Syndicate [Thriller]

Chapter 8: The Cost Of War

The pub was alive with noise and laughter, the kind of sound that filled a room when everything felt right. It had been a few days since the plan to take down the Bhaskarans was set in motion, but only Vijay and I knew just how deep we were going. The rest of them—our brothers, the men who worked for us—had no idea the storm that was about to hit.

I sat at the corner table, lighting up a cigarette, watching the celebration unfold around me. There was something soothing about the way the smoke curled into the air, disappearing into the haze above the bar. My fingers wrapped around a glass of whiskey, the burn of the alcohol mixing with the familiar rush of nicotine.

I took a long drag from the cigarette, my eyes narrowing as my thoughts drifted. Brijesh was in place. Tashi's tribes were ready to move. And Bhaskaran? He didn't even know the noose was tightening around his neck.

The whole thing was about to come together. Slowly, piece by piece, the city would fall into our hands. Bhaskaran's empire would crumble, and we would be the ones standing on top.

But in the quiet, there was always the thought—What if they know? What if they're already moving? The uneasy silence before a storm was something I had grown accustomed to.

I flicked the ash from the cigarette, taking another sip of whiskey. The pub was warm, filled with people laughing, drinking, some dancing near the back. It felt good for once, to let the men celebrate. Everyone was in high spirits. It felt like we were already winning.

And then... the world exploded.

The blast came from just outside, the ground beneath us shaking violently, knocking glasses from the tables and sending everyone into a stunned silence. For a moment, all I heard was a ringing in my ears, the kind that dulls the world around you, making everything feel distant and wrong.

I hit the floor instinctively, the cigarette falling from my mouth. My heart raced, high on adrenaline. My hand shot to my gun, yanking it free from its holster as the smell of smoke and dust filled the air. Around me, men scrambled, their chairs overturned, the sounds of panic spreading through the room.

"Get down!" I shouted, my voice rough, forcing my brothers to drop to the ground beside me. Vijay was already moving, his face grim as he pulled out his gun.

The door to the pub was blown wide open, shards of wood and glass littering the floor. Through the haze of smoke, I saw them—Bhaskaran's soldiers. Armed and ready, their faces masked, moving toward us like they owned the place. This wasn't a warning. This was an attack.

And leading them was Jamal—Bhaskaran's youngest brother. Arrogant, but dangerous enough to be the one to send a message.

Vijay was already on his feet, gun in hand, eyes locked on the group of men coming through the smoke. The rest of the brothers followed, their guns drawn, ready for what was coming. The pub might've been under attack, but we weren't going down without a fight.

The Bhaskarans think they can come into my home, I thought, the rage bubbling just beneath the surface. They think they can take what's mine.

I grabbed the cigarette from the floor, placing it back between my lips. My hands were steady, the chaos around me sharpening my focus. I took a deep drag, the smoke filling my lungs as I stared down the men who dared to step into our world.

Jamal took a step forward, his gun pointed at us, a sneer on his face. "Your time's up, Chatterjee."

I smirked, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "Not today." And with that, I stood up, gun raised, my brothers by my side. We weren't letting the pub go down.

Jamal stood in the doorway, framed by the smoke and chaos, his men fanned out behind him, their guns ready. His sneer was unmistakable, his arrogance filling the room as if he already thought he'd won. He swaggered in like he owned the place, just like Bhaskaran always did—thinking power came from fear.