Warren: A novella

by Xyla Turner

  WARREN

  A Novella

  Written by Xyla Turner

  Copyright

  AZINA MEDIA PUBLICATIONS

  237 Flatbush Avenue, #187 Brooklyn, NY 11217

  This is an original publication of AZINA MEDIA PUBLICATIONS.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  Copyright © 2018 AZINA MEDIA PUBLICATIONS

  Cover Page by Covers by Combs

  Edited by AZINA MEDIA

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized edits.

  All rights reserved.

  Note to Reader

  Warren is an erotic novella. It is extremely short as it came to me in a spur of the moment, so I wrote it, but the club that is present in this book, will serve as a central location for old and new characters. Including your favorites: Harvey and Zora, Noah and Maxine.

  With shorter pieced, there is not a lot of story development, but more of an insta-love and hot read. If you like that, this is for you!

  Chapter 1

  Warren

  Annoyed was an understatement. Yet again, I’m waiting outside for my pain-in-the-ass sister who has yet to ever be on time for anything. She knows I hate this shit. Five o’clock, means five fucking o’clock. Not five-oh-five, five-fifteen and damn sure not five-forty-five. The only reason, I haven’t left her ass is because it’s raining and according to her, the hairstyle that she has would not survive this weather. I could give a good goddamn about her feminine ways, but she’s always been there for me.

  Always.

  Even when those that birthed me haven’t.

  Therefore, at five-forty-eight, I remain waiting for her to leave from choir rehearsal. She needs to get a fucking car though; this shit is for the birds.

  Around five-fifty-five, she comes running out, waving her hands in the air, talking about she’s so sorry. I’ve heard it all before but that is just who she was. A classic procrastinator and always late for everything. Even her own damn wedding, the woman was late. I don’t even know why I get annoyed half of the time. I know her ass is going to be late. She knows I’m going to be waiting, so she just takes her sweet time, like I don’t have shit to do. I run a club, for fuck's sake. Three damn clubs for that matter. It’s disrespectful, even if I know that’s not her intent. The only reason I didn’t get Ralph, my driver, to get her is because she said she wanted to talk.

  “Warren, I’m so sorry. Seriously. Don’t give me that look. I don’t do this on purpose. I promise.” Tellie says. “I was trying to help a fellow sister out. You know. Well, you don’t but she needed help.”

  I don’t even nod my head in acknowledgment of her many excuses, all that escapes me is a grunt.

  “Here you go with the grunts,” she sighs. “Fine. Well, can you help someone else too? It’s the woman I was trying to help. Fatima, this is my brother, Warren. He can give you a ride home.”

  What the hell?

  A curly head woman peeks from behind Tellie, raises those long lashes and waves, then ducks back.

  Wait, what?

  I didn’t even get to see her all the way. She was pretty, and her skin almost seemed golden in the retreating sunlight late in the afternoon. I know we were outside of church, but no real bells were ringing except in my head. I want to see her again.

  “Come on, get in.” Tellie interrupted my thoughts, by giving instructions to the woman.

  A slice of her forehead and one eye peered around my sister, I guess, asking for permission. I nodded for her to get in the back, as Tellie said, “Go on.”

  The woman quickly moved to the back seat, behind Tellie and buckled up. One look up and she had me captured. A set of full lips, toasted brown skin, long eyelashes, wide eyes, manicured brows and tight, curly hair. She looked away from me towards her lap and that was when I realized she was shy. Hell, the woman had my heart beating five ways to Sunday. Shit, it was only Saturday and I was in front of a church. Her hands were digging in her bag and I would have bet my life, she wasn’t looking for a damned thing but that meant I could look at her even more without scaring the shit out of her. I must have been staring too long, because Tellie hit me and said with a smirk, “Any day now, playboy.”

  Damn, she was about to block.

  She always did that with her church friends, like I was going to corrupt them. It was more like the other way around and I meant no disrespect. We would often argue about them because they tried to act like prudes, which was foolish, since the church didn’t mean perfection. Every time I say that, Tellie just shakes her head at me and reminds me to leave them alone.

  Half the time, it’s not me messing with them, but them trying to get with me and not in a praise the Lord, brotherly way. More like a ‘bended knee, what can I do for you brotha’ way. Tellie never believes me, so I steer clear of those chicks. But the one in the back seat, hiding from me. Now, she’s the only one that had my heart skipping a beat.

  Okay, two beats.

  “Warren,” my sister says with a punch to my arm. “Fatima lives in West Philly. So, you can drop me off and then take her home.”

  Being the older sister was never lost on Tellie. No matter how grown we were, this chick would always operate as the older sister. Telling people, they could get in my car. Telling me when I could take people, who just got in my car and for fuck's sake, leaving me in the car with a sexy goddess. The woman was just plain bossy. My nieces and nephews are always like, ‘mom is a mess.’

  I tell them, “Oh, I know.”

  I grunt and pull my eyes from the woman in the back but continue to sneak looks at her, as my sister starts talking.

  “Fatima, you’re not from around here, are you?” Tellie asks.

  “No, I’m from D.C.,” the soft voice answers.

  “What brings you here?” My sister keeps prying.

  “Work.”

  That was it. Short and sweet, not volunteering anything else unless asked.

  “I’m so glad you are doing our website. I swear that site had an AOL ending until you came along. It was www.tildenNDCOL.aol.com. I know we’re a mid-sized church, but we welcome everyone. You should come one day to worship and not just collect information for the site. You too, Warren. We welcome everybody.” She offered right before she said, “This is my stop but maybe you can get Warren to come tomorrow. Here, move up here. I’m getting out.”

  This damn woman.

  Fatima listened to my sister and replaces her spot in the passenger seat, but not before Tellie leans over and gives me a kiss, whispering for me to behave.

  I grunt again but say nothing. Her ass didn’t want to talk, so I was lured under false pretenses. Typical Tellie, just to get her way.

  Once Tellie is in the house, I wait for Fatima to give me directions or an address to get to her place, which could be as long as an hour away. She doesn’t even move, just sits there with her hands in her lap, twisting her fingers about.

  “Need an address,” I force out.

  The woman jumps at the sound of my voice and I almost wanted to pull her back in to reassure her that I wouldn’t harm her.

  “My bad,” I tried to say in a lighter tone.

  My voice was always deep and often came out a
s a growl. My mom and I got into it on a regular basis when I graced her with my presence and I suspected it was because I resembled my father. In every way. My face, looks, demeanor, body posture, the way we talked. It was forceful, demanded attention and most people thought when we shared our thoughts, we were angry. That wasn’t the case, usually. That’s just a part of who we are. When it came to my mom, I used to find myself bringing my voice down and trying to conform to make her comfortable. I stopped that shit years ago. Right around the time, I opened my club. I could be the bouncer, the bartender, the DJ or just the owner. In my early days I did them all, but now that it was flourishing, I just ran the joint.

  “Twenty-three West Newbrick Avenue,” she said. “Not Newbrick Street.”

  “Right,” I murmured as I put it into my phone that was mantled on the dashboard.

  Then I realized I cursed in front of the woman, so I uttered another apology.

  “It’s fine,” she said.

  Once we were moving, I noticed that she was closer to the door, which made total sense because I could be anyone. Hell, for all she knew, Tellie and I were posing as brother and sister, when we were actually in a human trafficking ring. That was a poor decision on Tellie. I’m sure she had her reasons, but the woman was new to the area and didn’t know Tellie or me for that matter.

  “I won’t hurt you,” I found myself saying. “I’m not sure why my sister left you with me, but I ain’t going to hurt you. Don’t do shit like that. Don’t believe in it.”

  What the woman didn’t do was look my way. Instead, she inched closer to the door.

  Damn.

  I shut my mouth and kept driving. We made it to West Philly and when we were three minutes away from the address that she gave me, I saw her dig into her purse. I thought she was going to get her keys, then she suddenly spoke and said, “You can drop me off right here.”

  On the corner was a bodega and a warehouse. There were no homes or apartments in sight. I asked her, “Are you sure?”

  She answered, “Yes, right here.”

  Pulling over, I put the car into park and went to speak, as she tried to pull on the door handle open. It wouldn’t budge because Tellie must have accidentally put the child locks on. The car was seven years old, which meant it was paid for. However, it was the only vehicle that I had, that Tellie could get in without hopping up, hiking up her skirt or needing assistance. The woman was five-foot and one inch. How I was six-foot, three-inches and she and I had the same two parents, was genetically amazing. She took after mom’s side of the family and my everything was paternal genes.

  “Yeah, hold on,” I replied, took off my seat belt and leaned over to turn the child lock off on her door.

  Why did I do that?

  The woman started yelling and batting my arm away as I tried to explain that I was trying to let her out. As I almost switched the button, the woman began to scratch at me, and climb in the back seat.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” I exclaimed. “I’m trying to let you out.”

  She was screaming and making no damn sense. I switched the locks off and that was when a kick of her flat black shoes hit me in the shoulder and the spray of all sprays was unleashed on my ass.

  The damned woman sprayed the pepper spray in my face at close proximity and hauled tail outside of the car and ran away. I fell out of the car, choking to my death in a deserted area of West Philly and thinking that maybe she was the human trafficker and I was about to be hit over the head, carjacked, shipped away, forced to have sex with people I’d rather not have sex with.

  I was going to kill my damn sister.

  Chapter 2

  Fatima

  I did not want to go to nobody’s church the next morning because I had made a complete fool out of myself. At ten o’clock last night, after I thought I escaped an attack from this guy who rivaled Dwayne Johnson with a voice like thunder, I realized I might have overreacted. Well, Telisha said as much when she called to share that her brother called her and cussed her right out for having her drop off some crazy ass woman who kicked and pepper-sprayed him. That was an hour after I ran home and hid, hoping he didn’t follow me.

  After apologizing profusely and sharing that I would make it up to him, she told me not to bother because he was done with favors from her for a long time. At least three months, before he’d let it go. Maybe six. She thought the damn thing was funny, but I was mortified. He had his eyes on me and I didn’t like that too much. Internally, I told myself it didn’t matter and that I was okay with it, but even at thirty-three, it bothered me. So, with Telisha brother’s eyes on me. I guess I freaked and figured he or they were...hell, I don’t know. I just freaked. The man didn’t speak until we pulled off and that scared the shit out of me. I wasn’t a scary woman, I swear, but his voice sounded like the God of Host booming down in that small space.

  “Girl, my brother was so pissed.” She was finding entirely too much humor in this event.

  “Why are you laughing?” I asked since I was absolutely mortified.

  “Because I would have paid good money to see you fighting him and spraying pepper-spray in his face.” I could sense her falling over in a fit of laughs and when she came back to the phone, she tried to catch her breath. “Gir..girl...girllll..”

  I had to laugh myself at how funny she thought it was.

  “Telisha,” I exclaimed. “I have to make it up to him. Where does he work? What does he like? I feel so bad.”

  “It’s Warren, he’s mad but he’ll get over it. Eventually. Plus, I wouldn’t recommend going to where he works.” She shared.

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Cause, it’s a club. He owns it on Sunset Boulevard down near South Philly.” Telisha told me. “It nice and all, but probably too much for you.”

  Okay.

  “I’ve been to clubs before,” I shared. “I just don’t go there often. Not really my scene.”

  “As I said,” she nodded.

  “But I can get him something and have it delivered, right?” I suggested. “What does he like?”

  She paused for a moment while on the phone before saying, “Girl, he’s a gadget’s guy. All he talks about is sports, business stuff, and his club. Oh, he’s looking to get his website updated.”

  “Ohhhh, okay. I can do that.” I replied with a head nod, that she couldn’t see. “Now, that I can do. What’s the name of his club?”

  Telisha lowered her voice and whispered, “Ass Up, Face Down. That’s just the name of the main club I know about. He has a few.”

  Holy Moe.

  She reiterated, “Yeah, like I said. Not everyone’s cup of tea, sis.”

  My mouth must have still been open and eyes were bugged out, because my silence over the phone had her continuing to say, “Maybe just share with him a good designer and ask them for a discount.”

  “No, no. I’ll do it,” I found my words again. “I can do it. I'm almost finished with the church’s site, so I’ll have some time.”

  “Mmmkay,” she murmured in that ‘don’t say I didn’t warn you tone.’.

  The more I thought about it, the more I realized he might not welcome me. I basically, without saying one word, insinuated that he was going to assault me in some kind of way. God, I felt so dumb. He would probably toss me out of his club if I showed up and I knew he wouldn’t take my call. I guess I had to put on my big girl panties and face the music. Mainly since I was all Xena the Warrior Princess last night, jumping in back seats, kicking big ole’ villains and pepper-spraying them before I hopped out and started scaling the buildings in West Philly. Maybe not climbing, but definitely running like a chicken with its head cut off.

  Such a fool.

  The club was closed on Monday and Tuesday, but Thursday seemed to be the best night to show up, since if I went during the regular times, I would have to pay to get in. The idea was if I went earlier enough, people would be setting up and I could avoid some of the party hassle. Well, little did I know things would n
ot go as planned.

  When I arrived at six o’clock and asked for Warren, they shared that no one by that name worked there. I shared that he was the owner and nope, nothing. I figured they were lying but decided to call Telisha. The first thing she said was, “What are you wearing?”

  I looked down and said, “Khaki skirt, orange long sleeved tee with my black flats.”

  “Do you have the big New York and Company business bag?” She asked with sarcasm etched in her voice.

  “Yeah, of course,” I replied. “I need it to carry my laptop.”

  “Nope. They not letting you in there. As far as they are concerned, you’re either the Police, IRS, Feds, Child Support or some system they don’t want in that club. Oh, and if you asked for Warren, they don’t know him by that. His street name is Skull.” She informed me.

  “Skull?” I balked. “What kind of…”

  “Girl, I’m just trying to tell you. You should have called. So, either go get dressed for a cluuuubbb or call the man. I would call for you but he ain’t answering me, thanks to you.” She shared.

  “I’m so sorry,” I found myself saying once again.

  I needed to make this right.

  Seriously.

  Fine. It was now or never. So, I went to the mall, grabbed the cutest but the sluttiest thing on the manikin, did my hair, put on my makeup and tried again. This time, I got in line, paid my cover charge and fortunately, blended right in with four-inch heels that hurt my arches. To say that my attendance at a club in college was one thing, since I went to a predominantly white university, and their idea of clubs was techno, flashing lights and a bunch of women dancing on each other. The black version of this or the Ass Up, Face Down version of this was just that. Most women were dancing with men, with either their ass grinding into a man’s crotch while bending over, like the club’s name suggest. There were a few women near the colorfully lit bar, with drinks, and lurking while guys were doing the same, but this was definitely a dancing club. It was nice, not dirty or a rinky-dink, hole in the wall. It was actually pretty sleek, despite the name.