen jumps to hospital footage — she’s on a stretcher, barely conscious, phone still in her hand with the same viral post on screen. The video ends with black background text: “She spoke. We silenced.”

Then Chuka dropped another message that reads as this :

"These are not stories. These are facts. This is what happens when anyone breaks our rules or tries to expose us. Darous, learn from them."

My hands were trembling so hard I almost dropped my phone. My chest felt tight, like something heavy was sitting on it. The first video alone had left me cold — the sight of that man in the blue jacket, once alive and angry, later lying lifeless on the ground. It told me one thing: saying “no” was the same as signing my own death paper.

Then came the second video. The woman’s post, her bravery, and how quickly it ended with her broken on a stretcher. My stomach turned. I felt a deep wave of fear I had never known before. My palms were sweaty, my throat dry, my heart hammering in my ears.

It wasn’t just fear of dying — it was the terror of knowing the Circle could twist reality, control what the whole country believed, and erase anyone who stood against them. The country thought those were accidents, random tragedies. But I now knew the truth — the Circle was behind it all.

"Darous, have you made your choice?.” Chuka's message cut across my thoughts. "Just hit the like emoji on this message if you are in or hit the anger emoji if you are out"

In their own (north Korean president) Kim-Jong-Un twisted way of thinking, these people really think they are still giving me a choice when everything they've shown me so far has been the direct opposite?

I swallowed hard as I pressed hard on the screen. I hit the like emoji that means
“Chuka… I accept the initiation. I’m in. I'm not your slave. Do as you wish. My Spartacus has been captured and whether I like it or not, I must fight for the glory of Rome."

There was silence for some moments before he typed again.

“Your mission briefing will be sent via a one-time link. Make sure to review it thoroughly before closing it, as you won't be able to get back to it later.”

Then another one popped up.

“just know that slow death is sweeter than a quick one. And we know how to cook it slow, even Hilda Baci dey learn from us... ” The message ended with a smiling emoji.

I sat there staring at my screen, reading the rules again and again until the words started burning themselves into my head.


An hour later, My phone buzzed. New chat. Not from the Circle this time. Mrs. Adeoye.

MRS. ADEOYE:
“Good morning, Darous I haven't heard from you, have you vanished?. That work I gave you, how far? You know Lagos people forget things fast. Send me the quotations please.”

Forget......Vanish.....Her words joined Bola’s warning and the Circle’s threat like a haunting choir. The fear that gripped me made me cringe.

I managed to type back something polite, my hands were still kind of unsteady. I sent her the details of the work, materials needed and the cost estimate including workmanship fee. She acknowledged it and typed an OK as a response.

Now it's official: one day I'm the hustler with contracts and deadlines; another day I'm the Circle’s pawn, waiting for my first mission to drop into that cursed WhatsApp group.

I managed a small laugh at myself.
People will still see me buying akara, complaining about NEPA, making jokes about traffic. But inside, they won't know that a part of me was no longer mine.

Truly what Chuka said is profound.
There are some things we don't know and there are some things we don't even know we don't know.

To be continued

Welcome back my love. I've really missed nairaland. You don't know how happy I am to see your new story. Ride on love. Gat your back❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

TBM himself you'll never change, imagine rule 4
"Never watch Manchester United match before a mission"

Thanks for the mention,no capping 💯

Nice one boss.
you are not far from the truth concerning Manchester United but haba na saying that we cannot to watch them to avoid questioning our existence is going far
Up United