CHRONICLES OF A RUNS GIRL EP9

 

A Debt in Blood

The bass from the speakers vibrated through the floor of Club Zahir, Lagos’ most exclusive nightclub. The scent of expensive liquor, perfume, and cigarette smoke filled the air as the city’s wealthiest and most reckless babes partied like there was no tomorrow. It was a place for the elite—politicians, oil magnates, international businessmen, and, of course, women like Deòlu and Sade, who knew how to thrive in their world.

Deòlu stepped out of the Rolls-Royce, the night air kissing her skin as she adjusted her custom-made silver gown, a creation flown in from Paris. The dress clung to her curves, shimmering under the club’s neon lights, the thigh-high slit exposing long, toned legs that ended in diamond-encrusted stilettos. A Bulgari Serpenti necklace rested on her collarbone, its emerald eyes glinting like they held secrets.

Sade followed, just as stunning in a red body-hugging dress, her caramel skin glowing under the streetlights. Her Valentino heels clicked against the pavement as she took Deòlu’s arm, her Chanel purse swinging lightly.

“Tonight, we own this place,” Sade whispered, her dark eyes glittering with excitement.

Deòlu smirked. “As always.”

The moment they entered, heads turned. Conversations paused. Even the most high-profile men in the room couldn’t ignore them. They were a force—women who commanded power not with political titles or inherited wealth, but with their presence.

Within minutes, bottles of the most expensive champagne were sent to their table, courtesy of men hoping to buy just a fraction of their attention. Deòlu accepted with a knowing smile, sipping slowly as she watched the room, her trained eyes scanning for opportunity.

Then her phone buzzed.

Honorable Emeka.

She sighed, setting down her glass before answering.

“Honorable,” she said smoothly, “what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Step outside,” Emeka’s voice came through, low and urgent. “We need to talk.”

Deòlu’s brows furrowed, but she didn’t ask questions. “Give me five minutes.”

She turned to Sade, who was already occupied flirting with a group of men. “I’ll be right back.”

Sade barely glanced at her. “Don’t let me drink all this alone.”

Deòlu smirked before making her way through the club, past the bouncers, and into the private VIP parking area, where Emeka stood beside his black G-Wagon, his face unreadable.

She leaned against the car, folding her arms. “I hope this is important. I was enjoying myself.”

Emeka’s expression didn’t change. He took a step closer, lowering his voice. “I need you to do something for me.”

Deòlu arched a brow. “I’m listening.”

Emeka’s eyes darkened. “I need Hassan gone.”

For a moment, she thought she misheard him. Then she let out a short laugh. “Gone?”

Emeka’s gaze was cold. “You heard me.”

Deòlu shook her head, still smiling. “Honorable, I be ashewo, not hire assassin.”

She turned to walk away, but his next words stopped her cold.

“You owe me, Deòlu.”

Her fingers tightened slightly at her sides, but she didn’t turn around.

She exhaled, steadying herself, before glancing over her shoulder. Her smile had vanished.

“Find someone else,” she said quietly.

Then she walked back into the club, but the night no longer felt the same.