Dual Exhaust : Chapter 6 - The Only Way

Before proceeding, please be aware that this is a work of fiction and fantasy. Any resemblance to real life, persons living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

All characters portrayed in this narrative are over 18 years of age.

This chapter features strictly adult themes, including:

• Adult / Explicit Content (+18 / NSFW)

• Incest / Family Taboo Themes: Depicting sexual and psychological dynamics and fixations within a family context (father, son, and grandfather).

Chapter 6 - The Only Way

Tucked away on the top floor, the office sat at the very back of the mansion. The walls were paneled in dark oak, but instead of traditional paintings, they were adorned with dented license plates and wheel rims bolted straight into the wood. The highly polished metal gleamed in the morning light, catching distorted reflections of anyone who stepped inside.

James stood dead still. His gaze drifted, lost in some blank spot on the floorboards. With a restrained motion, he pulled his phone from his pocket just to check the time—six-fifteen—and slid it back away. His face remained impenetrable, his expression as cold and static as the metal surrounding him.

Perched on the upstairs windowsill, Marcus watched the street below, bathed in the pale light of early morning. Cigarette smoke slipped lazily through his fingers. Down below, the family mechanic leaned over the wide-open hood of his brother’s car. The metallic clinking of tools against the engine block echoed sharply upstairs, cutting through the silence that still hung over the neighborhood.

In the center of the room, Jeff and Brandon sat in armchairs facing a lavish desk, where a die-cast car pinned down a stack of papers in the corner. They sat bolt upright, their hands restless on their knees. From across the desk, the patriarch of the mansion watched them. He leaned forward and opened a drawer with a short, sharp clack. Without breaking eye contact with the boys, he slid an envelope across the desk toward them.

“As promised,” the man said, his voice completely serene. “Thirteen grand. Thank you, boys.”

The moment the patriarch finished his sentence, Brandon’s hands were already on the package. A faint smile touched his lips as he registered the weight of the envelope.

Jeff, on the other hand, just like James, was staring into space.

“Everything alright, kid?” the man asked.

Blinking away his trance, Jeff’s eyes met the patriarch’s. They stared at each other for a second, maybe two, before he finally spoke:

“I just realized you never told us your name. And I realize I never asked.”

Jeff scratched his head.

The man didn’t move. Still as a statue, he kept his fingers firmly intertwined, forming a rigid base to rest his chin—the slight pressure turning his knuckles white, the only hint that, somewhere inside him, there was tension.

“Akachi.”

Jeff furrowed his brow slightly, his lips parted in a confused silence as he tried to process the sound. Seeing the boy’s blank expression, the man repeated it, syllable by syllable, leaning back into his armchair like someone finally allowing himself a moment of rest:

“A. Ka. Chi. It’s Nigerian, kid.”

“Nice to meet you, sir.”

“Fucking ugly name,” Brandon muttered.

Marcus let out a low chuckle. Akachi smiled too, a brief, almost indulgent smile, and for a second the tension in the room eased, everyone’s shoulders dropping a fraction of an inch. Two knocks on the door were all it took to make that second vanish.

“Come in,” Akachi said.

A man walked through the door, his broad torso filling the frame. Beneath the rough fabric of a blue mechanic’s jumpsuit—torn on one side to reveal a thick arm and a glimpse of a bare chest—dense muscles rolled with every step, lined with thick veins that pulsed in time with his steady breathing. A simple chain swung from his neck, holding a worn ignition key. Dark, messy hair framed his stubble and a heavy, dead-set glare.

Jeff froze for a second, his eyes glued to the figure. When he turned his head to look at James, he saw the other doing the exact same thing. Catching his eye, James simply arched an eyebrow in response.