Charles Vs Ebilade

"I'll call you back when I get to my apartment, man," Ebilade said, quickly ending the call and slipping his phone into his pocket. As he looked ahead, he saw a group of boys standing in his path, their postures tense, their eyes scanning him like predators stalking prey. Something about them screamed trouble.

Ebilade adjusted his jacket, mentally preparing himself for any confrontation. He could feel the weight of their stares from a distance, but he kept his pace steady, heart racing slightly as he tried to think of a way to avoid whatever they had planned.

As he got closer, his stomach dropped when he recognized one of them—Charles. The same guy who'd been with Grace at the MegaChop Diner. The moment their eyes met, Ebilade's gut instinct told him everything he needed to know.

These guys are up to something.

Ebilade's gaze flickered from Charles to the other boys, their expressions cold, almost predatory. He immediately looked away, not wanting any part of whatever game they were playing.

"Hey, Ebilade, right? Hope you haven't forgotten me," Charles called out, his voice falsely cheerful as he stepped forward with a smile plastered on his face. He stretched out a hand for a handshake, the gesture seemingly friendly, but the tension in his posture betrayed his real intentions. "I was with Grace at the diner this evening, remember? I'm Charles."

Ebilade stared at Charles' outstretched hand, then let his eyes drift back to the group of boys behind him. The way they watched him, like a pack of wolves ready to pounce, sent alarm bells ringing in his head. Something about the whole situation felt off, too deliberate, too staged.

"Okay," Ebilade muttered, giving Charles a curt nod, ignoring his hand altogether, and turning his back to walk away. He wanted no part of this. Not tonight.

Charles' face darkened almost instantly. His fake smile twisted into a sneer, the muscles in his jaw tightening as anger began to bubble inside him. First Grace ignores me because of him, and now this guy? he thought, his pride stinging from the way Ebilade had brushed him off so casually.

The boys behind Charles shifted uneasily, sensing his mood change. They watched with morbid curiosity, knowing Charles was the type who couldn't let a slight like this go.

Without thinking, rage clouding his judgment, Charles grabbed a stick from the ground. His grip tightened around it, knuckles turning white as he stalked forward, eyes blazing with fury. How dare he treat me like I'm invisible? The thought echoed in his mind as he ran up behind Ebilade, adrenaline surging through him.

With a loud grunt, Charles swung the stick, the impact landing squarely on Ebilade's back.

The dull thud of the hit echoed in the night air, and Ebilade stumbled forward from the force, a sharp pain shooting through his spine. For a moment, everything seemed to slow down—the sudden attack, the ringing in his ears, the heat of anger mixing with the cold shock.

Ebilade gritted his teeth, his hands instinctively reaching for his back as he turned around, eyes wide with disbelief and rage. His gaze locked onto Charles, who stood there with the stick still in his hand, breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling with adrenaline-fueled fury.

"Screw this, I'm killing you today," Charles spat through gritted teeth, his eyes blazing with fury. He swung the stick wildly at Ebilade, but this time, Ebilade was ready. With a quick reflex, he ducked, narrowly avoiding the blow. Before he could launch a counterattack, one of Charles' cronies lunged forward, his boot colliding with Ebilade's face in a sickening thud.

Ebilade flew backward, his body crashing onto the hard pavement. The force of the kick sent a sharp sting through his skull, the metallic taste of blood filling his mouth as he landed hard on his backside. For a moment, the world spun around him. He could hear Charles' heavy breathing, the laughter of the boys in the background, but it all felt distant, like a scene unfolding in slow motion.

He wiped the blood from his lips and spat onto the ground, a tooth rolling onto the pavement beside the pool of red. Ebilade coughed and laughed bitterly, a sound filled with defiance despite the pain coursing through him. His chest rose and fell rapidly, adrenaline pumping through his veins as he glared up at the lineup of boys standing over him, their expressions a mixture of amusement and cruelty.

"Is this what it's about?" Ebilade asked, his voice hoarse but cutting through the tense air. "Grace showing me a little interest hurt your pride, huh?" He spat again, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. His eyes locked onto Charles, unafraid, despite the danger he was in. "And you're too much of a coward to face me alone, so you brought your little gang to do the dirty work for you. Pathetic."

Charles' face contorted with rage, his lips curling into a snarl. The insult stung deeper than the blows he had inflicted on Ebilade. His hands shook, not with fear, but with pure, unfiltered fury. His breath came in shallow gasps as the taunt hit it's mark, digging into his fragile ego like a blade.

"You bastard!" Charles roared, his voice filled with venom. He tightened his grip on the stick, his knuckles turning white. "I swear, I'm going to slit your throat!" His words were less of a threat and more of a promise.

Without waiting, Charles charged at Ebilade again, his movements wild, his face twisted in rage. Gregory and the other boys stood back, watching with sadistic anticipation, their smirks growing as Charles prepared to land the next blow.

Ebilade's pulse quickened, but despite the pain, he forced himself to stay focused. He knew this was far from over. He had to be ready for what came next, or this could very well be his last night alive.