The Billionaire Bastard's Vendetta

Chapter 5: Whispers in the Bedroom

Tawanda threw himself behind a heavy marble pillar just as a second bullet shattered the crystal chandelier above him. Glass shards rained down like diamonds, slicing through the air and biting into the polished floor. Zanele followed, her dress tearing as she slid across the debris. The ballroom had dissolved into absolute pandemonium. Tuxedoed men and women in evening gowns scrambled over each other, screaming and abandoning their dignity to get away from the gunfire.

"Get down!" Tawanda barked, grabbing Zanele by the waist and pulling her deeper into the shadows of the stage. 

"I am down!" Zanele shouted back, her breath hitching as she scrambled to retrieve her phone from the floor. "And if we survive this, I am officially retiring from reporting. This is a disaster!"

"It is a promotion," Tawanda grunted, his eyes scanning the chaos for the shooter. He saw the police officers return fire toward the shattered glass doors. The rhythmic pop of their service pistols sounded weak against the thunderous bark of the high-caliber sniper rifle that had triggered the panic.

He looked over at Nomalanga. Even in the middle of a literal firefight, the woman was crawling toward the exit, her handcuffs clinking against the marble. She looked terrified, but Tawanda noticed she was glancing toward the entrance with a strange sense of anticipation. She was waiting for someone. 

"She has an extraction team," Tawanda said, his voice cold and analytical. He turned to Zanele. "We need to move. Now."

Zanele looked at him, her eyes darting between the chaos and the exit. "How? We are trapped behind a pillar."

"Watch me," Tawanda grinned, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs. He grabbed a heavy silver serving platter from a nearby table that had been knocked over during the initial rush. "On three, run for the kitchen entrance. Don't look back."

"One, two, three!" Zanele yelled before he even finished.

They bolted. Tawanda held the metal tray up to shield his head, the metal dinging as a stray bullet caught it. The sound was deafening, vibrating all the way to his teeth. They sprinted past the screaming guests, Tawanda occasionally shoving a frantic socialite out of their way to clear the path. They reached the double doors of the kitchen just as a man in black tactical gear burst through the ballroom entrance. The intruder leveled a rifle, but Tawanda tackled a waiter into the shooter’s path, causing the man to stumble and fire wildly into the ceiling.

They burst into the kitchen, the room filled with stainless steel surfaces and the smell of expensive hors d'oeuvres. Tawanda slammed the heavy steel door shut and locked it. He leaned his back against the cool metal, gasping for air. 

Zanele stood before him, her makeup smeared, her chest heaving, and her eyes bright with a dangerous, electric hunger. She reached out, her hand trembling slightly as she touched his cheek, tracing the line of a fresh cut. "You are completely insane," she breathed.

"You like that," Tawanda chuckled, his voice raspy. 

"I absolutely hate it," she whispered. She pulled him in by his lapels, closing the gap between them. Her kiss was fierce, tasting of champagne and desperation. She pressed him hard against the freezer door, her hands roaming over his shoulders with a possessive, frantic energy. The adrenaline of the battle fused with the heat rising between them. He felt the curves of her body against his, a stark contrast to the violence raging just a few yards away behind the heavy doors.

He hoisted her onto the prep table, sweeping a tray of untouched mini quiches onto the floor with a loud clatter. Zanele laughed, a wild, sharp sound that was as much a release of tension as it was a challenge. 

"Tawanda," she murmured against his neck, her voice dropping to a low, husky register. "We are currently in a war zone."

"Good," he growled, his hands sliding firmly around her waist. "Makes the stakes much higher."

Just as their lips met again, a muffled explosion rocked the floor, sending a stack of plates crashing to the ground. The building shook so violently that Tawanda lost his footing, pulling Zanele into a clumsy, laughing heap on the floor. 

"Okay," Zanele said, gasping as she pushed herself up and straightened her dress. "The comedy of our lives is starting to get a little bit expensive."

Tawanda scrambled to his feet, grabbing his phone from his pocket. The screen was cracked, but the signal was active. He tapped the notification that had been waiting there since the beginning of the gala. He pulled up the encrypted file they had salvaged from the lawyer.

"Look at this," he said, holding the screen up for Zanele to see. 

Zanele squinted at the display. It was a digital map of the Mthembu manor, but there was a red blinking dot at the very center of the floor plan. She went pale. "Tawanda, that is not the office. That is the family vault. The one that’s supposed to be empty."

"It’s not empty," Tawanda said, his eyes scanning the data. "It’s a record of every single transaction that led to the murder of my mother. Nomalanga wasn't just planning to kill me. She was planning to clear the ledger before the police arrived. She’s destroying the proof right now."

Zanele’s expression shifted from desire to cold, professional fury in a second. "Then we don't go to the police. We go to the vault. If that data is destroyed, we have nothing to use against her in court."

"Agreed," Tawanda said. He grabbed a heavy chef’s knife from the counter, not for cooking, but for utility. "We get there, we copy the files, and we burn the rest of the house down with her inside it."

They slipped out through the loading dock. Outside, the night air was biting and cold. The sound of sirens wailed in the distance, growing louder by the second. A sleek black car sat idling at the edge of the alley, its headlights off. It looked exactly like the one that had tried to run him over in the garage.

"Is that her getaway car?" Zanele asked, crouching low behind a dumpster.

"It’s waiting for her," Tawanda noted. "We have to beat them to the vault. If she gets in that car, she escapes with the only evidence that can bury her."

Tawanda sprinted across the parking lot, his boots slapping against the asphalt. He reached the side entrance of the manor, pulling a hidden lock-pick set he’d carried since his days on the street. He worked the tumbler with a practiced, steady hand. Click. The door swung open.

They crept through the dark, opulent hallways of the Mthembu estate. Every shadow felt like a threat, every creak of the floorboards sounded like a gunshot. They reached the heavy oak door of the study. Tawanda pushed it open just enough to peek inside. 

Nomalanga stood by the safe, her hair wild, her dress torn, punching in a code with frantic, shaky fingers. Beside her, a man in a black mask held a silenced pistol, watching the door.

"Hurry up!" the man hissed. "The police are two blocks away!"

"I am going as fast as I can!" Nomalanga screamed back. 

Tawanda pulled back, looking at Zanele. He held up three fingers. He was going to rush the man while Zanele snatched the drive. 

Zanele nodded, her face set in a mask of grim determination. She pulled a heavy brass candlestick from a side table, weighing it in her hand. 

Tawanda signaled three. 

He kicked the door inward with all his weight, the heavy wood slamming into the wall with a deafening crack. The gunman whirled around, his eyes wide behind the mask, but he was a fraction of a second too slow. Tawanda lunged, driving his shoulder into the man’s chest and pinning him against the desk. The gun skittered across the floor. 

Nomalanga let out a blood-curdling shriek. She lunged for the safe, grabbing a thumb drive that was just popping out of the slot. 

Zanele didn't hesitate. She threw the heavy brass candlestick with surgical precision. It struck Nomalanga squarely in the shoulder. She stumbled, the thumb drive flying from her hand and sliding across the polished floor toward the shadows under the sofa.

"Get the drive!" Tawanda shouted, struggling to maintain his grip on the gunman, who was clawing at his face. 

Zanele dove for the floor, her fingers scrambling under the sofa. "I have it! I have it!"

Nomalanga scrambled up, her eyes wide with rage. She grabbed a letter opener from the desk and lunged at Zanele, her movements fluid and desperate. 

"Zanele, watch out!" Tawanda roared. 

He threw the gunman off him, the man hitting the bookshelf with a sickening crunch of wood and bone. Tawanda didn't stop. He turned and sprinted toward Nomalanga, tackling her just as she brought the blade down toward Zanele. 

They crashed into the wall, a tangle of limbs and fury. Nomalanga was a wildcat, her fingernails clawing at Tawanda’s face, her teeth bared in a snarl. 

"You will never have it!" she shrieked, her voice cracking. "I destroyed your mother, and I will destroy you!"

She reached into her bodice, pulling out a small remote trigger. Tawanda’s blood ran cold as he saw the red light blinking on the device. 

"What did you do?" Tawanda demanded, his grip on her wrists tightening until he heard her bones creak. 

Nomalanga laughed, a chilling, hollow sound that echoed in the dark study. "The house is rigged, you idiot. You think I’d leave all this behind for a peasant like you? We’re all going down together."

She pressed the button. A low, vibrating hum began to emanate from the walls, followed by the smell of ozone and burning circuitry. 

Tawanda looked at Zanele, who was clutching the thumb drive to her chest, her eyes wide with realization. The floor beneath them groaned. Smoke began to pour from the vents. 

"The exit!" Tawanda yelled, grabbing Zanele’s arm and dragging her toward the window. 

"It’s a three, story drop!" she screamed. 

"Jump!" 

They didn't wait. They threw themselves through the glass, the shards exploding outward as they hit the freezing night air. They tumbled through the darkness, landing hard on the manicured lawn below. Behind them, a massive fireball erupted from the library, blowing the windows out in a shower of flame and splintered wood. 

Tawanda rolled, coming to a stop on his back, the night sky spinning above him. He looked over to see Zanele sprawled in the grass, the thumb drive still gripped tightly in her hand. 

"Did we get it?" she gasped, her voice barely a whisper through the ringing in her ears. 

Tawanda crawled over to her, his clothes charred, his face covered in soot. He looked at the drive, then at the burning mansion where Nomalanga was trapped in the inferno. He felt a wave of relief so strong he nearly collapsed. 

"We got it," he said, taking the drive from her trembling fingers. 

As the sirens reached the front gate and the house groaned under the weight of the fire, a shadow emerged from the front door of the burning manor. It was a man, charred and bleeding, stumbling toward the gate with a weapon in his hand. He looked straight at Tawanda, raising his pistol with a slow, deliberate motion. Tawanda’s hand dropped to his waist, his fingers closing around the cold steel of the handgun he’d taken from the hitman earlier that night, but as he moved to draw, the man let out a wet, bubbling cough and collapsed, a single red dot glowing on his chest from a sniper rifle positioned somewhere in the dark forest surrounding the property. 

"Tawanda," Zanele whispered, her eyes fixed on the forest. "We aren't the only ones hunting them."