War Baby: A Novella Read online

  WAR BABY

  A Novella

  BY:

  DAYA DANIELS

  CONTENTS

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Playlist

  Quote

  Round One

  Round Two

  Round Three

  About the Author

  Copyright@ 2017 by Daya Daniels

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any way, including electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or any other means without the explicit written permission of the author, except for brief quotations of the book when writing a spectacular review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, incidents and even facts are the product of the author’s imagination. Wait a minute...especially facts. Any resemblance to actual people – alive, dead, or someplace in between, is completely by chance and likely in your head.

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. Holy hell, this is important. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Let’s not forget! All song titles in this book are the property of the sole copyright owners.

  To all the fighters.

  PLAYLIST

  Killing Strangers – Marilyn Manson

  O Mio Babbino Caro – Maria Callas

  I Wanna Be Yours- Arctic Monkeys

  Let It All Go - Birdy + Rhodes

  Under Your Spell – Desire

  To Me – Chet Faker

  ‘The only antidote to mental suffering is physical pain.’

  -Karl Marx

  WARNING: This novella contains strong subject matter, strong language and strong sexual content. If you are sensitive to explicit sex, then this isn’t the book for you.

  You have been warned.

  ROUND ONE

  Pierce

  “I quit.” The deep voice interrupts my early morning phone call.

  I spin around in my chair, away from the New York City skyline that I’d been admiring and uncross my legs. A mass of unruly honey blonde hair that desperately needs to be cut comes into view before the owner’s piercing blue eyes meet mine.

  “I’ll have to call you back.” I mumble into the receiver before hanging up, slowly.

  A humorless smile spreads across my face as I drag the scrap of paper with two fingers from across my desk, that he’d put there and pick it up. Scribbled across the crumpled yellow note that looks like it’s been torn from an old Chinese takeout menu, in pencil, are the words I quit. He hadn’t even considered typing it out, like a professional would, which leads me to believe either he has no clue or he simply doesn’t care. Likely, it’s both.

  Standing, I round my desk and step closer, examining the black eye that one of the firm’s best associate lawyers, Xavier Benedict seems to be donning this morning like it’s a fucking badge of some sort. He stands straighter – shoulders high and chin hard, when I step into his personal space with narrowed eyes, taking in the sight of the angry bruise around his left eye – shiny and bright like the surface of a plum.

  The gorgeous young man clears six feet but still I’m at least two inches taller. I shove the scrap of paper towards him, my hand crashing into his chest and the sore ribs that likely linger there under the white Oxford shirt he wears. He groans in pain and avoids my eyes, when he breathes through his agony nice and slow. I only stare at the disaster in front of me.

  In the last few months, Xavier had come into work with broken fingers, black eyes, busted lips, cuts, gashes, scrapes, bruises and missing teeth that he’d of course, have fixed right away. The ridiculous list went on.

  The kid loves to fight.

  Xavier had earned his nickname War Baby in the underground fighting ring. Here, he’s called Xavier. Out in the New York City streets, they call him just Baby mostly. He’d worked for me for the last three years after graduating from Yale with a law degree. He’s smart but he isn’t focused and he didn’t give two shits about being a lawyer. He’s just another trust fund kid, doing what his parents expect of him. I’d seen it too many times before, having lived through the same mess myself.

  With a grimace, I look him over. Tall, muscular (think MMA fighter’s build) blue eyes that you could get lost in and a beaming white smile, when he wasn’t missing teeth, that would make your boxer briefs disintegrate and gay. Only no one would believe it. He’s constantly hit on by women and men and even the male higher ups in this firm have a thing for him.

  I’d never known Baby to date anyone, not seriously anyways. He kept his personal life private, as did I. But I knew he was gay and many others did too. It wasn’t something he was hiding.

  He’d endured the typical teasing and taunting growing up, only now Baby kicked the asses of even the toughest straight guys that gave him shit, I’d heard. They didn’t fuck with him – no one did. The guy has a chip on his shoulder the size of the Africa.

  He’s young. He’s tough and he’s crazy. And although, he didn’t care for it, he’s good at his job and is one of the best associate lawyers I know. An exceptional talent, I had highlighted in his last work performance review, that earned him a hefty bonus and a comfortable pay rise.

  I cross my arms and nudge my chin in the direction of the lounge area in the corner of the large room, without saying a word. Baby makes a face and ambles across my office like a child that’s about to be scolded and eases down into the leather sofa. I spin around and head towards the bar and fill two tumblers with Macallan 25 along with two ice cubes – the breakfast of champions. I pick up the remote and point it in the direction of the stereo. O Mio Babbino Caro sung by Maria Callas sounds beautifully from the speakers.

  Baby plops down in the sofa, so far down he might as well be lying in bed. I’m certain he always sat at the back of the class in school, in-that-same position. A hand runs through his thick hair, which he ruffles a few times with a sigh. He sits with his arms crossed and his legs spread wide open. I approach him, passing him the tumbler, which he gratefully accepts with a “thanks.”

  I give him a nod and take a seat opposite him, appreciating the view in front of me... of the Chrysler Building in the distance. Casually, I sip my drink, enjoying the burn of it as it coats my throat. Baby takes a few sips, his face twisting into some sort of fucked up expression that forces me to swallow down a chuckle with my next gulp. He doesn’t drink. At least, I’ve never seen him drink anything besides Gatorade and water.

  We sip our drinks. I shut my eyes for a moment, sinking into the sound of the haunting song. It finishes just when we’re both nearly done and the volume lowers, just as it’s set. I place my glass on the coffee table between us, meeting Baby’s blue eyes.

  “Did you enjoy that?”

  His tawny brows cinch as he thumbs over his shoulder. “The music?”

  I nod.

  “Yes. Yeah it was nice – not something I’d listen to but it was okay.”

  I suck my teeth and take a deep breath, glaring at the decoration that surrounds his sapphire left eye, that’s dark enough to be mistaken for a hole in Baby’s face. The damage possibly from some disgruntled ex-lover out for revenge. Or, the work of some madman that he owed money to. Anyone that didn’t know that he’d fought in the underground rings, which are illegal, would assume all these things. I’d grown tired of explaining all of Baby’s injuries away to the higher ups in the firm. Being partner myself helped a bit but there’s only so much I can cover up. Baby and his escapades were beginning to get under my skin, in more than a few ways.

  He didn’t think about the risk or
the position he might be putting himself in if he were to mistakenly kill someone in the ring. He’d be disbarred and possibly even jailed. There’s also the very real possibility that he could end up being seriously injured himself.

  Kids.

  Glancing at his marred appearance that’s no less striking, three words come to mind.

  Immature. Incredible. Wild.

  Baby

  It’s ten in the morning and I’m sitting here listening to fucking opera. My boss - the high and mighty Pierce Baron Carlisle sits in front of me. Tumbler clutched in hand, legs crossed, exposing his expensive pink socks, that are likely cashmere and custom dress shoes.

  The wall on one side of this apartment-sized office is covered in expensive replicas- Picasso’s, Chagall’s and Pollock’s. The other side of it is made up of floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the Hudson River.

  He’s thirty-four years old, recently divorced and is one of New York’s most eligible gay bachelors. In the three years I’d worked for him, I didn’t even know he was married, since I’d never actually seen the husband and Pierce never spoke of him- which told me that the marriage had been long dead before it was actually over.

  This man exudes confidence. His powerful aura feels like it takes up the entire room. He’s a brilliant lawyer with a Harvard education, who lives on the upper east side in a sprawling penthouse, alone - with not even a cat or dog. The only thing the two of us have in common is that we’re both trust fund babies from wealthy families and have parents that have high expectations of us.

  I look this stunning princeling over, taking in his chiseled features.

  This man is exceptionally good-looking – male model attractive. For a moment, consider the very unreal possibility as a what if, of course, that Henry Cavill and Matt Bomer had a son together. Yeah, exactly. You catch my drift. That’s Pierce Baron Carlisle.

  Power. Creed. Respect. Admiration.

  His nose looks like it’s been broken once or twice but I can’t be sure. He gives me a brilliant smile, exposing every single one of his straight white teeth and I avert my gaze, forcing myself not to stare. Something really pisses me off about this guy.

  His inky black hair is perfectly coiffed and his grey eyes nearly burn a hole in me, as he scans me from head to toe. I’d come in this morning to quit and for some ungodly reason, I’m still here.

  Why am I still-fucking-here?

  He keeps my gaze when he grabs his glass again, swallowing the last few drops of watered down alcohol and sets it on the table in the middle of us.

  “Did you wake up this morning and just decide to quit?” He asks.

  I nod.

  “So, five years of Yale and putting time in here at Carlisle, Meyer & Atchings is worth nothing to you?”

  Hesitantly, I open my mouth to speak. “That’s not it. I just see another path for myself.”

  He presses his full lips together and adjusts his dress pants at the knees to lean forward. He’s a large fucker. At least six-foot three, two hundred and thirty pounds. He’s not a dude you’d want to be in a brawl with but I’d taken down bigger assholes in my day. Is he intimidating? Yes. Does he scare me? Absolutely fucking not.

  He runs his finger around the rim of his glass, watching me watching him. “No trust fund concerns, Baby?” He asks, his voice deep and honeyed.

  I swallow back a chuckle both at his question and the fact that he’d called me Baby. No one called me that here. The nickname is such a stark contrast to my government name – Xavier Arthur Benedict III.

  God, I hate that fucking name.

  I’m twenty-six, covered in scars and ink and I have a name which would have most people assume that I’m a fucking priest or some shit. I’m a walking contradiction. A savage in a suit. An animal who has the daily nine-to-five, tailored appearance of being a proper gentleman. I’m anger personified. Rebellion, my middle-fucking-name.

  “You’re asking me if I’m worried that my parents will cut me off?”

  He cants his head forward a few times.

  I run a hand over my jaw and sigh. “A little but not really.”

  “And you’re considering quitting law to take up a full-time job in the underground fighting ring?” He asks, his top lip turning up into a snarl as though he smells shit.

  I nod again.

  “Well, from the looks of it, I’d say you need to work on your defenses.”

  I huff and give him a huge grin.

  Pierce sits even farther forward, pinching his lips. “The problem with the youth today...” He sighs. “Is that they aren’t willing to work for anything. They don’t appreciate the opportunities given to them and they don’t think about the future?”

  Inwardly, I roll my eyes. This guy talks as if he has twenty years on me.

  To him, I’m the youth. The bane of society, gradually taking the world’s future down the shitter with my lack of focus and commitment.

  I’m wild. Have no direction. Think I have all the answers. I’m irresponsible. Disrespectful. Ungrateful. Impulsive. Reckless. And guess what? He’s right. I’m all those things and much, much more and I make no apology for it.

  “The purpose of the fight is to win, yes?” He asks, slanting his head in my direction.

  “Of course.”

  He extends his large palms open my way, as if asking me to explain. He doesn’t blink the longer he keeps that penetrating gaze on me.

  “I was caught off guard.”

  Pierce laughs. “War Baby.” He scoffs.

  “Yeah, that’s what they call me.” I growl. “War Baby. I’ve earned it. I’ve won nearly every single underground fight I’ve been in. They respect me on the circuit.”

  “More than they respect you here?”

  “Yesss.”

  “So that’s what this is about?” He groans, checking the one-hundred thousand dollar Patek Philippe platinum watch on his thick wrist.

  My brows cinch, when it dawns on me what he’s doing.

  Deflecting. Accusing. Dismissing.

  “I’ll give you time to go home and think about this, Baby.” He stands and heads across the room. “I’ll allow you three days to go home and heal.” He laughs, while adjusting his vest.

  I shoot up from the sofa, fists balled ready to fight. “I’m done here, Pierce. I won’t be coming back.” I say, raising my voice. “And for the record, I don’t need time to heal. My Goddamn eye is fine.”

  He chuckles and bobs his head a few times, flipping through the iPad on his desk, still with his back to me.

  “You sound like a child throwing a tantrum.” He accuses in an amused tone.

  I stride across the room, facing him. His head is still down, while he scrolls through his agenda for the day.

  “I’m not coming -.”

  “Oh, yes you are.” Pierce says. His head lifts, exposing his flawless face to me. “Oh yes, you are because this is your path Baby, whether you like it or not. This is why you were hired to work here to begin with, not because of your talent and acumen. It’s because that is what my father promised your father, many years ago and this is the way things work in our world. You know this, Baby.

  “The two men have been good friends most of their lives.” He smiles. “No one really gives a shit if you want to go and take out your frustrations after dark in some fighting ring but that’s extra-curricular. Where you stand now, is your career. Your life. And if you throw it away, you’re throwing everything away.”

  I run a hand through my hair, while he takes a seat on the edge of his desk.

  “You’ll thank me for giving you the opportunity to go home and collect your stupid thoughts before you make a decision that you’ll regret.” He coos. “I can hardly imagine you giving up your penthouse that overlooks Central Park in exchange for a boarding room in a hostel.” He laughs.

  His words cause my ears to become itchy and now I fear I have a rash.

  Fuck.

  “I admire you, Baby. You want to walk to your own beat, live you
r own life, set your own path and all that good shit but it isn’t realistic. But...” He pauses. “There’s a pay off at the end, when you get to where I am one day, which you will. You can do whatever the fuck you want.”

  I grit my teeth so hard, I’m certain my jaw will crack.

  “You have to pay your dues, Baby and you’re not there yet.”

  He approaches me, filling my space with him. I inhale the crisp, spicy scent of the cologne he wears. His jaw is clean-shaven and his hair is perfect, since he appears to get a haircut at least every two fucking days. Who does that?

  This man’s presence is intimidating and he knows it but I don’t back down. I never back down. I didn’t get the nickname War Baby for nothing.

  His nose is an inch from mine, while he takes in my expression. His arm lifts and a finger rakes through my hair. It’s the first time I’ve seen his perfectly symmetrical features up this close and they’re even more intriguing. His nose – it’s definitely been broken before, maybe twice, like mine.

  “How many rounds do your fights usually go, Baby?”

  I narrow my eyes at his bizarre question. “Five.” I announce proudly. “And that’s if I’m just fucking around.”

  He laughs, his minty breath laced with the remnants of expensive scotch puff against my lips. “You’re tough. I’ll give you that.”

  He’s amused. Intrigued. Maybe even turned on and I’m not entirely sure I like it.

  If I know anything about Pierce Baron Carlisle is that he gets everything he wants and I could see why men gave it all to him willingly. He’s mysterious, charismatic, smart and fine as hell. This man had the ability to drive a dude to the nut house. I can feel it on him. I can sense his commanding presence that takes up all the oxygen in this humungous room and constricts my airways, making it difficult to breathe.

  He laughs, which is something he rarely does and thrusts more of his fingers into my hair giving me a curious smoky gaze, while teasing my strands. Goose bumps erupt all over my skin at his touch and blood rushes to my face, causing my half-shut eye to throb even more and my cheeks to heat.