Chapter 13: Close Enough to Burn
1355 Words
Dawn filtered through the curtains in thin gold lines.
Ada woke up to the sound of her own breathing and the fact that Kene was still sitting on the edge of her bed.
He hadn’t left.
He was watching her, elbows on his knees, eyes dark with exhaustion and something else she couldn’t name. The cut above his eyebrow had dried, a thin line of red against his skin.
“You should sleep,” she said, voice rough from disuse.
“So should you,” Kene replied.
Neither of them moved.
He stood first, breaking the moment. He walked to the small table by the door and picked up a mug. “Coffee. Black. No sugar. I remembered.”
Ada blinked. “You remembered?”
“You drink it the same way every morning,” he said, setting the mug in her hands. His fingers brushed hers, deliberate or accidental, she couldn’t tell. “Drink it before it gets cold.”
The warmth seeped into her palms. She took a sip, and for the first time since the garage, her shoulders dropped half an inch.
Kene stood a foot away, close enough that she could see the tension in his jaw, the way his shirt pulled across his shoulders. He’d changed out of the torn one, but the fabric still clung to him like he’d dressed in a hurry.
“You have something on your face,” she said before she could stop herself.
Kene frowned and reached up.
“No,” Ada said, setting the mug down. “Here.”
She reached out, her thumb brushing just under his eyebrow where the cut was. Her hand trembled, but she didn’t pull back. Kene went still, his eyes locked on hers.
For three seconds, the room narrowed to just the space between them.
Then Kene stepped back. “It’s fine.”
Ada dropped her hand like she’d been burned. “Right.”
The door knocked. Oscar.
“Sir. The board is on line two. They want to talk about the contract.”
Kene didn’t look away from Ada. “Tell them I’ll call back.”
“Sir—”
“Now, Oscar.”
The door closed.
Kene exhaled and ran a hand through his hair. “They’re going to tell me to end this. To send you away.”
“Will you?” Ada asked.
Kene was quiet for a long time. Then he said, “No.”
Ada’s heart did something stupid at that.
“No?” she repeated.
“No,” Kene said again, firmer this time. “You stay. If the board doesn’t like it, they can fire me. But you stay.”
Ada swallowed hard. “Kene, I can’t let you lose your company for me.”
“You’re not ‘for me’,” Kene said. “You’re with me. There’s a difference.”
He left before she could answer.
---
Two hours later, Kene was pulling into the driveway of Madam Ngozi’s house.
Ada sat in the passenger seat, her hands clenched in her lap. She hadn’t been back since the garage.
“Are you sure about this?” Kene asked.
“No,” Ada said honestly. “But she needs to see me.”
Kene nodded and got out first, scanning the street before he opened her door. Two of his men took position at the gate.
Madam Ngozi opened the door before they knocked.
“Ada!” She pulled her daughter into a tight hug, then pulled back and looked her over like she was checking for injuries. “You’re okay. Thank God, you’re okay.”
“I’m okay, Mama,” Ada said.
Madam Ngozi’s eyes flicked to Kene. “You.”
“Mama,” Ada said warningly.
Kene stepped forward. “Mrs. Okeke. I know you’re angry. I would be too. But I’m keeping her safe.”
Madam Ngozi crossed her arms. “Safe? By bringing gunmen to my doorstep?”
“It won’t happen again,” Kene said.
“That’s what you said last time.”
“Mama, please,” Ada cut in. “Can we talk inside?”
Inside, it was tense. Madam Ngozi sat them down and made tea, her hands shaking.
“I heard about the man they arrested,” she said. “Tunde. They said he was sent by Victor.”
Ada nodded.
“And you’re still with him?” Madam Ngozi looked at Kene. “After everything?”
Kene met her gaze. “Yes.”
Madam Ngozi stared at him for a long moment, then at Ada. “And you?”
Ada didn’t answer right away. She looked at Kene, at the way he stood like he was ready to fight the world for her, at the way he hadn’t slept but still made her coffee.
“I’m not leaving,” Ada said quietly.
Madam Ngozi sighed. “God help me.”
They were halfway through the tea when the first shot rang out.
Glass shattered in the front window. Madam Ngozi screamed.
Kene moved instantly, pulling Ada down behind the couch and covering her with his body. “Stay down!”
More shots. One of Kene’s men returned fire.
Ada’s heart hammered as she felt Kene’s pulse against her back, fast and steady. His arm was around her waist, holding her tight.
“Are you hurt?” he muttered against her hair.
“No,” Ada whispered. “You?”
“Fine.”
The gunfire stopped as quickly as it started. Kene’s men called out that it was clear.
Kene pulled back just enough to look at her face. His hands were on her arms, checking for injuries even though she’d said she was fine. His thumbs brushed her skin, and Ada’s breath caught.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
Ada nodded, unable to speak.
Kene’s eyes dropped to her lips for half a second before he stood up and stepped away, like he’d remembered himself.
Outside, one of the attackers was down. The other had fled.
Madam Ngozi was crying in the kitchen, praying loudly.
Kene turned to Ada. “We’re leaving. Now.”
---
Back at the house, the tension hadn’t eased.
Ada followed Kene into his office and closed the door behind her.
“Why do you keep doing this?” she asked. “Risking yourself for me? I’m not worth it, Kene.”
Kene turned slowly, his expression unreadable. “Don’t say that.”
“Why not? It’s true.”
Kene stepped forward. “The thought of you hurt because of me… I can’t stand it, Ada. I can’t.”
Ada’s chest tightened. “Then stop. Let me go. Let the board end the contract. Go back to your life.”
Kene stopped a breath away from her. “If you want me to stop, say it now. But I’m not good at stopping when it comes to you.”
Ada looked up at him. He was so close she could see the gold flecks in his dark eyes, feel the heat coming off his skin.
Her lips parted, but no words came out.
Kene’s gaze flicked to her mouth, then back to her eyes. His breathing changed.
“Ada,” he said, voice low. “Tell me to stop.”
The room felt too small, too hot. Ada’s pulse roared in her ears. She could lean forward half an inch and—
Her phone buzzed on the desk.
Both of them froze.
Kene stepped back, jaw clenched, and picked it up.
It was a photo.
Ada’s mother’s house. Taken from across the street.
A new message appeared under it:
_“Next time, I don’t miss.”_
Kene’s face went cold.
He grabbed Ada’s hand and pulled her toward the door. “We’re ending this tonight.”
“Ending what?” Ada asked, stumbling to keep up.
“Victor,” Kene said. “And this contract. All of it.”
Ada’s heart dropped. “What do you mean?”
Kene didn’t answer. He was already calling Oscar, his voice sharp with command.
Ada looked down at their joined hands.
He hadn’t let go.
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