THE INCARCERATED STRANGER

 

Chapter 9

 

RILEY

 

“It’s okay, ma’am, no need to be scared,” the light-skinned man says, offering her a steady hand to help her up. He pulls her into a comforting hug, and she feels a flicker of warmth amidst the fear that grips her.

“Who are you first?” she asks, her voice still shaky as tears continue to roll down her cheeks.

“I’m Sage, and these are my boys,” he replies, gesturing toward the others standing at the door. “Mr. Mazibuko has asked us to protect you.” As the words leave his lips, he curses softly under his breath, realizing he’s just revealed too much too soon.

“Mr. Mazibuko? You mean Mangaliso?” she asks, wiping her tears away with trembling hands. Sage nods in confirmation.

“I shouldn’t have spilled the truth to you, but I just did because you looked terrified,” he admits, his tone sincere. 

“We’re sorry we arrived late. Had we seen that man entering, we would’ve come as quickly as possible,” Sage adds, his eyes scanning the room for any signs of danger. She simply looks at them and nods; why did Mangaliso send these people for her without telling her?

“It’s fine. I think he used the back to enter and unlocked the house because I did not see anyone when I arrived; he appeared out of nowhere,” she explains, trying to piece together what just happened. Sage nods thoughtfully, then turns to the other guys.

“Go check around,” he instructs them firmly. The three men exchange glances before moving cautiously through the house while Sage stays behind with her. The tension in the air is thick with uncertainty, but there’s a sense of safety in his presence that begins to ease her fears ever so slightly.

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 She stood with her arms crossed, her brows knitted together in a frown that could rival a thundercloud.

 "So all this time you have been watching me and following me everywhere I go?" Her voice was sharp, laced with irritation.

Sage, standing a few feet away, nodded solemnly. The revelation had just spilled from his lips—how Mangaliso had enlisted men to keep an eye on her after the threatening encounter in the parking lot at the mall. It felt like an invasion of her privacy, and she loathed the very idea of being monitored like some kind of fragile artifact.

“Why did he talk to you first before deciding to do this?” She threw the question at him like an arrow, her frustration palpable. The thought of being followed made her skin crawl; she didn't care if it was for her own good. The moment felt like a betrayal of trust, and she resolved to confront Mangaliso about this breach.

Sage attempted to soothe the situation, his tone measured. “No need to be angry, Ma’am.”

She cut him off sharply. 

“Miss Qwane, or use my name.I'm sure  you already know it from your friend Mangaliso.” Her attitude was as clear as day—she wasn’t going to let him patronize her.

Clearing his throat, Sage continued, “Miss Qwane, the reason Mr. Mazibuko did this is for your safety. After what happened thirty minutes ago, you should be grateful.”

She rolled her eyes in response, dismissing his logic as if it were an unwelcome guest. Just then, three men entered the living room, their expressions serious and alert.

“There’s no suspicious place that looks like that person entered,” one of them reported. “Nothing is broken either.”

Sage sighed heavily, turning his gaze back to her. “I don’t think you are safe anymore now—especially with Mangaliso’s court appearance next week. His enemies will do anything to hurt you and stop you from helping him since you are his lawyer.”

The gravity of Sage’s words sank in like stones in water. She felt a mix of anger and concern swirling within her—anger at being treated like a damsel in distress and concern for Mangaliso’s safety and her own.

"Ma'am ... I mean Miss Qwane, I think we will have to take you to a safe place," Sage suggested gently, his voice steady but firm.

"What? I'm not leaving my house," she retorted, her tone sharp and filled with indignation. The flicker of fear in her eyes was masked by her stubbornness.

Sage sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "Miss Qwane, your stubbornness will not help you when your life is in serious danger. You will have to come with us. I promise you will get your privacy and space you need."As he spoke, she felt a wave of helplessness wash over her. It was as if the decision had been taken from her hands entirely, and she loathed that feeling. Her heart raced as she considered the implications.

"Let me call Mr. Mazibuko and tell him about this," Sage said, stepping out of the house to make the call. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving her alone with the three men who had accompanied him.

She turned to them, irritation bubbling beneath her surface. "Ningijonge ntoni keh nina? What are you looking at me?" she snapped. They all quickly averted their gazes, an awkward silence filling the space.

She clicked her tongue in annoyance and crossed to the kitchen area. 

"Do you want something to drink?" she asked over her shoulder, only to receive a chorus of head shakes in response. She shrugged dismissively, muttering under her breath  as she poured herself some juice.As the cool liquid splashed into the glass, she momentarily forgot about the sore ache in her neck. Her thoughts swirled around the situation—while Sage's words echoed in her mind .

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MANGALISO 

 

He  just finish talking to Sage on the call. He is not happy about what Sage just told him; Miss Qwane gets attacked again because of him. He clenches his jaws and sighs in frustration. However, he takes a moment to calm himself when he remembers Sage's suggestion to take Miss Qwane to a safe house. That plan feels better because it means the people who want to harm her won’t be able to reach her easily. With a deep sigh, he gets up from the bed, leaves his cell, and heads toward the gym room.

He gets to the gym room and dives into his usual workouts, pushing through each rep with determination. When he’s finally done, he heads back to his cell, ready for a shower. He slips out of his clothes and steps under the spray of the shower, cold water hitting his light-skinned, beautiful body. 

He closes his eyes, letting the cool water wash over him, and the earlier moment with his lawyer floods his mind. They spent the day talking about random things, sharing laughs and stories that felt like a breath of fresh air in this confined space. He can’t help but smile at the memory; it was a moment of connection that he genuinely enjoyed, one that stands out against the backdrop of his current reality. The sound of the water blends with the echoes of their conversation, making him feel a sense of warmth amidst the chill.

He closes the shower and steps out, drying himself off with a towel. After applying lotion, he heads to bed, feeling the soft sheets against his skin. Once he’s comfortable, he reaches for his phone and dials Riley's number, hoping she’s calm since Sage mentioned she was mad.

The phone rings and no answers, Frustrated, he tries again, but still nothing. He decides to call Sage instead, and to his relief, Sage answers on the first ring.

“Mazibuko,” Sage says, his voice steady.

“Sage, where is Miss Qwane?” he asks, anxiety creeping in.

“She’s in her room; she’s been there since we got to the safe house,” Sage replies.

“Please go give her the phone,” he requests urgently.

“Let me go give her the phone then,” Sage says. He hears shuffling—Sage must be moving to Riley's room. A moment later, he can hear him knocking on the door.

The door opens slowly. “I thought you said you wouldn’t bother me, mntu ka thixo,” Riley's voice comes through sharply. He chuckles to himself at her tone.

“I’m sorry, Ma’am, but someone wants to talk to you,” Sage says as he hands over the phone.

“Me not answering your calls means I do not want to talk to you, Mangaliso,” Riley snaps.

“Yehlisa umoya, Riley, calm down,” he replies gently. He hears her scoff in response.

“What do you want?” she asks, exasperation lacing her voice.

“I want to know how you are; how’s your neck?” he asks sincerely.

“I’m alive, and my neck is sore but it will be fine tomorrow, I’m sure. Now, bye,” she says curtly.

“Kahle phela Qwane, sisakhuluma mina nawe phela kufone mina lana,” he retorts—she should wait; they’re still talking. He’s the one who called!

“Stop talking to me with your language! Ucinga bah ndikuvhe kanjani mna ngoku?” she fires back, irritated that he isn’t using English. How does he expect her to understand him?

“You also just used yours, uthi ndikuvhe kanjani nami?” he says with a chuckle, enjoying the playful banter.

“I have papers to look at, Mr. Mazibuko. We will talk tomorrow when I come to give you something,” she replies, her tone clipped. Before he can respond, the call abruptly ends. 

He chuckles again, shaking his head. He decides to let this slide; he understands she’s angry. Otherwise, he wouldn’t allow a woman to talk to him like that—not even his lawyer! He glances at the ceiling, a smile forming as he thinks about how stubborn she can be. It’s part of what makes her so infuriating yet endearing.

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