CHAPTER 18
GATSHA
He lies back against the headboard, his hands gripping Hlengiwe’s hips as she sits on top of him. He watches her through hooded eyes, she is a vision of controlled chaos, her head thrown back, her hair clinging to her neck, her eyes squeezed shut as she moves on top of him.
This is the moment he has replayed in his mind for years, long before it was ever a possibility. He had yearned for this, fought for it, and now that it is happening, a cold anxiety pierces through his pleasure. He is terrified that as soon as this clears, the widow will return, the guilt will set in and she will call this a mistake.
“Hlengi,” he groans, meeting her pace and lifting his hips to drive deeper into her, his hands anchoring her to him. The friction is unbearable, a mounting pressure that threatens to shatter him. He watches the way her breasts rise and fall with her heavy breathing, the way she winces with pleasure as he hits that perfect spot. They move in sync until the explosion finally comes. It’s their third time reaching that peak, and as Hlengiwe’s internal muscles tighten around him, he lets out a low roar, spilling himself deep inside her. He doesn’t pull away but stays within her heat, feeling the heavy, wet sensation of his semen trickling down their intertwined legs.
He pulls her down onto his sweat-slicked chest and kisses her forehead, his lips lingering on her salty skin.
“I needed this,” Hlengiwe whispers into the crook of his neck, “I needed to feel something.”
He strokes her hair, his fingers tangling in the damp strands. “Do you have any regrets about what just happened?”
The room falls into silence as he waits, holding his breath expecting the rejection. She stays quiet for a long moment, her finger tracing a scar on his shoulder.
“I don’t know what I’m doing, Gatsha,” she finally says, her voice gaining a bit of strength. “Everything tells me I should be ashamed but I don’t regret it. It felt great.”
Relief washes over him, he pulls her even tighter, his chin resting on the top of her head. “Then stay, just for a while. Let’s just rest here.”
Hlengiwe lifts her head, her expression shifting back into focus. She brushes a lock of hair from her face.
“No. I can’t. There’s too much going on at the depot. I have to get back.”
“Hlengi, you’ve been working for twenty hours straight,” he tries to convince her, his hand sliding down to her hip to keep her there. “The trucks are moving. The world won’t end if you sleep for two hours.”
“You stay,” she says, leaning down to give him a soft kiss that tastes of the passion they just shared. “You’ve been on a plane and in the dust. You deserve the rest. I’ll handle the afternoon shift.”
He realizes there is no winning this argument. He lets his hands fall away, leaning back against the pillows as he watches her get out of bed. He watches her walk into his bathroom to clean herself, and then return to get dressed.
She pulls on her skirt and blouse. She looks like the same untouchable woman who walked into the depot a few days ago, but he knows better now. He knows the sounds she makes when she loses control. As she reaches the door, she turns back and gives him a small, almost shy wave. “I’ll see you later.”
“Later, Hlengi,” he murmurs.
The front door closes, and the house returns to its peaceful silence. He heaves a long, heavy sigh, a smirk finally spreading across his face. He stares at the ceiling, his body feeling heavy and satisfied.
“Forgive me, Funani,” he says to the empty room, “I am now within and there’s no going back from here.”
HLENGIWE
The gates of the estate closes behind her as she drives out but the scent of Gatsha is still trapped inside the car. She grips the steering wheel so hard, her chest tight with a mix of adrenaline and a crushing cold dose of reality. She feels different; her skin is sensitive to the touch of her own clothes, and the lingering ache between her thighs is a reminder of what she just allowed to happen.
She pulls into the first petrol station she sees, her breath coming in ragged hitches. She needs a second to exist in a space where no one knows her name. She buys a bottle of sparkling water, her hands shaking as she twists the cap, and leans against the side of her car. The cold water hits her throat, but it does nothing to extinguish the fire Gatsha has lit in her blood.
‘What have you done?’ the voice in her head screams.
She closes her eyes, and suddenly she isn’t in the garage; she’s back in 2018, at the housewarming party Funani threw when they bought their first house. She remembers the first time she met Gatsha. He was skinny then, his eyes just as sharp, standing in a corner with a glass of whiskey. Funani had pulled her toward him, beaming with pride.
“Hlengi, this is Gatsha Cebani. My brother from another mother. If anything ever happens to me, this is the man who will make sure you’re okay.”
The memory stings like salt in an open wound. Back then, she found Gatsha to be arrogant, a bit too rough around the edges for her refined tastes. She had kept him at arm’s length, viewing him as the “Kasi influence” on her husband. But now? Now she knows the weight of his hands. She knows the way he looks at her when he thinks she isn’t watching.
She feels a sick satisfaction that she’s too ashamed to admit. She felt alive on that counter. For the first time since the funeral, she wasn’t the widow. She was just a woman being wanted and claimed. The guilt is there but it’s being crowded out by a terrifying, new addiction to the way Gatsha makes her feel.
A notification ping from her phone, she pulls it from her bag, her heart skipping a beat as she hopes it’s a text from him. It’s Siza.
> Siza: Hey babes! Long day? Please tell me you’re free for movies and wine tonight. I feel like I haven’t seen my bestie in years! 
>
She stares at the screen, a wave of nausea washing over her. Siza was the one who held her while she screamed at the cemetery. Siza is the one who still brings flowers for Funani’s grave. To face her now, with Gatsha’s touch still fresh on her skin, feels like an impossible task. She can’t let Siza see her eyes; she’s afraid her best friend will see the betrayal written in her pupils.
If she’s being honest, it’s more than that. The honest ugly truth is that she doesn’t want to go to the movies. She wants to be back at the depot. She wants to be in that office, waiting for 12:00 PM to roll around so she can see if Gatsha still looks at her with that same hunger.
She types back:
> Hlengiwe: I wish I could, friend, but the DRC contract has hit a major crisis at the border. I’m heading back to the depot now to handle the paperwork. I’ll be lucky if I get home before midnight. I’ll make it up to you once the dust has settled, I promise. Love you.
>
She hits send and immediately feels like she’s digging a deeper hole. She isn’t just lying to her friend; she’s starting to build a secret life, a shadow world where only she and Gatsha exist.
She tosses the phone onto the passenger seat and climbs back into the car. As she pulls out of the garage, she catches her reflection in the rearview mirror. Her hair is slightly messy, and her lips are still swollen. She looks like a woman who has been thoroughly loved, and she finds herself subconsciously smoothing her skirt, a small smile touching her lips despite the chaos in her soul.
She knows the world would crucify her for this. They would call her heartless, a traitor to a good man’s memory. As she accelerates toward the depot, the only thing she can think about is the feeling of Gatsha’s breath against her neck and the way he said her name.
NARRATED
Thabile stands on the steps of the South Gauteng High Court in Johannesburg. She looks impeccable in a tailored navy power suit, her eyes hidden behind shades as she scans the crowd of lawyers and clerks.
She spots her target, Zenzele is walking down the stairs with his briefcase in his hand. Thabile adjusts her stride, timing it perfectly so she bumps into him right at the base of the pillars.
“Oh! Forgive me, I wasn’t looking,” she says, lowering her shades, “Wait… Zenzele? Is that you? I haven’t seen you since the funeral.”
Zenzele stops, his jaw tightening. He recognizes her instantly even though they move in different legal circles. “Counsel. It’s been a while.”
“Indeed. I was just thinking about you the other day,” Thabile says, “I thought to myself, ‘How is my learned colleague holding up?’ It’s been so quiet on your end. Strange, considering the big shot is gone and the empire is up for grabs. I expected you to be right in the thick of the estate battles.”
Zenzele offers a dry smile. “The empire has a Queen now, Counsel. I’m just a man with a private practice. I’m sure you’re much closer to the throne than I am these days.”
Thabile chuckles, moving closer, her voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper. “The Queen is busy being protected by the King-consort, isn’t she? But tell me, doesn’t it bother you? Being dropped by Funani at the eleventh hour? After all those years of loyalty, to be cut out of the inner circle just before he departed?”
“Partnerships evolve, Thabile. Business is business.”
“Is it?” she asks, “Or did you see something you weren’t supposed to see? Because a man like Funani doesn’t just discard his best legal mind unless he’s afraid of what that mind knows. Unless that mind is guilty of something.”
Zenzele doesn’t flinch but steps around her, “Careful, Counsel. Defamation is a heavy suit to wear.”
Thabile’s fingers nimble as she reaches for his tie, straightening the knot with a mocking touch. “The law has a very long hand, Zenzele. It reaches into the past, into the dark, and eventually, it pulls the truth into the light. You can cut off the head, but the body eventually rots and stinks up the whole house.”
She taps his chest twice, then steps back with a triumphant smirk. “It was wonderful bumping into you. Give my regards to the ghosts.”
She blows him a kiss and walks toward her car, her heels. Zenzele stands frozen, watching her car pull away. The sweat on his brow has nothing to do with the Johannesburg sun. He waits until she is out of sight before he fumbles for his phone. He scrolls through his contacts until he finds the one name he hasn’t called in weeks.
“Zenzele?” Gatsha’s voice comes through. “Where the hell have you been? You’ve been a ghost.”
“Gatsha, We need to meet. Now. Away from the depot, away from the house.”
“What happened?”
“It’s Thabile, she just cornered me at the High Court. She’s sniffing around and knows something about the weeks before the accident. There’s fire in the mountain, brother and if it spreads, we’re both going to burn.”
“Name the place,” Gatsha says, his voice turning cold. “I’m coming.”
To be continued
Join Our WhatsApp Channel For Fast Update Or More Novels: 