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Chapter 35: Heir’s Dilemma
Veröffentlichungsdatum:
24.03.2026 17:26:18
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THE PROFESSOR'S DIRTY CLAIM Chapter 35: Heir’s Dilemma
The speedboat cut north through the Gulf of Guinea, engines throttled low to conserve fuel and silence. Dawn had broken an hour earlier, painting the sea in bruised oranges and golds, but neither of us had spoken since leaving the island. The only sounds were the slap of water against the hull and the low rumble of the outboards. Damian stood at the wheel, one hand on the throttle, the other resting on the small of my back, possessive even now, fingers occasionally tracing the edge of the leather collar that had never left my throat.I sat on the bench beside him, rifle across my lap, eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of pursuit. The platinum chain he’d locked below the collar felt heavier than usual, the small lock warm against my skin from the sun. My mind kept replaying the bunker: the woman’s calm smile, the finality of her words, the way she’d walked into the jungle without looking back. Eze was truly dead this time. The worm was dead. The threat should have been over.It wa
THE PROFESSOR'S DIRTY CLAIM Chapter 34: Infiltration Instincts
The island was smaller from the water, barely two kilometers end to end, a single volcanic hump draped in green so dense it looked black against the dawn sky. No beaches. Just jagged black rock dropping straight into deep water, waves slapping against it with patient violence. The speedboat idled a quarter-mile offshore while Damian scanned the shoreline through binoculars, engine low enough to hear the surf but not enough to carry inland.“No dock,” he said. “No path visible from here. We go in over the rocks.”I nodded, already checking the dry-bag strapped to my chest, pistol, extra mags, knife, the small encrypted drive the security chief had couriered to Calabar before we left. Damian killed the engines. The boat drifted closer on residual momentum. He dropped the anchor in fifteen meters of water, deep enough to hide the hull from casual eyes, shallow enough we could swim back if we had to.We slipped over the side.Water cold enough to steal breath. Salt stung the half-healed g
THE PROFESSOR'S DIRTY CLAIM Chapter 33: Island Isolation
The Citation touched down on the short, cracked runway of São Tomé at 03:19 local time, humid night air rushing in the moment the cabin door cracked open. No terminal. No lights except the plane’s landing gear and a single floodlamp on a rusted pole. A jeep waited, engine idling, no driver visible. Damian stepped out first, pistol drawn low, eyes scanning the dark tree line that pressed close to the tarmac.Clear.He nodded once.I followed.The jeep’s keys were under the driver’s seat, engine warm, tank full. No note. No instructions. Just coordinates punched into a cheap GPS unit taped to the dash: 0°20′N 6°44′E. A dot in the Atlantic, forty nautical miles offshore. An island no bigger than a postage stamp on most maps.We drove south along a potholed coastal road, mangroves on one side, black ocean on the other, until the pavement ended and the track narrowed to two ruts in red dirt. The jeep bounced over roots and rocks; Damian kept one hand on the wheel, the other on my thigh, st
THE PROFESSOR'S DIRTY CLAIM Chapter 32: Airborne Assault
The Citation leveled at 41,000 feet somewhere over the Bight of Benin, engines a low, steady hum that vibrated through the cabin like a second heartbeat. We were twenty minutes out of Abuja, climbing toward cruise, when the first warning light flashed on the cockpit panel. The pilot, same man who’d flown us out of Lagos months earlier, swore under his breath and tapped the comms.“Unidentified aircraft, six o’clock high, closing fast. No transponder. Military profile.”Damian was already moving, out of his seat, pistol drawn, eyes on the windows. I followed, heart slamming against my ribs. The collar felt tighter suddenly, the chain cold against my skin.“Horizon remnants?” I asked.“Or worse,” he said. “Eze’s people had deep pockets. Someone bought air support.”The pilot banked hard left, sharp enough to throw us against the bulkhead. Alarms blared. Oxygen masks dropped. Damian grabbed mine, pressed it over my face, then his own.“Hold on.”Through the starboard window I saw it: a d
THE PROFESSOR'S DIRTY CLAIM Chapter 31: Paternal Pursuit
The estancia had become a grave by the time we returned.Not because anyone had died there, yet, but because the silence that once felt like peace now felt like waiting. We landed back on the private strip at 03:47 a.m. local time, the same Citation that had carried us out of Lagos months earlier. The pilot didn’t speak. Just nodded once as we stepped onto the gravel, then taxied away into the dark. No lights. No farewell.The house looked unchanged, low timber roof dusted with frost, smoke still curling from the chimney where we’d left the fire banked. But the air tasted different. Sharper. Like the wind had carried something across the Atlantic and dropped it at our door.Damian felt it too.He stopped at the porch steps. Hand on the pistol at his hip. Eyes scanning the ridgeline, the lake, the dark shapes of the beech trees.“Inside,” he said. Quiet. Low.We moved fast, door unlocked, lights off, weapons drawn. He swept the living room. I took the kitchen and bedrooms. Clear. No fo
THE PROFESSOR'S DIRTY CLAIM Chapter 30: Final Showdown
The estancia had become a fortress of quiet by the time the last thread pulled taut.Three months of Patagonia winter had hardened us both. Damian’s shoulder was fully healed, scar tissue pale and flat now, no longer pulling when he reached for an axe or for me. I’d grown leaner, stronger, from riding fence lines and splitting wood. The collar never came off; the platinum chain never unlocked. We fucked in every room of the house, on every patch of grass within sight of the lake, under every sky from storm-black to star-drenched. We spoke less. We touched more. We lived like men who had finally outrun their own shadows.Until the satellite phone rang again.It was 04:22 a.m. local time, deep winter dark outside, wind howling around the eaves. The ring cut through sleep like a blade. Damian answered on the first tone, already sitting up, already reaching for the pistol on the nightstand.“Talk.”The voice on the other end belonged to the same former security chief who’d warned us about
THE PROFESSOR'S DIRTY CLAIM Chapter 23 Reckoning in the Ashes
The warehouse district smelled of rust and old oil—rain pooling in cracked asphalt, sodium lights buzzing overhead like dying insects. Elena Thornton stood in the center of the abandoned loading bay—black coat open, silver hair loose, a sleek pistol dangling from her right hand. Behind her, two hir
Zuletzt aktualisiert : 2026-03-23THE PROFESSOR'S DIRTY CLAIM Chapter 29: Legacy in Bloom
Five years after the warehouse.The shelter’s fifth anniversary gala was held on a rooftop in Abuja—string lights draped across palm trees, live Afrobeat pulsing low, the city skyline glittering like scattered diamonds. Jax had insisted we fly in for it. “You started this with me,” he’d said over v
Zuletzt aktualisiert : 2026-03-24THE PROFESSOR'S DIRTY CLAIM Chapter 28: Full Circle
Three years after the warehouse.The rooftop garden atop our new brownstone smelled of jasmine and rain-damp earth. Fairy lights strung between planters cast soft gold across the space our private sanctuary above the city. Elliott had insisted on the move: more room, better security, a view that re
Zuletzt aktualisiert : 2026-03-24THE PROFESSOR'S DIRTY CLAIM Chapter 26 Epilogue – Light on the Horizon
Two years later.The rooftop wedding had been small, intimate—twenty people at most. Jax had stood beside me in a charcoal suit, no tie, sleeves rolled to show the faded wolf tattoos on his forearms. He’d grinned when Elliott slipped the ring on my finger—genuine, unguarded, the kind of smile I had
Zuletzt aktualisiert : 2026-03-24
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