Chapter 2 Terms of Protection

Darius stared at Zara like she was a puzzle rigged with C-4.

"You know what they call you?" he said finally, voice low. "The billionaire's little wildfire."

Zara didn't flinch. "Cute. I was hoping for something more poetic."

He circled her slowly, eyes scanning everything - posture, breathing, weapon weight. She carried herself like someone raised to be royalty but trained to survive revolution.

"You want my protection?" he asked. "You're not cheap."

"I'm not asking for a favor."

"Good. Because I don't give those."

She reached into her bag, tossed something onto the table between them - a black flash drive in a cracked metal case.

"Inside is everything. Financial trails. Shipment logs. Assassination orders. All tied to General Nwachukwu."

Her voice sharpened. "My father."

Darius's face stayed unreadable. But in his chest, something shifted. This wasn't just a runaway rich girl - this was a warhead in stilettos.

"You know what this makes you?" he asked.

Zara shrugged. "Marked. Hunted. Interesting?"

"Dead," he said bluntly.

---

He poured himself a drink. Not because he needed it - but to see if her hands would shake.

They didn't.

Zara leaned forward. "I don't need saving. I need backup. For the next 48 hours."

"What's in 48 hours?"

She smiled. "I leak the files. The whole world sees them. I need you to keep me breathing until then."

He studied her. "And when your father finds you?"

"I'll be ready."

He liked that.

Not the words.

The conviction.

But still, he asked, "Why not run?"

"Because I'm tired of hiding. And I want him to hear me coming."

---

There was a long pause.

Then Darius nodded once.

"One condition," he said.

Zara raised an eyebrow. "Let me guess - no questions, no crying, no lipstick on the dashboard?"

He leaned in, dead serious.

"No lying."

Zara met his gaze - fire to fire.

"I don't lie," she said. "I withhold artistically."

He smirked.

"Deal."

---

Somewhere on the edge of the city, in a quiet compound laced with luxury and armed drones, General Nwachukwu watched the same security feed again - frozen on his daughter's defiant stare.

"She's with Darius Ekene," one of his men said.

The General didn't blink. "Then she's already gone."

He turned to a different screen - one showing a cold-eyed woman in tactical black, loading weapons.

"Send Amahle."

The man hesitated. "She's your best assassin."

"She's her older cousin," the General said flatly. "She won't miss."

---

Back at the warehouse, Zara followed Darius down into the basement.

It was more bunker than gym - maps, cash, weapons, backup IDs, clean passports, power banks, burner phones.

"Nice place," she muttered. "Does it come with breakfast?"

"I don't cook," he said.

"Neither do I."

He tossed her a loaded Glock. "Then we'll get along."

---

Outside, the rain had stopped.

But the hunt had just begun.

And in the stillness between storm and sunrise, Darius glanced once more at the woman he'd just agreed to protect.

Beautiful. Reckless. Too brave for her own good.

He didn't know if she'd survive the next 48 hours.

He only knew one thing:

> If she died,

he'd burn Lagos down trying to find who pulled the trigger.