CHAPTER 16
GATSHA
He stands in the center of a dusty, sun-scorched yard at the border post, his shirt plastered to his back, the top three buttons undone to catch whatever stray breeze the Congo basin might offer.
Around him, the air is filled with the smell of diesel, red earth, and the agitated murmur of the drivers. Two Congolese officials stand before him, their arms crossed, trying to maintain authority. They are holding the manifests hostage, waiting for the moment the big man from South Africa breaks and opens his wallet.
He leans against the hood of a dusty 4×4, crossing his arms over his chest.
“I’ve already told you,” he says, “The permits are verified by the regional director. I didn’t fly a light-wing into a dirt strip to argue with you over stamps that are already there. My trucks move in the next hour, or I call the Ministry of Mines. And trust me, the Minister doesn’t like his morning coffee interrupted by news that his copper export is being choked by two men who want a new pair of boots.”
One of the officials spits on the ground, trying to look unimpressed, but he can see the bead of sweat rolling down the man’s temple. He steps forward, closing the distance until he is looming over them.
“Here is the compromise,” he says, “I’m not paying a bribe but I will agree to a ‘re-inspection fee’ for the administrative delay, logged officially under the depot’s maintenance account. You get your paperwork filed, the trucks move, and I don’t tell your superior that you tried to shake me down. You have ten minutes to decide if you want to be a hero of the state or unemployed.”
He turns his back on them before they can answer and walks toward the truck. He climbs onto the step of the cab, checking the seal on the cargo himself. His hands are stained with grease and red dust as he tugs at the heavy metal locking mechanism.
The officials argue for a moment, then one of them walks toward the office. Five minutes later, the gates begin to open. He watches the first truck roar to life and drives out. It’s a victory, but it’s a fragile one. The compromise cost him a fee, but it bought him the road.
As the dust settles and the convoy begins to roll, he walks away from the noise. He pulls a handkerchief from his pocket, wipes the sweat from his face, and leans against a cooling engine block. He pulls his phone out. His heart, which hadn’t sped up once during the confrontation with the armed officials, begins to race against his ribs as he dials Hlengiwe’s number. He wants to hear her voice and the relief in it.
“Hlengi,” he says the moment she picks up. His voice has softened, the rough, commanding edge replaced by a tired warmth. “The wheels are turning. The first three trucks just cleared the gate. We’re back in business.”
On the other end of the line, there is a long, heavy silence.
“That’s good news, well done for getting us back in business,” Hlengiwe responds. Her voice is hollow. It’s polite, but the vibrant, sparked connection from the night on the office floor is gone.
His brow furrows, he stands up straight, his instincts instantly on high alert. He knows every inflection of her voice, and this isn’t the woman who told him to come back in one piece just twenty-four hours ago. Something is definitely off.
“Hlengiwe? What is it?” he asks, his voice dropping with concern.
“Everything is fine, I’m just tired. It’s been a long day of calls.”
He sighs, rubbing a hand over his tired face. He can smell the copper and the dust on his own skin, but all he can think about is the coldness in her tone.
“Don’t lie to me,” he says, “I can hear your heart beating through the phone, Hlengi. Something changed. Was it dinner with Thabile? What did she say?”
“I said it’s nothing, Gatsha,” Hlengiwe snaps, “Just get the rest of the fleet through. We can discuss the logistics when you’re back in South Africa.”
He closes his eyes, leaning his head against the cool metal of a shipping container. He feels the distance between them more sharply than the thousands of kilometers of African soil. He knows better than to push her when she’s like this.
“Fine,” he says softly, “We’ll do it your way. I’m catching the red-eye tonight. I’ll be at the depot by morning.”
“Safe travels,” she says.
“Hlengiwe?” he stops her before she can hang up.
“Yes?”
“Whatever it is, we are going to talk about it tomorrow.”
He ends the call before she can respond, staring at the screen of his phone. He has won the battle at the border, but as he looks at the dust clouds left by his trucks, he realizes he might be losing the only thing that actually mattered to him.
THABILE
She stands by the window, a robe loosely tied around her waist, watching the midnight traffic. In her hand, she is holding a glass of neat gin. She is restless and caught in between for being a good lawyer and pursuing her heart desires. She doesn’t just want Hlengiwe to doubt Gatsha; she wants Gatsha to be cornered so tightly that the only person he can turn to for survival is her.
“You’re getting sloppy, Gatsha,” she whispers to her reflection, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.
She sets her glass down and moves to her desk. She opens a laptop that she never takes to work or her firm. This is her private domain, where the lines between legal counsel and fixer blur into nothing. If she wants to keep Hlengiwe away from Gatsha, she has to make Gatsha look like a liability and if she wants Gatsha back in her bed, she has to make herself his only shield against Hlengiwe’s burgeoning power.
She doesn’t want to destroy him yet but swindle them both. Her plan is to feed Hlengiwe just enough evidence of Gatsha’s financial infidelity. While Hlengiwe is busy playing the betrayed boss, she will run to Gatsha. She will play the part of the devoted lover and legal genius, warning him that Hlengiwe is coming for his head and that she is the only one who can bury the trail before the police get involved.
She wants him desperate and crawling back to that leather couch in her office, begging her to fix the mess. She misses the way he took control that night, the raw, masculine energy he brought to their encounter, an energy he is currently wasting on a woman who is too busy mourning a ghost to appreciate him.
She opens a new document and begins to draft a tip for Hlengiwe, a series of transaction codes that lead directly to a private account Gatsha owns.
“Let’s see how much you trust him when you see where the money goes, Hlengiwe,” she says with a wicked smile.
She takes a final sip of her gin, the burn in her throat matching the fire in her chest. She is playing a high-stakes game of divide and conquer. By the time Gatsha lands back in South Africa, the air between him and Hlengiwe will be poisonous. She hits ‘save’ on the draft, her heart racing with the thrill of the sabotage.
HLENGIWE
She sits behind her desk, staring at a spreadsheet she has read twelve times without absorbing a single digit. Her mind is a chaotic loop of Thabile’s venomous whispers. ‘Are you the only woman he’s protecting?’ Every time she tries to find the Gatsha who held her on the rug, the image is distorted by the shadow of a man who might be a master manipulator.
The door flies opens and Gatsha walks in. He drops his bag on the chair and leans over her desk, searching her face.
“The fleet is across the border, the regional director signed off an hour ago,” he says. He reaches out to touch her hand, but she pulls back, pretending to adjust her sleeve.
He slowly stands up straight, his eyes narrowing. “You’re still doing it, the ice-queen routine. I flew half-way across the continent to save this contract for us, and I come back to a woman who won’t even look me in the eye.”
“I am looking at you, Gatsha,” she says, lifting her eyes. “And I’m looking at the business. We should focus on the transit logs.”
“To hell with the logs,” Gatsha growls, rounding the desk. He doesn’t stop until he is deep in her personal space. He places his hands on the arms of her chair, pinning her in. “Something happened at that dinner. I felt the shift through the phone. You’re overthinking, your mind is working overtime, and it’s poisonous. Tell me what she said.”
She looks up at him, and her heart betrays her. It does an uneven dance against her ribs. Up close, he is an overwhelming heat of masculinity that seems to swallow the air in the room. She wants to push him away, but her fingers ache to reach out and touch the stubble on his jaw.
“Is there something going on between you and Thabile?” she blurts out, the question escaping before she could filter it.
His expression shifts, a smirk spreads across his face. He doesn’t flinch but leans in even closer instead. His face is inches away from hers, until she can feel the warm rhythm of his breath on her lips.
“Between me and Thabile?” he repeats in a whisper that makes her toes curl in her shoes. “Is that what this is about?”
“She seemed very informed about your personal habits,” she says, her breath hitching as he refuses to move.
“Why do you care, Hlengi?” He asks, his eyes dropping to her mouth and then back to her gaze, pinning her. “Why does the thought of me and another woman make your blood boil so hot that you can’t even look at me? Are you jealous?”
“I am not jealous,” she snaps, but her voice is thin, betraying the lie. “I am concerned about the integrity of the business. If you’re involved with the legal counsel…”
“You’re lying,” he interrupts softly. He reaches out, his thumb catching her chin and tilting her face up. “Your mouth is saying integrity, but your eyes are asking if I’ve touched her the way I want to touch you. Your body is shaking, Hlengi. Why are you shaking?”
She feels like she’s drowning, her common sense is screaming at her to remember Funani, to remember the missing logs, to remember Thabile’s warnings but the presence of Gatsha is too strong. She hates how much she wants him to be innocent. She hates how her skin reacts wherever his thumb touches her.
“I shouldn’t be here with you like this,” she whispers, her eyes closing as his scent envelops her. “It’s wrong.”
“It’s the only thing that feels right,” Gatsha murmurs.
His hand slides from her chin to the back of her neck, his fingers tangling in her hair as he pulls her upward. Her hands fly to his chest, intending to push him away but the moment her palms hit his shirt, her fingers clench, pulling him closer instead.
When his lips finally crash against hers, it isn’t soft or tentative. It’s an explosion of months of repressed grief, secret attraction, and the terrifying thrill of the unknown. It is a kiss that tastes of desperation and claims that shatters every boundary they had spent weeks building.
She moans into the kiss, her head spinning as she lets go of the ghost of her past for one second, losing herself completely in the man she was supposed to be investigating.
To be continued
Join Our WhatsApp Channel For Fast Update Or More Novels: 