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Chapter 2 - CHAPTER TWO: Taken in the Silence

The gang's van rolled into the compound of their mansion, tires crunching over gravel. The gates closed behind them with a metallic clang, sealing Clara's fate. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of air fresheners & cool A.C. Matthew stretched, yawning. "Mehn, that was a smooth job," he said, grinning.

Clara was carried inside, her body limp. They dumped her in a dimly lit room upstairs. The door slammed shut, the lock clicking into place. Bryan dropped onto the sofa in the main lounge, his eyes distant, haunted.

"Black," he called.

Black entered, carrying a tray of drinks. He handed out glasses, his expression unreadable. Bryan downed his in one gulp, then stared into the empty glass as if searching for answers.

"Bryo, wetin dey sup na?" Timini asked, leaning forward. "Why we carry the babe?"

Bryan's voice was low, almost a growl. "I have my reasons." He stood, his posture rigid. "Count the money. Divide the shares. And nobody goes near her without my permission."

He walked off, leaving the others in stunned silence.

Timini frowned. "Una no dey notice say Bryan dey act strange?"

Black nodded slowly. "This move fit mess things up. If he needs a girl to f***, he can get any. Why carry one during operation?"

Dakolo remained silent, his eyes narrowed, watching Bryan disappear down the hallway.

Dakolo sighed, rubbing his temples as the weight of leadership had settled heavily on his shoulders. "Peter, Tiger, Axe—count the money. Jioba, Luke divide the shares," he said, his voice firm but weary.

He turned toward the stairs, but Timini wasn't done. "Dakolo, I bin ask something na. You no go talk?" Timini pressed, arms folded, eyes narrowed.

Dakolo paused mid-step, his back to the room. "Make e rest for now," he muttered, then disappeared upstairs without another word.

Timini scoffed, shaking his head. "So nobody wan talk abi? When wahala burst, e go reach all of us," he said, his voice rising with frustration.

Axe, already counting stacks of cash, looked up with a smirk. "Tinini, carry your yansh come help us share this thing since you no get work."

Timini turned sharply. "Guy, no dey call me Tinini. I don dey warn you."

Axe chuckled. "Wetin you go do? Wetin you fit do self?" abeg, make I hear word.

You wan know wetin I fit do?" Timini asks, looking around in search of something, he then grabs a wad of cash and slapped it across Axe's face with a dramatic flourish.

For a moment, the room was silent—then both men burst into laughter, the tension dissolving into rowdy amusement.

"Wahala! Una two no well," Peter said, chuckling as the others joined in, the sound of laughter echoing through the mansion like a temporary balm over the unease.

Upstairs, the mood was different—quiet, heavy.

Dakolo knocked on Bryan's door, hesitating for a beat. "I'm coming in," he said, pushing the door open.

Bryan sat on the edge of the bed, his posture rigid, eyes cold and distant. The room was dim, lit only by a single lamp casting long shadows across the walls.

"What do you want?" Bryan asked, his voice flat.

Dakolo stepped inside and sat beside him, the mattress sinking slightly under his weight. "What's going on?" he asked gently. "What's with the girl? Why bring her with us?"

Bryan didn't answer right away. He stood, pacing the room slowly, his hands clenched into fists. The silence stretched, thick and uneasy.

After a long pause, he sat down again, his voice barely audible. "She's the one."

Dakolo blinked. "What do you mean, 'she's the one'?"

Bryan stared ahead, eyes unfocused. "You know about my nightmares, right?"

Dakolo nodded slowly. "Of course."

Bryan leaned forward, his voice trembling slightly. "She's the girl. The one I keep seeing. The one I've been dreaming about for the past months."

Dakolo's eyes widened. "For real?"

Bryan nodded, his expression haunted. "Man, you don't know how I felt when I saw her. Like… she's real. Not just a face haunting me in my sleep. I recognized her instantly."

Dakolo ran a hand through his hair, trying to process the revelation. "This is crazy."

"I couldn't leave her behind," Bryan said, his voice cracking. "Not after finding her. I don't know what I'll do yet, but I need answers. I need to know why she keeps showing up in my dreams."

Dakolo studied him carefully. "So how do you plan to find out?"

"That's why she's here," Bryan said, his gaze intense. "There's something pulling me toward her. Like we're connected somehow. I don't understand it, but I feel it."

Dakolo nodded slowly, his skepticism giving way to concern. "Well… I hope you get the answers you're looking for. Have you checked on her?"

Bryan shook his head. "Not yet."

Dakolo stood, placing a hand briefly on Bryan's shoulder. "Alright then. I'll leave you to it. Try to get some rest."

He walked out, closing the door softly behind him, leaving Bryan alone with his thoughts—and the ghost of a girl who had somehow stepped out of his dreams and into his reality.

Around 4 a.m., the mansion was cloaked in silence. The air was still, heavy with the kind of quiet that only comes before dawn. Bryan moved through the hallway like a shadow, his footsteps muffled against the marble floor. He reached the door to the room where Clara was locked and paused, his hand hovering over the knob.

He unlocked it slowly, the click echoing in the stillness. The door creaked open, revealing Clara lying on the bed, her body limp from the sedative Dakolo had sprayed earlier. Her breathing was steady, her chest rising and falling in a rhythm that felt too peaceful—too serene for someone who'd been violently taken from her home.

Bryan stepped inside and closed the door behind him. The room was dim, lit only by the faint glow of a wall sconce. He sat beside her, his eyes scanning her face with quiet intensity. A strand of hair had fallen across her cheek, and he reached out, brushing it away with a tenderness that felt out of place.

Something about her presence unsettled him. She didn't belong here, not in this world of shadows and secrets. And yet, she did. Somehow, she did.

_Why you?_ he wondered. _Why do you keep showing up in my dreams?_

Clara stirred slightly, her fingers twitching. Bryan leaned in, watching her closely, his breath shallow. Her eyelids fluttered, then slowly opened. She blinked, confused, her vision blurry and her head pounding. As her eyes adjusted, she saw Bryan sitting beside her.

She gasped and jerked upright, panic flooding her system. Her heart raced as reality crashed down on her. "What do you want from me?" she demanded, her voice hoarse. "Why did you bring me here?" She asks observing her environment.

Bryan didn't respond immediately. He just watched her, his expression unreadable.

"You better let me go," Clara snapped, trying to sound braver than she felt. "The police will be looking for you. All of you."

Bryan's face darkened. "Will you shut the hell up," he said sharply.

Clara flinched, her body tensing, but she held her ground. Her voice trembled, but her eyes didn't waver. Bryan smirked, intrigued by her boldness. There was fire in her, and he hadn't expected that.

"Look," he said, his tone softening. "I won't hurt you. Neither will my boys. Just behave and follow the rules."

"What rules?" Clara asked, her voice cracking. "I just want to go home."

Bryan leaned in slightly, his gaze intense. Clara instinctively moved back, her bound hands pulling against the rope. "Don't come closer," she warned, her voice rising.

"Shut up," Bryan whispered, almost to himself. He stared at her, lost in thought, as if trying to decode something written on her face.

Clara stared back, confused and afraid. She couldn't tell what he wanted—what he was searching for in her eyes. Was it control? Recognition? Something deeper?

After a long pause, Bryan stood and cleared his throat. "Get some sleep," he said, his voice distant. "I'll have someone bring you clothes in the morning."

He turned and walked out, the door clicking shut behind him.

Clara sat there, stunned, her heart pounding in her chest. Her mind raced, trying to process how her life had changed in mere hours. Just yesterday, she'd been a simple girl, fresh out of university, excited to begin her service year. Her parents—protective, loving—had insisted she stay home until she was ready to leave for her service.

Eventually, exhaustion took over, and Clara drifted into a restless sleep, her mind frayed, and the silence of the room felt like a weight pressing down on her chest.

At 8am, a sharp knock on the door jolted her awake. She sat up quickly, heart pounding, disoriented by the unfamiliar surroundings. The lock clicked, and the door creaked open. Matthew stepped in, holding a plastic bag in one hand. His expression was blank, unreadable, but his eyes lingered on her a moment too long.

He dropped the bag he was holding on the bed with a dull thud. "Those are clothes," he said flatly. "Freshen up and come down for breakfast."

Clara's eyes flicked to the door, which remained slightly ajar. _So it'll be left open… I need to think of a way to escape.

Matthew noticed her expression and smirked. "Don't do anything stupid," he said, voice low and mocking. "You won't like Bryan when he's angry."

He turned and walked out, still smiling, leaving Clara alone once again.

She grabbed the bag and rummaged through it. To her surprise, it wasn't a trick—there were actual clothes inside with clean underwears, even a toothbrush. She hesitated, remembering Bryan's words from earlier. _Behave and follow the rules._

She picked out the jumpsuit and headed to the bathroom, her legs shaky beneath her. The mirror reflected a girl she barely recognized—eyes puffy, face pale, lips trembling. She tied her hair back, splashed water on her face, and tried to steady her breathing.

Minutes later, she emerged, nerves buzzing, every sound amplified. She could hear voices downstairs—male voices, casual, laughing. The sound made her stomach twist.

_Oh Lord, please help me… I need to escape from this place,_ she prayed silently, clutching the edge of the doorframe.

A voice beside her made her jump. "Why aren't you going downstairs?"

She turned, startled. Bryan stood there, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, smiling faintly.

"I was just admiring the house," Clara replied quickly, forcing a smile.

"I redecorated it," Bryan said casually, stepping forward. "Technically, the whole building. Timini and Tiger picked the interiors. You'll get used to it."

His tone was light, almost friendly, but Clara felt the tension beneath it. She nodded, unsure what to say.

"Let's go," Bryan said.

"I don't want to," Clara replied, her voice barely audible.

"You don't want breakfast?" Bryan asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No… Yes. I mean—I don't want to stay here. Just let me go. Please."

Bryan stepped closer, and before she could react, he casually draped his arm around her neck. Clara stiffened, her breath catching. The gesture was intimate, possessive, and deeply unsettling.

"It's not good to judge before you've seen the rest of the place," he said, voice low, almost coaxing. "I think you'll like it here."

He paused, eyes locking with hers. There was something unreadable in his gaze—something that made her skin crawl.

"And don't ever mention what you just said again, about leaving".

He walked off, leaving Clara frozen in place, her heart hammering.

_What just happened?_ she thought, trying to process his words, his tone, the way he looked at her.

"What are you still doing there?" Bryan called from downstairs. "Or do you need me to come carry you?"

"No, I'm coming," Clara said quickly, her voice tight. She hurried down the stairs, each step feeling heavier than the last.

The dining room was spacious, with high ceilings and ornate chandeliers that cast golden light across the polished table. Clara hesitated at the entrance, scanning the room. No gang members in sight. Just Bryan, seated at the head of the table, and a few maids moving quietly, placing dishes with practiced grace.

She sat down slowly, grateful for the temporary calm. The maids finished their work and exited without a word, only a bow, leaving her alone with Bryan.

Clara closed her eyes, whispered a quick prayer under her breath, then reached for her plate—only to feel eyes on her.

She looked up. Bryan was watching her, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

The smirk still lingered on his lips, but Clara ignored him. She kept her gaze fixed on the plate in front of her, determined not to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. Her mind was racing, trying to piece together a plan, but her body was weak, her thoughts clouded by hunger.

She needed strength to think clearly. And the food—steaming, fragrant, beautifully arranged—looked too good to resist.

She picked up her fork and took a cautious bite.

Her eyes widened. The taste was rich, layered, and unexpectedly comforting. It melted on her tongue, warm and familiar, like something her mother might have made on a special Sunday. For a moment, she let herself enjoy it. Just a moment. The danger hadn't gone away, but neither had her hunger.

Bryan's voice cut through the quiet, snapping her back to reality.

"You're really enjoying the food," he said, watching her closely. "I thought you'd make a fuss—maybe think it was poisoned."

Clara didn't look up. She kept chewing, then swallowed. "We were both served from the same bowl, right in front of me. So I know it wasn't poisoned."

Bryan leaned forward slightly, intrigued. "Then… why did you pray?"

Clara paused, surprised by the question. She glanced at him, then back at her plate. "Did you think I prayed because I thought the food was poisoned?"

Bryan didn't answer. His expression was unreadable.

"I always pray before eating," Clara said softly. "You have to show gratitude to God for His provisions. A lot of people don't get this kind of blessing. It's just… something I do."

She continued eating, her movements calm and deliberate. Bryan gave a quiet "hmm" and returned to his food, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer before drifting away.

After they finished, the maids returned, moving swiftly and silently to clear the table. Clara watched them, wondering if any of them might help her—or if they were just as trapped in this place as she was.

Bryan stood, brushing crumbs from his shirt. Clara followed his lead, unsure what else to do.

"I'll be going out for a while," Bryan said, adjusting his watch. "If you need anything, let the maids know."

"Okay," Clara replied, her voice neutral. "Thanks for the food."

Bryan nodded once, then walked out, his footsteps echoing down the hallway.

Clara wandered into the sitting room, her thoughts heavy. The space was lavish—plush sofas, gleaming floors, a massive flat-screen mounted on the wall—but it felt hollow, like a stage set for a life that didn't belong to her.

_I need to find a way out._

She stepped outside, blinking against the morning light. The compound was massive, sprawling with manicured lawns and tall palm trees swaying gently in the breeze. The air smelled of freshly cut grass and car exhaust.

Two security men stood at the gate post, rifles slung across their shoulders. They didn't look bored or distracted. They looked alert.

Clara's eyes scanned the perimeter. The fences were tall, topped with barbed wire that glinted in the sun. Intimidating. Impenetrable.

_If I try climbing, that's suicide._

She clenched her fists, frustration bubbling inside her. _God, this is frustrating. What am I supposed to do?

As Clara wandered through the compound, her eyes scanned every corner—the high fences, the guards stationed like statues. Her heart beat steadily, but her thoughts were racing. She needed information. Anything that could help her plan.

Then she spotted a woman walking briskly toward the house, dressed in a simple uniform and carrying a tray.

"Excuse me," Clara called out, stepping forward.

The woman paused, turning with a polite smile. "Yes, ma'am?"

Clara hesitated for a moment, then asked, "Do you know where all the guys went?"

"I'm not sure, ma'am," the woman replied, her tone respectful but cautious. "But they usually go out in the morning after breakfast and return before lunch."

Clara nodded slowly, absorbing the detail. _That gives me a window._

"Okay, thanks," she said.

"You're welcome, ma'am."

Clara lingered, sensing an opportunity. "Erm… my name is Clara. What's yours?"

The woman's smile softened. "I'm Elizabeth, ma'am."

"Nice to meet you, Elizabeth," Clara said, her voice warmer. "Sorry for stopping you again—what time is lunch served?"

"Exactly 3 p.m., ma'am."

Clara's eyes widened slightly. _That's a bit later than I expected._

"What time is it now?" She asks.

Elizabeth glanced at the watch on her wrist. "It's just past 12."

"Thank you very much," Clara said, trying to sound casual.

"You're welcome. Do you need anything else?"

"No, I'm fine. Thanks."

"Alright, I'll take my leave now," Elizabeth said, bowing slightly before continuing toward the house.

Clara watched her go, her mind already working through the implications. _They'll be back before lunch. I have to leave before then. God, please help me. Help me get out of this place._

She continued walking around the compound, replaying the conversation in her mind. The layout was becoming clearer—the guards, the timing, the routines. But the escape routes? Still a mystery.

The sun was climbing higher, and the heat pressed down on her skin. Her throat felt dry, her lips cracked. She returned to the house, where a maid quietly handed her a glass of water. Clara drank slowly, savoring the cool relief.

Afterward, she stepped back outside and found a shaded chair near the garden. She sat down, closed her eyes, and tried to think.

Her thoughts drifted to her parents—her mother's laughter, her father's quiet strength. She imagined them pacing the house, calling the police, praying. She imagined her room, untouched, waiting for her return.

Tears threatened, but she blinked them away. _No time for that. Focus._

She inhaled deeply, letting the scent of hibiscus and damp earth ground her. The compound was quiet now, deceptively peaceful. But Clara knew better.

She opened her eyes, gaze fixed on the gate. _There has to be a way._

Moments later, Clara opened her eyes, her pulse quickening with resolve. The compound was still quiet, the sun now casting sharp shadows across the lawn. She stood abruptly, brushing dust from her jumpsuit, and began walking toward the gate.

Two men stood guard—one tall and lean, the other broader, arms folded across his chest. Their rifles hung casually, but their eyes were alert. Clara slowed her pace as she approached, forcing a faint smile onto her face.

"Hello," she said, her voice steady.

"Yes?" one of the guards replied, stepping forward slightly. His name tag read _Ali_. The other man, standing just behind him, wore a tag that read _James_.

Clara's gaze flicked between them. _Two men. That's better than a crowd._

"Please," she began, "can you open the gate? I need to get something from the supermarket."

Ali glanced at James, then back at Clara. His expression was skeptical.

"Ahh… we can't, ma'am," James said, his tone polite but firm.

"We've been given instructions not to let you out of this house," he added, folding his arms.

Clara had expected resistance. Still, she pressed on. "Please, what I need is really important. I won't be gone long."

Ali's face hardened. "Aunty, you no understand wetin he talk?" he snapped. "You no fit comot. Go back to where you dey come from."

Clara flinched at the sharpness in his voice but didn't back down. "Please, it's urgent," she said, her voice trembling. "If it wasn't, I wouldn't be disturbing you."

Ali stepped forward, his voice rising. "Aunty, e be like ear dey pain you! You no dey hear?"

"Wait," James interrupted, raising a hand to calm his partner. "What do you need? Maybe I can help you get it."

Clara hesitated, caught off guard by the offer. "I… it's… personal," she stammered, unsure how much to reveal.

"Oya, tell any of the maids," James said. "Make them go buy am for you."

"I've tried," Clara sighed, frustration creeping into her voice. "But they don't know the specific one I use."

James shook his head slowly. "You still can't leave this house. That's it."

Clara's shoulders sagged. She took a deep breath, then spoke louder, her voice clear and unwavering. "It's my menstruation," she said. "I need to get menstrual pads. The maids don't know the exact product I use, and my body reacts badly to others. Please… I'll be back before you know it."

Ali looked baffled, scratching his head. "Aunty, me no understand all this things wey you dey talk. But wetin I sabi be say—you no fit comot."

Clara's eyes welled up with tears. Her voice cracked as she looked directly at him. "If I were your sister, would you treat me this way?"

The question hung in the air like smoke.

Ali blinked, visibly uncomfortable. James looked away, jaw clenched.

Clara stood there, vulnerable but defiant, her heart pounding in her chest. She had laid herself bare, hoping that somewhere beneath their orders and uniforms, there was still humanity.

"I won't stay long. I swear," Clara pleaded, her voice cracking under the weight of desperation.

Tears streamed down her cheeks, hot and relentless. "Please… I'll be back within fifteen minutes. I promise."

James stared at her, his expression conflicted. Then he pulled Ali aside, and the two began whispering, their voices low and tense. Clara couldn't hear what they were saying, but their body language told her everything—Ali was resisting, James was trying to reason.

She stood there, trembling, praying silently. _Please God, let them agree. Let this work. Let me get out of here. Just this once._

Her eyes darted nervously toward the house, in fear of the unknown, staying in the house with Bryan and his gang members. Her heart thudded in her chest like a drum.

After what felt like an eternity, James returned with Ali. Their faces were grim.

"See," James said, his voice low but firm, "I'll let you go. But you must be back in fifteen minutes. No more."

Clara wiped her tears with the back of her hand, nodding quickly. "Thank you. I'll be back before then. I promise."

James unlocked the gate, the metal groaning as it swung open.

"See, come back fast o," Ali warned, his tone sharp. "Me, I no want wahala."

"Don't worry," Clara said, stepping out, her voice trembling. "I'll be back soon."

And with that, she walked out—heart racing, mind spinning, hope flickering like a fragile flame.

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