Deolu collapsed onto her bed, her bag tossed carelessly beside her. The weight of last night pressed heavily on her chest, making it hard to breathe. She had escaped, yes, but the image of two men dismembering Senator Hassan’s body still clung to her mind. The thought that she had, with her own hands—took a life from him, sat eerily in her mind.
Rushing to the bathroom, she leaned over the sink and vomited, her body trying to expel the tension and fear. She stood there a moment longer, catching her breath, when her phone rang.
Who could be calling so early? she wondered.
Her hand shook as she reached for her bag and grabbed the phone. The screen lit up:
Honourable Emeka
Sluggishly, she answered. His voice flowed through the line, calm and sweet, betraying all of the brutality he had orchestrated the night before— through his ally, a typical pychopath.
“Deolu mi, you did a great job,” Hon. Emeka said. “My men told me how you created an illusion, made everyone believe he was still alive all through the night.”
“Yeah,” she whispered, her voice weak.
“That will help us,” he continued smoothly. “The headline will read that he spent the night at home with his girlfriend and left early in the morning. No one suspects a thing.”
“Okay… and me?” Deolu asked cautiously. “I was the mystery… the one he spent the night with?”
“My men picked you up, not his. By the time his men arrived at your house, you were gone. They were told you went to see another… higher bidder. Don’t worry, Deolu, you’re rolling with high and mighty men.”
Deolu exhaled slowly, relief mingling with unease.
“His murder was ordered from above, not even me,” Hon. Emeka added casually. “You’re fully covered.”
She sighed, a mixture of exhaustion and disbelief washing over her.
“Come and spend the night with me. I haven’t been touched by hands like yours…in a while now, you are different.” His tone was teasing, confident, predatory.
“Not tonight, Honourable,” she said firmly.
“Come on, Deolu… tonight,” he persisted.
“Not tonight,” she repeated, her voice unwavering.
“Okay, okay. No problem. Tomorrow, then. And the car… it’s yours. Keep it.”
Deolu’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Fifty million,” she cut in.
“For…?”
“For a night with you,” she said, her tone playful yet steady.
Emeka laughed, low and rich. “I’ll give you a hundred million. You’re dear to me… and my body. Actually, the headman wants us to give you five hundred million for a job well done. I’ll send it together.”
At the mention of money, Deolu’s mind shifted. From the girl haunted by atrocities to a girl proud of herself, daring and unafraid.
“See you tomorrow at the club,” she said, a small smile curling her lips.
She hung up, feeling a strange surge of happiness, almost guilty in its simplicity.
Later, Sade arrived, the familiar chatter and laughter bringing some semblance of normalcy back.
“So… the Benz?” Sade asked, eyeing her friend curiously.
Deolu leaned back, stretching lazily. “The man I spent the night with… he gave it to me,” she said casually, letting the words roll off her tongue like they were nothing extraordinary.
The two friends talked and laughed until it was time to grab food. The comfort of Sade’s presence was a balm, yet a nagging thought kept pricking at the edges of Deolu’s mind—the officer, who had given her his number the night before flashed across her thoughts.
Should she… end her sin and tell him?
Deolu hesitated, torn between the allure of honesty and the fear of the chaos her life had become.
For now, she pushed the thought aside. Tomorrow, she’d deal with it. Today, she would live in the fleeting comfort of friendship, money, and the dangerous thrill of power she had so recklessly embraced.
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