Her Shield #3

He had her settled at Kora’s Beta Food Restaurant, and could go about his day.

The bar opened six to eleven p.m. every day, except for Fridays, when they closed at midnight. They never open on Sundays.

As it was a Friday, which meant an extra busy night, he had twice the amount of work to do. Market duties took more time with double orders for fresh fish, pork and chicken.

He was in the kitchen with his boys, Makanwa and Ikenna, until lunchtime. Then he left them to go check on Gazie.

Jamal was confident Kora would allow no one to hurt her, but she was under his care and he wasn’t going to take his eyes off her.

Not until he ensured the beast left her life for good.

He used the backdoor into the restaurant and found her at the charcoal stove. Her face brightened with a smile the moment she caught sight of him.

“Madam Kora entrusted the frying of meat to me. There’s so much of it to go through, but I love it.”

“As the number one restaurant in the village, there’s got to be a lot.” He liked seeing her there, doing a job she loved and happy. “I’ll see Kora and get back to work myself.”

“She’s inside the dining hall,” she told him, then gave a wave.

Jamal lingered another couple of seconds at the door, just watching her. Then he moved into the dining area to seek Kora out.

The woman was sitting at a corner table close to the service station. Jamal knew that was her usual spot when she wasn’t supervising matters in the kitchen.

“You don’t come to my restaurant at this time, so you must be here to see your girl.”

She was a woman with impressive height, and Jamal liked to think, impressive beauty. She’d married once, divorced, took her daughter and made her life there in Hilly Town.

She never dated, at least Jamal had never seen or heard of a man in her life. It could be she was done with men, or just taking a break. Whichever, she was one of the few people Jamal trusted in the village.

“Gazie’s not my girl,” he corrected, though he knew she was teasing. “How’s she doing?”

“A fast learner. And not afraid of work. I asked for her story.” Kora shook her head. “I keep thinking people will stop this awful nonsense of using a human being to pay their debts, but it never ends. How could he?”

Jamal understood she meant the uncle and shrugged. “He has to be a lazy fool with zero morals.”

“I agree. See here, if it’s going to be too much trouble to keep her in your house, I’ll take her. I’ll look after her and see that she’s safe.”

The offer came from a place of genuine compassion, and Kora had to be thinking of the fact that Gazie was a young woman. If she lived with a single man who wasn’t a relative, there’d be gossip and that would put a smear on her reputation.

But Jamal didn’t want Gazie away from him. That was a more important fact.

“I’ve no trouble at all having her in my house. As it is, I have the idea of furnishing the last bedroom for her.”

“That’s generous. But folks will automatically brand her your woman if she stays with you. That won’t do her any good when she has to move on, or you decide to marry.”

His woman.

Jamal thought of those few minutes when he had her in his arms. Of when he sat on her bed and listened to her talk in a quiet, almost whispery voice.

“It’s really up to her,” he said, halting his thoughts right there. “Let’s call her to decide.”

“Ndidi,” Kora called one of her workers. “Ask Gazie to join us and take over from her.”

The girl Ndidi, just about Gazie’s age, went off and Gazie made her way towards them a moment later.

Never one to waste time or words, Kora put forward the question. “You’re a young woman, and although you’ve not had much exposure, you must know how people talk. Would you rather live with me or continue to stay with Jamal?”

“You want me to live with you?” she asked Kora in surprise.

“Yes. You can work here and live with me.”

She looked at Jamal. “Don’t you want me anymore in your house? You promised you will keep me safe and away from Kambili.”

His chest tightened, and his body heated at her soulful gaze. “I will keep you safe and away from that beast. If you like to go on staying with me, you’re most welcome. We’re only thinking of your reputation. We don’t want people to malign your name and character.”

“I don’t know that many people. Plus, no one ever came to my help. Even those who lived around Kambili and must have guessed what he was doing to me.” She lifted her chin a fraction in a stubborn tilt. “People are going to say what they want. But I prefer to stay with you and Otito. No one else.”

“Well, now,” Kora said, and with a faint smile.

Gazie quickly faced her. “Madam Kora, it’s not that I’m ungrateful for your offer. You’ve treated me so kindly today and you still want to do more for me. So, I’m truly grateful to you. But I want to stay with Jamal and Otito.”

“Then you should stay with them. As I know the man Jamal is, I’m assured he will take care of you and keep you protected.”

“That’s all I want,” Gazie said, and looked at him with a soft smile.

Ah, lord, she was so guileless, so honest and open with her thoughts and feelings. He was in trouble. The kind of trouble where it would be near impossible to keep her safe from himself.

Jamal went back to the bar, thinking of the different ways he could employ to remember his duty.

He could try recalling daily she was only twenty-two, therefore too young for him. There was also the fact she would need all the time in the world to heal from her past.

Like always, it was a busy night, only busier than usual. The place was packed full, like people were in the thank God it’s Friday spirit.

As he did most Fridays, Jamal manned the bar and took extra help from Ikenna’s younger brother, Udoka. He just turned seventeen, so he never failed to send him home at nine.

Which was what he was doing now and with the boy’s earnings for the night. Ready to take a break, Jamal left Makanwa to take charge of the bar and joined Nedu at his table.

Chinedu Anozie, a.k.a. Nedu, was a man he thought of as his best buddy. He was the same age as Jamal, which made him thirty-three. They ran and exercised together every morning, and he was the most gifted carpenter Jamal knew.

Right now, he was on his second bottle for the night. He would go for a third and then hit the road. That was Nedu’s way. Three bottles of beer and grilled pork.

“There’s talk you took a girl in last night,” Nedu began in his usual casual manner. “There’s also talk you took her from Obata and he’s not pleased about it.”

“Let Obata go and eat shit.” Jamal knew Obata would blabber. He also knew he would make threats. Neither bothered him.

“It’s what I thought too.” A wicked gleam entered Nedu’s eyes. “So, who is she?”

He was a good friend because they’d fought shoulder to shoulder for whatever cause they believed in, and because Nedu understood loyalty and honour. So, he had all of Jamal’s confidence.

“Her name is Gazie. She’s on the run.”

Nedu took that bit of information with a hum. “Who or what is after her?”

“A man who thinks himself her owner.”

“There’s a man out there who believes he owns a person?” Nedu scoffed. “I want the story on that.”

Jamal gave it to him as he’d heard it.

“Nefarious fools,” Nedu cursed, slamming his fist none too gently on the table. “Someone should teach both of them a person is not an object to be traded.”

“Someone should.” It would be him, Jamal vowed. “The man is in his forties, easily twenty years her senior. Yet, he beat, raped and imprisoned her.”

“Animal. He’s an animal wearing human flesh.”

“She’s terrified he would find and take her back.”

“Not on our watch,” Nedu said, as Jamal knew he would. “Now, I would say find out where he is and take the fight to him, but you’re yet to know how far you will go—”

“I will go all the way, Nedu. That’s already certain.”

Nedu snorted. “She only came into your life last night. You can’t be that certain.”

“I will go all the way, Nedu,” Jamal repeated.

“I’ve never known you to be impetuous, so I won’t think you’re one now. Have you thought about how much this could cost you, and cost you big? You don’t know the weight of the man yet. He might be the sort with some power behind him.”

“He’s still a beast who abused a defenceless young girl.” But he understood Nedu’s concern and held his gaze. “I’m ready for whatever, Nedu. Trouble comes and I await it.”

Nedu touched his shoulder in support. “You don’t await it alone. I’m with you, you know that.”

They chinked their bottles and took satisfying gulps.

“They also say she’s a beauty. Maybe I will have lunch at Kora’s tomorrow; see how true that story goes.”

“Not a bad idea. But she’s mine, and I’ve got this big bad feeling it’s not just so I’d protect her.”

“Well, now,” Nedu said, and laughed.

kingphilip:
Welcome back Ma'am.

Glad to read from you again.

Hello, King. Glad to hear from you too.

Her Shield - #2

What was he doing holding her gaze and contemplating kissing her slightly parted lips?

For God’s sake, she had bruises on her cheek, her temple and another on her shoulder.

He hadn’t noticed the one on her shoulder earlier because her sleeve covered it. But it was visible now, and he suspected she had more on her body.

Yet, he was lusting for her?

Ashamed of his train of thought, and not for the first time, Jamal gave himself a good mental shake. He was not going there. No, he was not a pervert to take advantage of a vulnerable and defenceless woman.

It was why he’d come out, knowing the scoundrel Obata was, and that his friends would never go against him.

He’d noticed her from a window coming towards the bar. Trudging, as if her legs could barely move. Then she paused at the entrance, and just when he thought she’d walk in, she crossed to the table Obata and his minions occupied.

He’d given her a few minutes, then gone out to save her from getting herself plundered. So, he would hear her story and send her off to bed without subjecting her to that fate himself.

But, by God, she was beautiful. Her skin was the brown colour of sand; just as rich and smooth. And her body was full and ripe for one so young.

Jamal cleared his throat to pull both of them back to reality. No, he would not analyse the heated look in her eyes.

Or that she was flustered as she bit her lip and sat back.

“Who put those bruises on you?” he asked.

“The bruises?” She looked away. “Someone beat me.”

“Who?”

He wanted to hear a parent. It wouldn’t make it right or any less loathsome, but he didn’t want it to be the possibility he’d forbidden himself to consider.

“The man they handed me to as his wife.”

Jamal’s blood froze. “Who handed you to him?”

“My uncle.” She entwined her fingers tightly on her lap, and still tremors rocked her. “I’m an orphan. My father died four months before I was born, and my mother followed three weeks after giving birth to me. I grew up in my uncle’s home. He’s my father’s only sibling. When I was eighteen, he handed me to Kambili Odume, a man he owed three hundred and fifty thousand naira.”

Right.

Right.

He’d expected…Jamal couldn’t say what he expected. It certainly wasn’t this ridiculous, horrible tale.

“He offered you as payment for a debt he owed?”

“Yes. Kambili Odume cancelled the debt after he took me home. After he…he…” She choked and began to cry.

After he slept with her, Jamal completed.

Slept with her?

It was rape. He raped her, and cancelled her uncle’s three hundred and fifty thousand naira debt.

“No!” Jamal grated the word.

He didn’t think about it. Just stood, pulled her against him, and held her. She stiffened for an instant, then let the wariness go.

Jamal held her until her sobbing ceased.

“Thank you,” she said as she sat again. Her expression was a little baffled.

Jamal supposed it wasn’t normal for a stranger to be so expressive. But he didn’t regret offering her that small comfort.

“You ran away from him.” Brave of her, he thought.

“This afternoon. Yesterday he beat me because I wouldn’t let him—” She left the rest unsaid. But Jamal could fill in the blanks. “He denied me dinner and also breakfast today. He’d have starved me all day, but he was called out on an emergency and left without securing the doors.”

“He kept you locked in?”

She nodded. “After I ran away the first time. When I escaped again last year, he stopped me going out entirely and meeting people.”

The bastard kept her a prisoner.

“Is your uncle aware of his abuse?”

“He knows. The first time I ran, it was to go back home. He’d beat me so hard that my entire body was either swollen, bruised or bleeding. My uncle saw me. The rest of the family did. Yet, he took me back. He—my uncle—took me back to Kambili.”

Her palpable misery stabbed at Jamal. It opened up an old wound, one that might never completely heal, and ripped his heart in two.

“You should go to bed now.” He wanted too much to hold her, and shouldn’t. “We’ll finish tomorrow.”

“No, please. I’d rather finish it now that I started.”

“Then finish it,” Jamal said, and listened until she did.
These facts stood out.

She was twenty-two. After she got her WASSCE, and with no hope for a tertiary education, she’d wanted to take a skills training course. Instead, her family delivered her to a man who, for the last four years, beat her, raped her, called her barren, and had her locked up.

Jamal had a vicious headache as he lay beside his nephew. It wasn’t the kind painkillers could cure. No, this kind sprang from deep-seated grief and helpless rage.

He thought of his sister. Nkeoma who had only been twenty-six and had been full of life, of joy and laughter. Until she met him, insisted she would marry him, and wouldn’t tell Jamal about the abuse.

When he finally found out and got her out of there, she went back to him because he swore he’d changed.

She died from a head injury barely a month later.

He couldn’t save Nkeoma. But, by all that he held sacred, Jamal would see that no one again hurt Gazie.

The muffled noise broke into his thoughts, and he sat up to listen.

It was Gazie sobbing.

Quick as lightning, Jamal was off the bed and out of his room. He was inside hers in a minute.

She was curled up into a ball, crying in her sleep.

Again, it required no thought or reason. Jamal went to her, touched her shoulder, and gently shook her. “Gazie. Sweet one, wake up. It’s only a bad dream.”

The endearment slipped out without him knowing he’d uttered it.

*-*

“Sweet one.”

The affectionate phrase lured Gazie out of the nightmare where Kambili was lashing her with his belt.

Jamal stared at her with the gentlest expression on his face.

When she cried out in her sleep, Kambili complained and called her names, even though he was the reason behind her nightmares.

“Did I disturb you?” she asked. Then she remembered the little boy. “Oh, I hope I did not wake Otito.”

“No. When he’s out, he rarely surfaces until morning.” He stroked her face. “Are you all right, sweet one?”

Sweet one.

No one addressed her by a pet name. Or cared if she was all right after a nightmare, or after they had hurt her. Gazie wondered if she might still be asleep.

“Am I awake?” she asked him.

He smiled. And looked so handsome.

“You had a nightmare. But yes, you’re awake. What was it about?”

She winced as her memory went back. “He found me, dragged me back to his house, and used his belt on me. It was his chosen punishment last year after he discovered I was hiding in a market stall. He thrashed me with his belt and locked me in a room for days.”

“He’s a beast. The man is an actual beast.”

The horror in his eyes assured Gazie that she need never fear he’d treat her the same way.

“I’m scared he will find me again. I’m thinking now I didn’t go very far. If you could spare me a little money, I’ll go someplace else. Maybe to Kwale. Or I could go west to Lagos or Ibadan.”

“You’re not going anywhere else, Gazie. This is where your running ends. If he finds you, I won’t let him take you away.”

It didn’t seem possible that he could stop Kambili. It wasn’t a question of physical strength.

“It could be he won’t discover my hiding place. What can he come looking for in a village like this? I’m going to hold on to that faith.”

“Do that, Gazie. Stay positive. Will you like anything before going back to sleep?”

“Uh…”

In his arms earlier, she’d felt warm and secure. He’d smelled of soap, the same one she could smell on her skin, and something else so masculine.

She couldn’t ask him to hold her. It wouldn’t be right. Not that she knew why it would be so wrong. She wasn’t Kambili’s wife, though he liked to make that claim.

“Are you troubled?”

Ah, God, he was waiting for her answer to his question. Why did he make her think things and wish for them? That’s never once happened to her.

“Yes. I’m not sure I can tell you, though.” She could have lied and said no, but she detested lies.

“You can tell me anything, Gazie.”

His voice was deep and strong, yet soft to her ears.

“I can’t tell you this one. I’m going to go back to sleep. I might toss and turn for a while, but eventually I’ll fall asleep.”

“You’re such an innocent, aren’t you?” He gave her face one last stroke and rose. “I hope you quickly fall asleep and don’t have to toss and turn. Goodnight again, Gazie.”

“Goodnight, Jamal.”

She closed her eyes and pressed a hand to her stomach. It fluttered in a funny manner. And her skin was so warm.

Sweet one.

She wanted him to call her that again.

Thinking of it, wishing for it, Gazie fell asleep.

The next morning when she woke up, Jamal and Otito already did and were in the bathroom. The door was ajar, so she noticed he was getting set to bathe Otito.

She greeted, walked in and offered, “I’ll bathe him. I’m sure he won’t mind. You won’t, will you, Otito?”

The boy shook his head, although his gaze scrutinised her. No doubt pondering who she was and from where she came.

“If you both are sure, I’ll take myself off to the kitchen.” He handed over the sponge. “Did you sleep well?”

“I did, thank you.”

“Glad to hear it,” he said and walked away.

Her attention on the boy, Gazie began in a chatty voice as she applied soap to the sponge. “You were asleep when I arrived last night.”

Soon it was the boy leading the conversation. It turned out he was four, in kindergarten class and quite the chatterbox. She’d always welcomed her inability to conceive, no matter how much Kambili derided her for it. But if life were to give her a man like Jamal, she would have loved to have his child. Or children.

That thought stayed with her while they had breakfast, and a girl called Muanya came over to take Otito to school. She was his babysitter, Jamal told her.

“She’s leaving for Lagos next week. I’ll need to find someone else to take care of Otito while I’m at work pretty fast.”

“I can do it,” Gazie said, without giving it a thought. “I mean, I hope I’ll still be here, and if I am, I’d like to take care of him.”

He sent her a thoughtful glance.

They were in the kitchen and though she offered to do it; he insisted on doing the dishes. It was obvious he was a man who didn’t mind kitchen duties.

That was another new experience for Gazie.

“Won’t you prefer to work?” he asked.

“You mean do a job and earn a salary?” When he nodded, Gazie got excited. “I’d like to earn money of my own.”

“I’m sure you would.” He smiled. “Tell me, what can you do?”

“I cook the most delicious dishes. If you’d let me cook this morning, you’d have had a taste. I also bake. I love baking more than I do cooking, in fact.”

“Cook. Bake. I know the place for you.” He wiped his hands with a napkin, hung it back on the rope, and said, “Let’s go.”

Happy and excited, Gazie followed him. It was a walking distance. But they went in his car, as he’d go from there to work.

Sitting beside him, listening to him and talking to him, Gazie fell like it was the very first day of her life as a person.

As a woman.

New Romance Novella

Her Shield (Hilly Town Alphas #1)


BLURB: Gazie escapes to Hilly Town to flee from a man who considers her his property.

She has no shelter, no money, and no one to help her. Not until she meets Jamal, the owner of Soup and Booze bar.

He is like no other man, and Gazie soon finds herself wishing to have him in her life, forever.

The moment she walks into his bar, all Jamal wants to do is protect her. He is willing to face her worst enemy just to save her.

But can he protect her from himself? Especially when it feels like she belongs to him.

***

Available on Okadabooks and Bambooks

https://store.okadabooks.com/book/about/her-shield-hilly-town-alphas/53230

Escape.

Run for her life.

Those phrases resounded in her head when she gathered what little she could and snuck out as soon as he left.

There was no thought of where to go. Gazie only knew she had to put a lot of distance between them.

Was she far away enough now?

Gazie prayed so. He would never think to look for her in these parts. Really, how could he ever think she would cross three major towns and several villages just to get away from him?

No. He would search for her around their village, around the main city, but he would not find her.

If only he’d never again find her.

Her head hurt from being anxious, so she turned her thoughts away from him and looked towards the place she hoped to call home. Hilly Town. The village was so christened as it was up on a hill.

The bike she was on groaned and sputtered as it made the climb. Gazie didn’t think she had a right to complain. She’d had to beg the rider to take her for half the price.

Half the price because it was the last money on her.

No fretting over that particular problem, either. If she did, she would lose the fraction of strength left in her. And she couldn’t survive without it.

Without the hope she clutched desperately to her heart.

But, lord, she was cold. True, her teeth no longer chattered and her joints didn’t ache as much as they did, still she was so cold. Exhausted too. And so hungry, her intestines grumbled louder than a disgruntled old man.

Let there be someone kind to offer her food and shelter. That was her prayer, even though she didn’t count on getting shelter. Hardly anyone allowed strangers into their homes. She would have to find an open stall. If she was lucky, one with a bench, and rest there for the night.

It could be for many nights until she found a job that offered boarding along with it.

At last, the bike coughed to a stop at the park. Gazie descended and thanked the rider, praying God to bless him for his kindness.

Alone, she looked around her.

There were buses parked, one or two could be broken down, just one car, and then nothing else.

Her chest tightened with fear. It had to be past nine, maybe even closer to ten. Too late for a woman to be out at night.

A young woman.

Well, even an old woman wasn’t safe alone at night.

No, it didn’t help to scare herself. Swallowing hard, Gazie pinned her gaze on the building ahead of her. The droning sounds of a generator came from that angle, providing a trail of light.

Gazie followed it. She would run if she could muster the strength for the exercise, but her feet throbbed from exhaustion.

An eatery, she thought as she made out tables outside and people sitting around them. Or not an eatery, but more like a beer parlour. She heard the echo of music now, and those were men at the tables with bottles of drink.

The signboard read, Soup and Booze.

What a peculiar name. But if it said ‘soup’, then it had to have food. The promise of it made her hungrier. Her last meal was the day before. In the afternoon.

Desperate now, her scouring gaze landed on the table closest to the entrance. Three men sat on it; watching her as she approached. The only other table had one occupant, and he appeared to be in a world of his own.
Should she step inside and beg for food?

“Hey, you. Come here.”

There, the decision was taken out of her hands. Ignoring the spasm of fear in her throat that suddenly threatened to make her cry, she moved towards the table of three.
“Good evening, sirs.” That fear more than respect made her curtsy.

“Who are you? And why are you out so late?” The one who’d called her asked.

He looked her over. They all did. She knew her clothes clung to her body in a way that was indecent. It didn’t help that the rain drenched her earlier.

Hoping to cover a bit of her front view, Gazie wrapped her arms around herself as if in resistance to the cold.

“I didn’t leave early enough to make it on time.” Her stomach churned at the sight of pepper soup and grilled meat. “Can you give me a little to eat? I’ve not had a bite since morning.”

They exchanged looks. Still, it was the same man who spoke. “I asked you who you are. What’s your name? And tell me how you got the bruise on your face.”
He’d slapped her hard, for turning him down.

She couldn’t tell them that, or anything about her. In retrospect, she should have walked inside. But what was the guarantee those there were any better than these men? Any less—

The word she needed eluded her. But the way he ogled her was predatory. It made her skin crawl.

“A little food. That’s all I’m begging.” Tears stung her eyes from the shame of having to beg.

“I can give you food. That will be after you tell me your name and from where you’re coming. You have to know that nothing goes for nothing.” His leering smile repulsed Gazie.

Turn and walk away, her dignity ordered. Hunger locked her feet on the spot. “I will do whatever work you ask of me.”

“There’s only one work to do at night.” His stare turned revoltingly lascivious. “You know what I’m talking about, don’t you?”

He reached out his hand, and Gazie stumbled back.

“She’s with me.”

Huh?

She pivoted to see the one who spoke the words. And Gazie could have sworn she was about to keel over in a dead faint.

It had to be hunger. Hunger, and not the fact that the man was a barrel-chested giant. Good lord, how was it possible for anyone to possess such thick muscles?
The shirt on him would rip apart if he so much as flexed his biceps.

“How are you going to claim she’s with you when we saw her arrive?”

Gazie snapped out of her daze. He was trying to help her. Or, at least, that was her hope.

His presence made the spokesman for table of three look pint-sized. The distinction would make Gazie laugh if she had the presence of mind for humour.

“Because she is,” her saviour said. “This is my bar and she came looking for me.”

“Who is she?” Spokesman challenged.

“None of your business, Obata. Will you require anything else for the night?”

“You’re not trying to get in my business again, Jamal, are you?” Threat thrummed in Spokesman’s voice.

Her saviour remained stolid. “It is my bar, so my business in fact.” He looked at her. “Let’s go.”

Gazie scrambled after him.

Inside had way more tables than she could count in a heartbeat. But she noticed it was spacious, well-lit, and had ventilation coming from the ceiling fans and open windows.

He took her behind the bar at the end of the room. Another man was there, younger than him and a lot less muscular.

“Take a sit,” he told her.

Grateful to get off her feet, Gazie climbed on a high stool. “Thank you.” She still hoped he was helping.

He nodded. “What’s your name?”

“Gazie. Yagazie.” It was weird how he made her feel safe. “What is yours?”

The younger man made a strangled noise, while he only tilted his head. “Jamal. I’ll ask the questions. What family are you here to visit?”

A lie was useless. It was a small village where most, if not everyone, were probably acquainted.

“None. I’m on the run, and right now starved.”

He stared at her for several heartbeats, then said, “Combine two bowls of pepper soup and bring it with a bottle of malt.” He raised his voice, added another instruction. “Ikenna, prepare her one pack of your noodles.”

Just like that, food appeared in front of her. They made the other stool her table and left her to eat in comfort.
Hungry as she was, Gazie was done in mere minutes.
He reappeared as she gathered the dishes. “I’ll handle it. Rest. We still have an hour to go.”

He had to mean an hour before he closed the bar. Was he saying he would provide her shelter?

In his house?

Gazie turned to the kitchen behind the bar to look at him. Yes, she’d be safe with him anywhere. His face carried a hint of kindness, the same as his voice.

His face. With hunger not dulling her senses anymore, she could tell he was handsome. The good look wasn’t limited to his face. His hulk-like build must make women drool.

“I said rest, not gawk at me,” he said, without raising his head.

Oh. She averted her gaze, flushing.

Since a few curious eyes were on her, she propped her head on the bar and closed her eyes.

The next thing she knew was that he tapped her on the shoulder, told her it was time to go, and took her with him in his car.

They made a stop to pick up a sleeping boy, and continued to a house enclosed by a decorative block fence.

Why did the child have to stay out so late? Gazie wondered. Or was the man a single parent?

Using his flashlight he located a massive rechargeable lantern, flicked it on, then another, and yet another.

Wow, he was rich.

Or not.

Gazie didn’t know enough to tell. It was just that his living room was the most exquisite she’d ever seen. It even smelled exquisite. Her frumpy state in ill-fitting clothes became apparent, making her feel out of place.

“How about you take one of the lamps and follow me?” he said, and went ahead. “You’ll use Otito’s room, while he and I share mine. That’s the bathroom.” He nodded to a door. “I’ll get you a toothbrush and towel. But there’s soap and toothpaste inside.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

He opened the door and stepped away from it. “You can call me Jamal. I’ll wait for you in the parlour. Join me after your bath.”

“Yes, sir. Sorry.” Gazie had never addressed a person older than her by name. “Thank you for being so kind.”
With a nod, he turned and walked with the boy into another room.

There could be a wife and she went on a trip. Or she might have—

She aborted the negative thought. A man who’d been so good to her didn’t deserve ill-luck from wicked thoughts.

As he was waiting for her, she made fast work of her bath, dressed in cleaner clothes and joined him in the living room.

He’d showered. It was evident by his damp hair, and he’d changed into pyjamas. The clothes didn’t cling to him; even so he looked much too manly in them.

“The kind thing to do would be to let you go straight to bed. But I’d sleep better myself if I had some answers.”

“I understand, sir.”

“It’s Jamal.”

“Jamal.” Gazie made herself repeat it, tilting up her gaze to meet his, and surprisingly, her skin flushed with sudden heat.

Hold it now. He was married. Or maybe he was not.

“I’d like to ask a question.”

“Go ahead.”

“Are you married?”

“I wonder if you’re bold, or you have no filter,” he said in a musing tone.

As she didn’t know the answer to that, Gazie shrugged and waited.

“I’m not married.”

“Then Otito—”

“He’s my nephew.”

He wasn’t married. The information pleased her for no explainable reason.

“It must sound like I’m intrusive. I’m the one taking shelter in your house and asking personal questions. I only wanted to be certain I’m not intruding on another woman’s home, or anything like that.”

“It’s all right. I like things to be clear too, which is why I have my own questions.”

Gazie nodded. When they sat face to face like this, he didn’t look so large. He was still a big, muscled man, but not so much a giant. It was puzzling why she felt self-conscious and shy when she hadn’t at the bar.

They were alone. That was the reason.

And she knew now that he was single.

And he was refreshed. And had a different kind of smell on him now. One that tempted her to draw closer and sniff him.

What was she thinking?

PLAYING HIS GAME - 1C

“Anyway, I took my books and found a separate seat, and ended up not seeing the letter. I rarely used the diary, so had no need to open it that night. Then I had to travel home the next day because Grandma died and Mum sent for me. Remember that time?”

“I remember the date. August 12. I had to come home, too.”

“Yes. I think I dumped the diary at home and completely forgot about it for the rest of the year.”

“You forgot about it for an entire decade.”

Dinah laughed at her dry retort. “I suppose I did. And that’s explainable because the very next year, I went for my year abroad at Abidjan, and the year was half gone by the time I came back, so didn’t need an old diary. As he’d graduated by then, we didn’t get to see again.”

He hadn’t kept in touch, and she’d been too shy to reach out.

“Why didn’t he ask about the letter when you returned after your trip home? Didn’t he know you were away for a few days?”

Dinah shrugged. “I was gone only two days as I needed to return for the exams. He must have thought I’d read the letter and wasn’t interested. Meanwhile, I’m hungry and need to get my food. Shower will have to wait until later.”

“How could he think you would read a letter like that and not be interested?” Eyine demanded, following her into the kitchen. “How can anyone not be interested when someone’s confessing they’re in love with them? You would have had a reaction, at least, not complete silence.”

“Silence in itself is a reaction, is it not?” Dinah mused, moving to the refrigerator to get a bottle of water. “It’s probable he believed I saw the letter, wasn’t interested and decided to pretend like I didn’t so as not to embarrass him.”

“You wouldn’t have done that. You were friends, weren’t you?”

“We were more of friendly than friends. But no, I wouldn’t have ignored him.” She dragged over a side table and set the tray on it. “I guess he didn’t have a proper chance to ask me about it as we barely saw each other after I came back. Maybe twice, I don’t know.”

“Missed chances,” Eyine murmured, joining her on the couch. “That’s what it was, one thing or another happened to make you miss your chance of getting together.”

“Maybe nothing would have come of it.”

“Or something could have come of it. Something could still come of it. What if he’s still single as you are?”

She refrained from rolling her eyes at Eyine’s insistent clutch on hope. “What if he’s married, or engaged to be? Or maybe he’s just over me. Have you considered the fact that ten years is way too long to hang onto unrequited love?”

“That’s possible. It’s also possible he might be single and when you two reconnect, he will rediscover the love he once felt for you.”

“Such a delightful possibility. But my dear cousin, possibilities like that rarely happen.” Dinah poked her cheek with the handle of the spoon and went back to her food. “I suggest we put away the letter and forget it.”

“How can you forget a letter like that?”

With a sigh, she turned her head to meet the frowning stare. “I can because it’s a letter from a decade ago. We are both different people now. I am, and he definitely will be. Besides, I don’t have his contacts anymore.”

“That’s why we have social media networks. Search for him on Facebook, Instagram or Twitter. I can do it now. His name is Oliver Kenudi, you said?” Eyine grabbed her phone. “Let’s begin with Facebook.”

“No way.” Dinah snatched the device out of her hand. “Are you out of your mind? You think he’s going to appreciate hearing from me one Tuesday night out of the blue after ten years of silence?”

“He might. Especially if he’s not over you.”

Dinah arched her eyebrows. “Seriously?”

“Okay, he probably would be over you by now. All the same, you can say hello. It can be a chat between old friends. He imagined you two will have a future, Dinah.”

“He did. In 2009, not 2019.” She handed back the phone. “Take your phone and don’t do anything stupid. Because it will be stupid, and most mortifying for me, to send him a message after a decade of mutual silence. I’m a woman who prefers to conduct herself with dignity and self-respect.

“You are too,” Dinah added, giving her a teasing smile. “When you’re not carried away by mushy, romantic sentiments.”

“Staying silent is you missing another chance.”

“Forget that letter. Switch the channel to Fox, and let’s enjoy our evening after work. Please.”

“Things happen for a reason, Di.”

“Remote control. Fox. Silence. Pretty please, Eyine.”

Eyine snorted, and moved to get the remote.

Satisfied, Dinah settled down to enjoy her medical series, and wondered—only briefly—what would have happened if she’d seen the letter ten years ago.

***

Click the title on my signature to read the full story.

PLAYING HIS GAME - 1B

“He was the dashing type, all stylish and confident. Tall, dark, good-looking, with tempting muscles streaming his sprinter-looking lean frame. Wickedly flirtatious eyes, lips totally meant for kisses, and charming manners aimed to make a girl fall.”

“It sounds like you fell hard.

Momently sliding back into the past, Dinah recalled the wild flutter he set off in her belly and grinned. “I did. Had a crush on him, and he seemed to have those wicked eyes on me for a while. But to write a letter?”

Intrigued now, she returned to the first page and began to read.

Aloud, because Eyine would nag her mad if she didn’t.

Dear Dinah,

How do I begin to express a feeling I don’t fully understand?

I ask myself the above question even as I’m writing this letter, which in itself is old-school and maybe even foolish in this digital age. I am writing it anyway.

“At least he knew it was old school,” Dinah murmured.

“Keep reading and don’t ruin the moment.”

She rolled her eyes at the hushed order, but resumed reading.

The first time I saw you, you were walking into the main library with two of your course mates, discussing a class assignment. Or maybe they were friends, I couldn’t say. All I saw was you.

This girl in pink-tinted cropped denims skirt and jacket, braided hair, her mouth moving quickly as she talked and a faint pondering frown on her pretty face with its scattering of tiny pimply bumps.

I followed you into the library, sat at a corner, four tables away, and stared at you. You were so focused on your reading you didn’t see me. But I saw you, and for me, it started that day.

It took me sort of stalking you two more times before I walked over that day at the cafeteria and asked that we be friends. Even then, I knew friendship wouldn’t be enough. I’ve realised it more and more in the last few weeks.

Perhaps it will sound contrived or crazy, or maybe even foolish given we’re young and still in school. The truth is that I have imagined a life with you. It’s impossible not to, because I have also imagined how empty and alone my life would be without you in it.

I think the word for what I feel for you is love. I know it’s so frequently, and I think irreverently used these days that it’s become almost meaningless. But I love you. I am as convinced of it as I am of the fact that I’m alive, here, and most likely insane for thinking so much about you instead of focusing on my final exams.

There, I have said it, Dinah, and I’m slipping this letter in your diary with the hope that you find it as soon as possible, read it and send me your reply, in whatever way you wish.

While I wait with that hope in my heart, I remain sincerely yours in love,

Oliver.

“Well, now, that is some letter. Really quite a letter. Mature, like Mum said. Definitely unexpected, and…” The right word simply eluded Dinah. “It’s touching. I mean, I’m flattered, and—surprised. He didn’t look like the sort who would use words like these. Or write a letter at all. He never acted like he had feelings for me. He flirted with me, yes, but flirting was second nature to him.”

“I wouldn’t describe this letter as flirting,” Eyine said. “It sounds too serious, and genuine, to be. If he wanted to flirt it would be easier to send you a text, or chat with you on Messenger. I agree with Aunt, he spoke from the heart.”

“He wrote a love letter, so he had to have been serious and speaking from the heart. All the same, to talk about love, and in such an earnest manner at that age? How was he certain it was love he felt? We were too young, for heaven’s sake.”

“He was a final year student, so he probably was twenty-two or twenty-three. Maybe even older. That’s not too young to fall in love and recognise that you are. You know what I think?”

Knowing it was her cousin’s romantic heart leading the way now, Dinah was sure she could make a good guess.

“No. What do you think?” she asked.

“I think he was in love for the first time, and overwhelmed, he sought a way to express it.” Her expression soft and musing, Eyine reached for the letter. “While you were crushing on him, he was in love with you. And he chose to tell you of his feelings through a letter.”

It still seemed implausible, as far as Dinah was concerned. “My question remains how could he be certain it was love he felt? That’s far-fetched. It most likely was infatuation.”

“When infatuated you are impulsive and act without thought. This letter,” Eyine traced her fingers across the paper. “A lot of thought went into it. It was real. What he felt for you was real.”

“Your romantic heart pushes you to believe that.” Because she was touched by the letter in spite of her scepticism, Dinah added, “Being someone who appreciates romance and soulful acts myself, I wish I had seen the letter at the time. Maybe if I had, we’d have had a chance to share something special. Unfortunately, it’s ten years too late now.”

“It doesn’t have to be too late. Yes, it was ten years ago, but there’s a reason the letter turned up. You should get in touch with him.”

“I should get in touch with him.” Dinah snorted a laugh. “Are you serious? I don’t have his contacts anymore. Even if I did, what do I say after ten years? I finally read your letter and…What?”

“You don’t have to begin with the letter. You say hello, long time, that sort of thing.” Sliding off the bed to squat on her knees, Eyine faced her with an earnest look. “He was imagining a future with you, Di. This letter was his way of asking you to give him a chance in your heart and life.”

“Maybe it was—”

“Just maybe? He said he imagined his life would be empty and alone without you. What does that say to you?”

“That he was a little dramatic?” At Eyine’s hiss, Dinah gave up trying to be funny. “Okay, I agree. He was asking me to give him a chance. But that was ten years ago. If I’d seen the letter at the time, perhaps we would have had a relationship and who knows what would have happened.”

“Why didn’t you see the letter?” Not one to tolerate discomfort for long, Eyine made herself comfortable again on the bed. “He put it inside the diary. Didn’t you open it after that day—whatever day it was he’d put it in?”

“Clearly not. However, I imagine I know the day it must have been. I’d met him at the lecture theatre where we usually read, and chatted with him before stepping out to buy a drink. I’m guessing that’s when he slipped in the letter.”

“I wish he’d said something when you came back.”

“I do, as well. He must have been embarrassed.” Dinah tried to recollect his behaviour after she’d returned with her drink.

Her memory failed to recapture the moment.

"There’s a love letter in your diary.”

“I don’t have a diary.” As she was more interested in getting into her bedroom and out of her clothes, Dinah sent her cousin a passing glance. “Not even an app. That said, I just got home and would really appreciate a shower, food and some rest before you badger me with talk.”

Sure enough, Eyine didn’t pay her any attention. She rarely did when she had it in mind to chatter.

“It’s a diary you owned in 2009,” she stated, using the remote to regulate the AC as she stretched out on the bed. “Aunt said it sounded mature and straight from the heart, and wants to know what happened to the young man.”

“What sounded mature and straight from the heart, the letter or my diary? if I indeed had one.” Fishing out her mobile devises, Dinah stuck the sac de jour and her pumps into their racks, and began flipping off the buttons of her office shirt. “And did Mum read my letter?”

“I would’ve read it too if I didn’t have a small voice repeating in my head that it’s bad manners to do so.”

“Mum obviously didn’t have that small voice in her head.”

“She said she resisted, but curiosity won the battle.”
Knowing her mother, it had to be a short resistance.

“Where’s this diary and letter?” she asked, knowing also she wasn’t going to get any rest until she satisfied her cousin’s curiosity.

Eyine jabbed a finger in the direction of the bookcase. “Right on top the bag I brought back.”

The bag she brought back was a small-size textile bag, which held some of her treasured paperbacks and the originals of her certificates. And of course, the diary.

“It’s really from 2009. What was I doing with a diary that year?” Studying the dusted-out journal, Dinah ambled to the bed to settle on her haunches. “I remember. Uncle Matt came that January and presented it to me as a gift. Said it was good practice to write down one’s thoughts.”

“I’m not surprised you got it from him,” Eyine said, her tone grumbling. “That man parted more with stupid books than he did with money.”

As that was true of their mothers’ only brother, Dinah smiled. “Some of those stupid books were great novels, which I recall you used to bury yourself in. Well, here’s the letter.”

She took out the light pink even-folded paper, unfolding to find two of them. “It was written on a letter pad, too,” she mused, eyeing the floral designs at the corners of the sheet. “But who wrote letters those days when we had emails and I believe, Yahoo Messenger?”

“People who knew the lasting value of written words. I will read it.” A quirky combination of level-headed school teacher and true romantic soul, Eyine slipped the letter out of her hand with a soft sigh. “Look at that. He had a lovely handwriting. One of these graceful cursive types.”

Dinah snatched back the letter. “I agree. The handwriting does have an elegant flourish to it. As it is my letter, I will read it.”

“Read it aloud.”

She ignored the eager command and moved the first sheet to check the bottom of the second. “Oliver. On my word, it was from Oliver Kenudi. I remember him.”

Why wouldn’t she? Her young, impressionable and quite foolish heart had a huge crush on him that year.

***

Playing His Game is on Okadabooks | Bambooks and on www.tenthmagicpress.com

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Don't Miss Out!

How would she tell him?

If he found out he might leave her; many have done so in the past.

Why was it such a crime to be a mother out of wedlock?

Why did the world judge her so cruelly, when they could commend her for keeping her child instead of killing her?

Even those guilty like her sneer because their guilt is hidden behind the lack of stigma their secret abortion had bought.

Why was it more honourable to be a baby killer than a baby mama?

She was not ashamed of her baby. No, she was not ashamed of her little girl. But oh, how she wanted to be loved and to be accepted. How she wanted to have a man and a home.

How she wanted a father, even one not biological, for her little girl.

But whenever she mentioned her little girl, it was always as if she'd mentioned a taboo. They recoiled, became horrified, or sometimes, patronizingly admiring, and then they disappeared without return.

Not one, not two... she had stopped counting.

Now, it might happen again.

She hoped not though.

"I wanted to talk to you about something important that is why I actually asked you to lunch." She started to speak, keeping her fingers crossed on her laps. "I'm sorry, I should have mentioned it before. But past experiences made me wonder if I should wait until the person got to know me before putting it out there."

"What is it?"

There was a frown on his face. Just a mild one. Like he was puzzled.

"I am a single mother." She said it plainly. There was no beating about the bush now. "I have a daughter who is nine years old."

He stared at her.

Only his eyes blinked. Not a muscle moved.

Her fingers uncrossed on her laps. "I should have told you from the onset but I thought we should get to know each other. I thought you should get to know me. I thought that might be better."

"You... have a daughter?"

His eyes were now incredulous.

"Are you serious?"

"Yes, I am." She nodded. "I used to say it as soon as I met anyone. But it seemed to cripple the relationship, so I thought I'd wait this time until we knew each other better. But I guess I was wrong there too." She shrugged. "I am sorry."

"You are sorry?" He went from incredulous to furious. "How could you hide something as important as the fact that you are a... a... a single mother?"

He did not pause for her to respond, but raged on.

"How could you do this, lie to me purposely? You think telling the truth from the beginning crippled your past relationships? Well, telling it four months too late, has done the same."

"I can see that." She wanted to cry. She wanted to mourn the death of another relationship. "Like I said, I am sorry. I was just testing a new theory this time. I thought if you knew me and liked me for myself, you wouldn't be put off by my status as a single mother."

"But I don't know you, do I? I thought you were an honest, straightforward, God-fearing woman. But you are a liar and a pretender." His expression turned to disgust. "You are a manipulator. You wanted to manipulate me by what I felt for you."

"No, I didn't want to manipulate you. I only thought loving me would make you feel kindly about my status."

"I think you are an immoral, desperate woman looking for whom to foist your bastard on!" He spat at her.

"Don't you dare call me daughter a bastard!" Fury pumped into her and swept away the feelings of guilt and self-pity.

"But that is what she is, isn't it? She was born out of wedlock and she doesn't know her father, or does she?"

"She might not know him, but I do, and she is better off without him... or you." She stood up. "I was wrong to have hidden the fact that I have a child. I should not have because I love my daughter and I am proud of her. But I am not sad to see you leave my life as I thought I would be. A man who will call any child 'bastard' does not deserve to know my child."

"I didn't create the word bastard. It is in the dictionary and in there for a reason."

"It might be in the dictionary, but it is wicked, derogatory and traumatic for a child addressed thus. It is a burden they should not have to bear because they didn't choose to be born outside wedlock."

"The truth is still what it is. Tears and whimpers don't change it."

His callous response made her shake her head. "Well, here's another truth tears and whimpers won't change: you are a narrow-minded self-righteous prig. And I believe those words are in the dictionary too."

She snatched up her purse and flounced off. She was done with men, and anyone for that matter, making her apologise for being a single mother.

No more hiding who she was.

© TM David-West.

Rhayne:
Nice one, more please

Okay, I will try. Thanks

He opened the door quietly, careful not to make a sound.

The room was semi dark, illuminated only by the lamp she kept in the corner.

His steps faltered as he treaded towards the bed. For a second, he considered retreating.

But the thing that snarled inside of him pushed his feet forward.

Perversion. His mother had called it.

"You are filled with perversion and evil."

Maybe he was.

Maybe he shouldn't be in her room.

But he needed to touch; to feel.

He nudged aside the wrapper that covered her and lifted the hem of her night dress. His hand trembled as he pinched hold of the flimsy knickers that stood as protection over her secret place.

"Take your hands off her."

His fingers froze just beneath the knickers.

"I said take your hands off her!"

He slipped out his hand, slowly turned.

She was standing by the door.

"Get away from her." She ordered.

He rose off the bed he'd noiselessly sat on and started towards her.

When they stood side by side, she cursed. "Pervert."

Hate pulsed in her voice.

Even in the dimly lit room, he could see the glint of it in her eyes.

He slunk past her.

He was a pervert. Evil. And everyone hated him, even his own mother.

*
© TM David-West.