CHAPTER TWO — THE SAFE HOUSE
1878 Words
The rain refused to stop as Ghost led Amara through a maze of backstreets and hidden passages only someone like him would know. He walked with purpose, despite the pain in his arm, despite the blood soaking into the scarf she had tied around him.
His fingers wrapped around her hand tightly not gently, not romantically, but with the intensity of a man who knew one wrong move could get them both killed.
Amara struggled to keep up.
Her sandals slapped against puddles.
Her bag bounced against her hip.
Her breath came fast and shaky.
This wasn’t her world.
But she was in it now.
When Ghost finally paused, they stood in front of an old abandoned bakery its sign broken, its walls covered in graffiti. It looked like a place no sane person would enter.
Amara swallowed.
“Your safe house… is this place?”
Ghost didn’t answer.
He pushed a rusted metal door open and gestured for her to go in.
Inside, it was dark pitch black.
Amara froze.
“I can’t see anything,” she whispered.
Ghost stepped in behind her, closing the door and locking it with three different bolts.
Even in the darkness, Amara felt the shift in his presence like the entire room bent around him.
A single click.
Then a dim bulb came on overhead, buzzing faintly.
Amara blinked as the room came into view:
A small space with a single couch, a wooden table, a mattress on the floor, and a metal cabinet. No windows. No personal items. No pictures.
Just shadows.
Just secrets.
Ghost removed his soaked hoodie and tossed it aside. The black tank top underneath clung to his body, revealing carved muscles, old scars, a life written in violence.
Amara looked away quickly.
“Sit,” he ordered softly, pointing at the couch.
She obeyed. Not because she feared him but because something in his voice made her chest tighten.
Ghost walked to the metal cabinet, rummaged through it, and brought out a small first aid box.
He sat on the couch beside her, their knees almost touching.
“Give me your hand.”
She hesitated. “Why?”
He didn’t respond. He simply took her hand gently and placed something small and silver into her palm.
A phone. A different SIM card already inside.
“If you try to call police…” he said quietly, “I go know.”
She stiffened.
“So you’re threatening me now?”
Ghost leaned back, eyes dark and unreadable.
“No. I dey protect you. Anyone wey see you with me Balogun’s men dem no go leave you. You talk to police now, you die before dem even reach.”
Her throat tightened.
This was real.
This was danger with teeth.
“So… what am I supposed to do with the phone?” she asked shakily.
“Nothing. I go hold am. Just incase.” He slid it back into his pocket. “I no trust anybody.”
Amara folded her arms. “Including me?”
He turned his head, eyes locking on hers.
“No. You I trust small… too small.”
The air between them grew thick, tense.
Then Ghost reached for the cloth she had used earlier and slowly unwound it from his arm.
Blood stained the scarf and his skin.
Amara winced. “You should let me clean that properly.”
Ghost raised a brow.
“You sabi treat gunshot wound for school?”
“I’m a medical student,” she said, voice firmer now. “And this isn’t a gunshot wound it’s a graze.”
He chuckled softly.
“Na so. Correct doctor.”
She shifted closer before she realized what she was doing.
Ghost watched her every move, every blink, every breath.
Amara swallowed hard.
“Do you… have clean water?”
He stood, walked to the cabinet again, and brought back a small bottle of water and a pack of cotton wool.
She took them from him, her fingers brushing his.
The touch sent a spark up her arm, unexpected, unwanted.
Ghost sat again, resting his injured arm on his thigh.
“Make I no lie,” he murmured. “People no dey near me like this.”
Amara pretended not to hear.
“Hold still.”
She soaked the cotton in water and pressed it to the wound gently.
Ghost flinched. “Ah easy.”
“I told you to hold still,” she muttered.
Rain drummed softly on the roof.
The bulb flickered.
Her hands moved carefully.
His gaze stayed locked on her face.
“Why did you help me?” he asked suddenly.
She paused.
“What do you mean?”
“You see blood, you see gun. You fit run. But you stay.”
She considered her answer.
“I don’t know,” she finally whispered. “Maybe because you didn’t look like someone who wanted to die tonight.”
Ghost chuckled, low and bitter.
“My whole life na survival. I no dey fear death.”
“Everyone fears death,” she said quietly. “Even you.”
He didn’t reply.
She finished cleaning the wound and bandaged it using a roll of gauze she found in the first aid box.
Ghost watched her the entire time, studying the way her brows furrowed, the way she bit her bottom lip when concentrating.
When she finished, she sat back.
“There,” she said. “It’s not perfect, but it will hold.”
Ghost lifted his arm slightly.
“You do well.”
Amara smiled faintly. “Good. Now, since you’re clearly not dying… can you explain what happened back there?”
Ghost’s expression hardened instantly.
“No.”
She blinked.
“No explanation?” she pressed. “After dragging me into this”
“I drag you?” he interrupted. “If I leave you there, you die.”
“But now I’m here and I still don’t know what’s going on!”
His eyes softened for a second.
“You know too much already. And I no wan involve you.”
Amara stared at him.
“Then let me go home.”
Ghost’s jaw tightened.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“It’s not safe.”
“You keep saying that”
“Because na the truth!”
He stood abruptly, pacing the room. His muscles tense, his shadow stretching across the walls.
Amara watched him with growing frustration and something else she couldn’t name.
Finally, she spoke softly.
“Ghost… am I your prisoner?”
He stopped.
Turned.
And in three steps, he was standing right in front of her.
“No,” he said quietly. “You’re not my prisoner. I’m trying to keep you alive.”
His voice was lower now.
Warmer.
Dangerous in a different way.
Amara swallowed.
“But you’re acting like you own me.”
He inhaled sharply, eyes flickering with something he wasn’t ready to admit.
“I no own you,” he murmured. “But I never lose something I dey protect.”
Her heart thudded painfully.
The silence stretched.
Rain.
Thunder.
Two people breathing the same air.
“Look,” Ghost said finally, turning away, “you go stay here till morning. After that, I go find how to move you safely.”
“And where will you be?”
He didn’t turn.
“Me? I get work.”
“What work?” she pressed.
“Street work.”
“Which means… illegal work.”
He paused.
Amara stood slowly.
“You’re a drug dealer.”
Ghost turned sharply, eyes burning.
“Who tell you?”
“No one. I’m not stupid.”
Their eyes locked.
He didn’t deny it.
Instead, he stepped closer.
Too close.
“You dey fear me now?” he whispered.
Amara felt her breath catch.
“I don’t know,” she whispered. “Should I?”
He leaned in, his face inches from hers.
“You suppose run from me,” he murmured. “But you no dey run.”
Her pulse raced.
She could feel the heat of him, the danger, the intensity.
“You’re complicated,” she whispered.
Ghost gave a small, humorless smile.
“Complication dey kill people.”
“And yet… I’m still here.”
Their eyes locked magnetic, unbroken.
He reached up and brushed a wet strand of hair from her face.
She froze.
Not in fear.
In something much deeper.
Ghost’s thumb lingered on her cheek, warm, calloused, gentle in a way that didn’t match his world.
“Amara,” he whispered, her name rolling off his tongue like a secret.
Her breath hitched.
But before anything else could happen
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Someone pounded on the metal door.
Ghost stiffened instantly.
His entire body changed softness gone, danger snapping back like a blade.
“Stay behind me,” he whispered.
Amara’s heart slammed against her chest.
“Who is that?”
Ghost didn’t answer.
The pounding grew louder.
More urgent.
“Ghost!” a male voice shouted. “Open the door! It’s me!”
Ghost exhaled.
“That na Scorpion. My guy.”
Amara let out a shaky breath of relief.
Ghost unlocked the bolts one by one and opened the door just enough to let the man slip in.
Scorpion stepped inside a slim, sharp-faced guy with tattoos creeping up his neck, eyes wild with adrenaline.
“Guy, problem dey o!” Scorpion hissed. “Balogun no dey happy at all. E swear say he go kill you. He don carry twenty men dey find you now.”
Ghost’s expression remained unreadable.
“I dey expect am.”
Scorpion’s gaze shifted to Amara.
“Who be this one?”
Ghost answered calmly.
“Person wey see something wey she no suppose see.”
Scorpion’s eyebrows shot up.
“So… witness?”
Amara’s stomach dropped.
“No be like that,” Ghost snapped.
Scorpion smirked.
“Guy, abeg no lie. You know say Balogun go kill her first if he catch her.”
Amara’s heart hammered.
Ghost clenched his fists.
Then Scorpion said the words that changed everything:
“And Ghost… word just spread say Balogun don put bounty on top your head.”
Ghost froze.
“How much?” he asked quietly.
Scorpion swallowed.
“Fifty million.”
Amara gasped.
Ghost didn’t react at first.
Then…
A slow, cold smile spread across his face.
“I see,” he murmured.
Amara stepped forward, voice shaking.
“Ghost… what does that mean?”
He turned toward her, eyes dark and deadly.
“It means,” he said softly, “that anybody police, street boys, even strangers fit kill me for money.”
Her blood ran cold.
Scorpion added sharply:
“And if dem see her with you, e go be two bodies instead of one.”
Ghost’s jaw tightened.
Amara stared at him, fear finally sinking into her bones.
“Ghost…” she whispered. “What do we do now?”
Ghost stepped closer, placing his hand firmly on her shoulder.
His voice was low.
Calm.
Deadly.
“We run.”
Lightning flashed.
Thunder boomed.
And before Amara could breathe again
The metal door shattered inward.
Balogun’s men flooded in with guns raised.
Ghost pushed Amara behind him
Just as the first bullet flew.
- Writer
