Novels by Precious Amarachi

“What's wrong, Daniel? You are staring”. Luca says, sipping his drink, oblivious to how lost Daniel is in his own thoughts. He grabs his pants and puts them on.He stood by the window, barefoot, shirtless, backlit by moonlight _a living sculpture of rugged muscle and old scars. He poured some whiskey into the glass by the corner and drank it like he had been thirsty for ages.Daniel was still frozen“You are not wearing clothes”, Daniel mutters, his voice tighter than he intended.Luca glanced over his shoulder, a smirk playing on his lips, “Is there a problem?”.The hotel room was cold, and now Luca's bare skin the way his sweatpants hung low on his hips, the three jagged scars raking across his ribs like claw marks.Daniel manages to force himself to look away, “ Just wondering if you own pyjamas”.“Not a fan”, Luca replies, stretching himself, the muscles at his back almost shifting.” You will live, don't worry”.Daniel exhaled sharply and tossed his bag into the bed“We need some

The car skidded to a stop in front of a crumbling roadside bar—**The Dusty Cactus.** A neon sign flickers weakly. Luca stopped the engine. "My dad’s old drinking spot."Inside, the air smelled like beer and regret. Three grizzled locals glanced up, then did double-takes. The waiter snorted. “Well, shit. Hollywood’s here."Luca slid onto a stool.” Do you have Whiskey? Keep ‘em coming." Daniel sat beside him. "Start talking."Luca downed the first shot. "There was someone else at that Harvard interview. Jordan’s nephew."Daniel froze. "What?" “The kid was a legacy. They picked him over me." Luca’s smile was bitter. “The following week, Jordan showed up at my door. He said he could fix my life."The pieces clicked. "He’s been controlling you since you were nineteen?" Luca didn’t answer. His phone buzzed—Jordan, for the twelfth time.Daniel’s buzzed too. UNKNOWN NUMBER:Now you see. The interview wasn’t the end. UNKNOWN NUMBER: It was the beginning. Luca looked at Daniel, his

The media tour had been a masterclass in humiliation. Firstly His dad didn't buy the idea that he just got back home like the prodigal son without anything at stake.“Luca's come off the mask, why are you really here?” It's not like you give a fuck about me; you have been pursuing this stupid career of yours without my assent for five years now; what went wrong in Williamsburg.” Samuel Moretti asks, his eyes beaming in curiosity not believing Lucas' facade of innocence.“I have missed you, Dad”, He whispers.“Oh please! Hope your career is not about to be burnt to the ground, because the last time I checked, you said Bushwick has nothing for you,” Samuel fires back.“Everything is fine, Dad; I just came to say hello. Just say cheese to the camera,” He says while flashing lights of astrograph in his eyes.He goes back into the car, his heart racing like he just completed a marathon, memories of Bushwick flashing in his head; echoes of his little voice screaming his dad's name on enteri

Luca was curious to know who this person could be and what he wanted; was it money, fame, sex or a revenge mission? He walked back and forth in his office, then a thought flipped through his mind.” Jordan”. He is a reliable, potent cyber stalker. He would help.His trembling hands picked up the cell phone “ Jordan, I just sent an email to you; get your guy to look up this number for me; I need answers within 8 hours”. Sweat drenched from his eyebrows, his body temperature rose beyond 37oc, notwithstanding the air conditioner blowing up the papers scattered on his table.Luca tossed his phone across the room. It shattered against the marble fireplace, glass skittering like ice. After waiting impatiently for 5 hours, Jordan finally knocked on his door.” Come in”, he said, shaking.Jordan breaks the silence” I really wish I had some good news for you, sadly I don't”."Nothing?" His voice was raw. "You’re telling me your ‘cyber guy’ found nothing?"Jordan didn’t flinch. He never did.

In Daniel's hotel room in Beverly Hills that night, loud echoes of music were still heard from the thin walls, chattering glasses, faint moans of sweet young princesses and shouts of potentially drunk low-life celebrities or rather Megastars as seen by fans. Daniel had played the video for the third time. Daniel sat on the edge of his bed, the glow of his laptop casting sharp shadows across his face. The footage was clearer now—June 12th, 3:17 AM, the winding halls of Luca’s Beverly Hills estate after some industry award party. On-screen, Luca was seen arguing with a dark, 8-foot-tall man. Then a fast forward, Luca stumbling slightly, his dress shirt rumpled, untucked, his cheeks flushed. He leaned heavily against the wall, rubbing at his left ankle—already swollen, already bruised.Then **Charlie** appeared. Tall, tousled dark brown hair, charming blue eyes, perfectly broad shoulders, handsome and charming, the kind of effortless beauty that came from old money and good genes

The trip to Los Angeles was nothing short of comfort: a business-class ticket, a good and decent meal at the airport lounge, First-class treatment, and a good view to behold the beautiful creations of God. Daniel has never experienced this parade of comforting riches, not in this lifetime.The first thing Daniel noticed about Los Angeles was the light. It wasn't like Brooklyn's muted glow, filtered through smog and skyscrapers. This light was relentless—pouring through the escalade's tinted windows like liquid gold, bleaching the sidewalks bone-white, making everything look like an overexposed photograph. Daniel squinted against it as the car pulled up to The Peninsula. His fingers tightened around his duffel bag—the same one he'd carried through three moves in two years, its stitching fraying at the seams. "Home sweet home," Luca said, flashing teeth that probably cost more than Daniel's student loans. The suite smelled like money. Not the stale-dollar-bill stench of bodegas