by Kiru Taye
He could have killed himself, or a member of the public. Supposing he’d survived the crash, he would be subject to prosecution and jail time.
Drunken recklessness only compounded problems.
A weight settled on Ethan’s chest and he struggled to breathe. He glanced at James, who seemed to be in a booze-induced blackout.
His grip on the steering wheel tightened. He shook his head to check himself.
He didn’t know why the thought of James in trouble bothered him.
It had been a long week, and he needed some shut-eye.
James’s recklessness was not his problem. He was only driving the man home now because he felt obligated to Kamali. If something had happened to James and Kamali knew he’d been in the vicinity, his reputation as a security consultant would tank and he would lose an influential client.
This was a smart business decision. Pure and simple.
He focused on the road. According to the directions, he was one right turn away from James’s street. He slowed down, looked in his mirrors and flashed the indicator. Then he drove into the exclusive cul-de-sac, which had five residences. When the digital voice announced, “You have arrived at your destination,” he stopped in front of black metal gates and beeped the horn once.
Two non-uniformed men came out of the pedestrian entrance. Both had holstered weapons and carried themselves like men who had seen combat. Not the usual ten-for-a-naira ‘gatemen’ who were no more than domestic staff in Nigerian households.
Ethan lowered the window and spoke in Pidgin English to the guard he recognised. “Samson, how now?”
The Banks Security employee bent down and grinned at him. “Ethan, na you dey drive?”
“Na so I see am.” Ethan tipped his head towards his passenger. “He was in no fit state to do so.”
Samson glanced towards James and nodded. Then he waved at his colleague. “BamBam, open the gates.”
Metal clanged as the second man tugged the barriers apart. Samson stepped aside.
Ethan drove into the grounds of the two-level mansion set on expansive surroundings. Spotlights beamed from floor level. Green plants and potted flowers lined the perimeter.
He didn’t bother parking in one of the spots under the carport. He pulled up to the portico and killed the engine.
He should just leave James in the car for someone else to deal with and head home.
Sighing, he scrubbed his hands over his face.
He didn’t do things by halves. He always completed his missions, even if they were as mundane as delivering a drunken man home safely.
He got out, walked over to the passenger side, and leaned in to unclip James’s seat belt.
James stirred and rubbed his nose against Ethan’s chest. “You smell nice for a kidnapper.”
Surprised by the inebriated man’s actions and barely coherent words, Ethan chuckled. “A kidnapper? How does a kidnapper smell?”
James sniffed him again, nuzzling his T-shirt. “I don’t know. You could be the Dark Knight, right now.”
Warmth and tingles radiated across Ethan’s skin. Grinning, he straightened and shook his head.
James was so drunk he didn’t know what he was saying or doing. He wouldn’t remember any of this when he sobered, probably.
“Come on. Let’s get you indoors. Can you walk?”
No response came from James. He’d passed out again.
Ethan heaved him over his shoulder as he’d done in TJ’s car park and carried him towards the front entrance.
“Does he get drunk like this often?” It wasn’t Ethan’s business, but he couldn’t stop from asking the question.
“No,” Samson replied, walking alongside. “I’ve never seen him drunk.”
Something must have happened to trigger this episode.
“Why doesn’t he have a designated bodyguard?” Suddenly over-protective and irritable, Ethan’s grip on James tightened.
Someone should’ve been out there with him tonight. The car alone was worth a lot, and incidents of kidnappings-for-ransom were on the increase within the country.
Ethan’s friend, Freddie Edun, co-owned Banks Security with Kola Banks, who Ethan had met several times, and they ran a top-rated operation. He collaborated with them whenever they needed his specialist skills, or when one of his clients required close protection officers or equipment.
So, he couldn’t understand why James didn’t have close protection with him tonight, considering his family’s status and wealth.
Samson pressed the buzzer. “He rejected a dedicated minder. But there are trackers on his phone and car.”
The front door opened, and James’s brother stood there. “What’s going on?”
“Good evening, Mr. Coker. My name is Ethan. I found James, and he was in no state to drive so I brought him home.”
“What’s wrong with him? Is he hurt?” Henry’s voice rang with alarm.
“He’s drunk and passed out.”
“Come in.” Henry moved aside.
“Where should I put him?” Ethan asked as he stepped into a freezing cold foyer with eggshell walls and a shiny marble floor.
“If you don’t mind, can you bring him upstairs?” Henry headed up the grand white staircase.
“Sure.” Ethan followed.
At the landing, Henry turned left down a corridor and opened one of the solid wooden white doors. He flicked the light on. “Please put him on the bed.”
Ethan walked in and deposited James on the comforter. A quick glance around showed a large room with a built-in wardrobe, bookshelves, and soft furnishings that matched each other. Not a stray sock or discarded linen was in sight. There was probably an army of servants available to keep the place ultra-tidy.
Not a complaint; Ethan liked the neatness. He looked at James’s fully clothed sprawled form, shoes and all. Someone else would have to make the man more comfortable.
Ethan had completed his mission. He turned towards the door.
Henry stood in the hallway. “I know you, don’t I?”
“Yes. We were introduced briefly by Mr. Danladi,” Ethan replied.
“Of course. I remember. You’re the trouble-shooter. Thank you so much for bringing my brother home safely. It seems our family owes you a lot.”
“It’s not a problem, Mr. Coker.”
“Do you need help getting back? I can get someone to drop you wherever you need to go.” Henry shut James’s door, and they walked downstairs.
“There’s no need,” Ethan replied. “I had someone follow me in a car so I could drive back.”
“Well, thank you so much. And if there’s ever anything I can do for you, don’t hesitate to reach out.” Henry extended his hand. His offer sounded genuine.
“Will do. Have a good night,” Ethan said, and they shook hands.
“Goodnight,” Henry replied, and stood by the door as Ethan headed down the driveway.
“Thanks for your help,” Samson said as he held the gate open.
“No problem.” Ethan strode to where Jocelyn had parked the idling Jeep.
Without a word from him, she opened the door and went over to the passenger side.
He shook his head as he got into the driver’s seat. “Why did you move over?”
She tilted her head to the side. “You’re my cousin, and I love you. But you are a terrible passenger.”
His mouth dropped open. “I’m not.”
Her brows rose. “You so are. If I were the one driving, you’d sit here telling me what to do throughout the trip. You do it all the time.”
He opened his mouth to dispute her word and shut it. She was right.
He didn’t like situations he couldn’t control.
“Well, I like driving.” He went for nonchalance and released the hand brake, pulling away from the curb.
“Because being in charge of a fast-moving two-ton machine isn’t a power trip?” Jocelyn commented.
Ethan didn’t reply. He wasn’t about to get into an argumen
t with a doctor who treated behavioural disorders for a living.
Chapter Five
James woke to a marching band lodged in his skull. He peeled his eyes open, but the light stung so he shut them.
He hadn’t felt this awful since... he couldn’t remember. Had he fallen ill?
Working his achy brain, the memory from last night returned. Kezie’s engagement to Ify.
James hadn’t contracted any ailments. He was just dying from a broken heart.
He groaned, rolled over and burrowed under the pillows.
“Wakey, wakey,” a singsong voice greeted. Gloria.
“Go away,” he grumbled, keeping his eyes closed.
“Oh, don’t be like that,” she said sweetly. “I brought painkillers as I know they’re playing Afro-Juju in your head right now.”
The mention of painkillers made him pause instead of sending her away. He pushed off on his right elbow and reached out his left hand, while opening his eyes a little.
She placed two tablets on his palm.
He shoved them into his mouth and reached out again to take the water. When he emptied the glass, he passed it back to her and flopped onto the cushions.
The soft thud of glass on the wooden side table reached him, and then the mattress depressed.
Gloria seemed in no hurry to leave him alone.
He sighed. “What’s the time?”
“Nine-thirty,” she replied.
He should’ve been at work at eight this morning.
“Unh,” he groaned, and rolled onto his back, placing an arm over his eyes. “Why are you still at home?”
“I don’t have any client meetings today so I’m working from home,” she said. She ran a style consultancy from a studio in Victoria Island.
In other words, she was concerned and had decided to stay home to check on him.
“You do know it’s just a hangover, not an illness.” He would concentrate on his headache rather than on his heart malady.
“And I have the cure right here. Black coffee loaded with caffeine and sugar to kick-start your day.” She sounded chirpy.
As if on cue, the aroma of roasted coffee beans filled his nostrils. Chancing it, he pried his eyelids apart. They didn’t hurt badly as the analgesic had kicked in some. He pushed his body so he could sit up and spied the mug on the table.
“Pass it over, then,” he said in a rough voice.
“Here you go.” She didn’t sound pissed off at his grumpiness and handed him the hot cup.
He took a sip of the smooth, dark magic and sighed, leaning back onto the wooden headboard.
“It must have been quite a party last night, then,” she said in a nonchalant tone.
He frowned as he remembered yesterday’s chaos, and his stomach threatened to heave. “It wasn’t a party.”
“Really?” She tilted her head to watch him. “Henry said you were so drunk that you passed out, and someone else had to drive you in your car back home.”
Grimacing, he remembered going to the bar and drinking. He had no recollection of coming home afterwards, and he lay in bed, still fully clothed sans shoes.
“Do you know who brought me home?” he asked.
“I don’t know. Where did you go?”
He sucked in a deep breath and told a partial truth. “I went to see Kezie.”
He couldn’t tell what had really happened. He was still coming to terms with the events himself.
“Then, he must have been the one to bring you back.”
“No, it wasn’t Kezie.” It couldn’t have been.
He tried to work his brain to remember, but his head only hurt from the strain.
“Well, I guess it doesn’t matter who it was. You came home safely, and that’s what’s important.” She sounded relieved and got off the bed. “But you missed movie night.”
His guilt ramped up another notch that she wasn’t complaining. She had no qualms with speaking her mind when upset. Movie nights were her thing, and their family bonding opportunity. He hadn’t explained before he’d taken off after Kezie’s phone call.
He closed his eyes, puffed out a breath and lifted his lashes. “I didn’t mean to run out on you yesterday. I had to deal with an urgent matter.”
“I figured something must have come up, considering you have such a hangover this morning.” She tilted her head. “You can tell me about it, you know.”
“I know.” He left it at that, not wanting to get drawn into the discussion. Tension coiled his body.
He loved Gloria. She was his sister-by-another-mama, his sister-in-law, his friend, and even his confidante on certain matters. However, he’d never discussed his sexuality with her. There’d never been any need before.
Now, he wasn’t brave enough. He’d just lost his lover and best friend. He wasn’t ready to lose his family.
“Oh, well. I’m going to head downstairs and pretend to be the boss.” She winked at him. That was her jokey way of saying she was going to use Henry’s home office.
Warmth tingled across his chest, and he chuckled as some of his tension disappeared. “Yeah. Have fun with that.”
“Will do,” she said as she headed for the door.
Before she pulled it shut, he said, “Thank you.”
She beamed a smile at him. “You’re welcome.
Then she was gone.
He crawled to the edge of the bed and sat there for a few minutes while he finished the coffee. His phone sat on the bedside cabinet, dead. Whoever had brought him upstairs last night probably pulled it out of his pocket and placed it there, most likely his brother.
He caught the faint scent of cologne on his shirt, not his or Henry’s.
Pieces of last night flashed in his mind—unsteady legs as he left TJ’s Bar, thinking about calling one of the security team, Samson, to pick him up because he could barely stay upright. He hadn’t realised he’d drunk too much until the world started spinning. Hitting his head against the car and everything blurring, the strong, bulging arms that lifted him onto a rock-hard body. He’d thought the stranger could abduct him, yet he hadn’t been frightened. He’d felt secure, soothed by the man’s sexy rumbling voice.
His dark knight had kept him safe, had brought him home unharmed.
The man had been his saviour, without the cape, of course.
He could’ve gotten into all sorts of trouble, otherwise.
Sighing, he placed the mug back on the table, reached for the cable and plugged his phone in to charge.
Then he went into the bathroom for his morning routine. He stood under the lukewarm shower for long enough to wake him up somewhat before increasing the temperature.
Afterwards, he dressed meticulously. No matter what else was going on in his life, he had to be immaculate. He wore a baby blue shirt, a charcoal suit, and a navy with blue fleur-de-lys tie. His black shoes gleamed with polish.
Happy with his appearance, he went downstairs. In the kitchen, he avoided the breakfast offer from the housekeeper and poured another cup of coffee.
“I’m going to head into the office,” he said when he popped his head into the study.
Gloria glanced up from her laptop screen. “See you later. You look fab, by the way.”
“Thank you, sweetie. See you later,” he said with more cheer than when she’d woken him.
Perhaps he could put a brave face on it, and get through the day without going into a fit of rage or despair.
He rolled his shoulders, opened the door and stepped onto the portico. The sun was high with the temperature to match.
His grey SL convertible stood at its spot under the carport next to Gloria’s black GLC coupe. They both loved the Mercedes brand.
“Morning, James.” BamBam appeared from the side path. He was one of the full-time security men who lived in the annex behind the main house. He’d come to open the gates because he’d seen James leave the house on one of the cameras mounted around the premises.
“Morning, BamBam.” James paused his
stride to the vehicle. “Were you on duty when I came home last night? Did you see who drove my car?”
The man nodded. “I was here and I saw the guy, but I don’t know him.”
“Oh, okay,” James said, unsure of why he was disappointed that he didn’t know the person’s identity. It shouldn’t matter, anyway. He pressed the fob.
“Samson knew the guy. They chatted for a while,” BamBam said.
James halted, his pulse rate increasing. There was a possibility of finding out the identity of his dark knight.
Samson was Gloria’s designated minder and lived in the annex too. If the bodyguard was friends with James’s saviour, then the man in question was probably unavailable.
Real life sucked.
It was safer to picture the man from last night as a fantasy hero, rather than find out who he was in reality and be disappointed again.
“Do you want me to call Samson?” BamBam’s question roused him from his thoughts.
“No. Don’t worry about it. I’ll speak to Samson another time.” He lowered his body into the car. His feet didn’t reach the pedals and he could barely see above the cockpit.
Damn. His dark knight had long legs and a torso to match. Big, buff, and tall. He imagined the mystery man and his skin flushed.
Grinning, he pressed the button to reset the seat to his dimensions and another nub to fold the roof. Then he popped two mints from the pack in the middle console into his mouth.
Sunshades on, he started the engine, reversed and then turned to head to the gates.
BamBam pulled the barriers apart.
He drove through onto the tarred road of the cul-de-sac. Once he was out of the quiet residential streets of his locality, he was soon stopping and starting in the denser traffic leading to Lagos Island where the Coker Constructions offices were located.
Thirty minutes later, he pulled into his designated space in the underground parking, pressed the button to raise the roof and stepped out. In the corner, a piece of white paper was stuck on the flap. He tugged it off and found a scrawled note.
You’re a piece of shit.
You should never have been born.
Dizziness made him sway, his legs and knees weakened. His racing heart nearly exploded out of his chest. He leaned his back on the car and glanced around the shadowed car park.
