Black Urban Books Novels & Stories

“Stick the kettle on then Chelsea because I really want to know what the fuck you are playing at?” “Biscuit?” I pushed the plate of cracked cookies over the table towards him. It was a lame thing to do but the longer I could postpone this conversation the better. I needed to think of a plausible excuse as to why Wicked had just been seen leaving my house. And so far I was coming up blank. “Sit your ass down, Chelsea.” Young Blood had flung his legs out just like Wicked had done. They were, all the same, the men of the Black Aces. They all thought they could boss me around.

The author of the book he was looking at must have been a busy man throughout his career and the entries he had apparently written were joined together in no chronologically order, one by one, they all told stories of different civilization that had been buried during mankind's quest for power. As Ifenna stared at the book again, feeling confused and tired, another disheartening thought occurred to him. It was one of the pages of the book that had been written with the title of a man who shared the surname with a woman he met about two years ago. The title of the page he was looking at was written in bold capital letters. JAMES BLACKWHEEL

he points at her with his chin, expressionless, “didn't you want to join our group? There is the proof.” I swallow a bitter breath when I reach for it and study it, without a doubt it is the same bracelet that the Zanni subjects had. “Why black?” “I really don't know.” He dives into the pages of his new book of the week and surprisingly it is not the one he read yesterday. Had I already finished it? For sure yes. His title was somewhat ironic; The Darkest Book of Cheap Poetry.