DADDY’S ENEMIES
1664 Words
CHAPTER 3
“Who was he?”
Belema didn’t look up from her phone. She was curled up on the edge of the pool chair the next afternoon, legs bare and glowing with baby oil, sunglasses the size of sin on her face. Her acrylic nails tapped against the screen like she was texting God.
“Who?” she asked, feigning innocence.
“The man at the party. Dark-skinned. Tall. That face like…” I trailed off, thinking. “Like he’s seen things. The kind of man who doesn’t flinch at blood.”
She smirked then, just a little. “You mean Duke.”
“Duke?”
“Senator Duke. One of your father’s old war dogs. They did business together back in the early 2000s, before Abuja made them enemies.”
My stomach curled, not with fear—but with something colder. Sharper.
“I thought they were still allies,” I said carefully.
Belema peeled off her glasses and gave me that look—the one that meant she was deciding whether to warn me or let me burn.
“They smile at each other in public. That’s all that matters. But trust me, babe… if you f****d him, your daddy would lose his mind.”
I didn’t say anything. Not because I was scared.
But because I hadn’t f****d him—yet. And now I knew I wanted to.
That night, I couldn’t sleep.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him again. Not just the way he stood, like his body knew secrets, but the way he didn’t reach for me. Didn’t flirt. Just watched. It was rare for a man to treat me like a puzzle instead of a prize.
My fingers found their way under the sheets, slow, slick, shameless.
I thought of his voice. That low warning: You don’t belong here.
And when I came, I whispered his name like a dare. Duke.
Flashback. I was sixteen.
We had guests over—men in agbadas and women who laughed like they were paid for it. My mother was wearing her diamond set, the one she only brought out when money needed to move quietly.
I stood at the top of the stairs in a short dress I wasn’t supposed to be wearing, watching the scene below like it was a movie. That’s when I saw him for the first time.
Senator Duke.
He looked younger then, but not by much. His hair was fuller. His eyes just as dark. He was the only man in the room who didn’t glance up at me—and the only one I wanted to notice.
But as I turned to walk away, I caught the barest flicker—his eyes, on my legs. Just for a second.
I never forgot it.
Back in the present, I grabbed my phone and typed one word:
“Belema.”
She replied immediately. “Yh?”
“Where does he go when he’s not playing politics?”
She sent a pin.
And a warning.
“If you do this, you can’t undo it.”
I stared at the screen.
Then I got dressed.
The next morning, the sun was already smug by the time I rolled out of bed.
Campus life was calling—or, more accurately, texting. Group chats buzzing about lectures I never showed up for. Class reps tagging my name like prayer requests. Someone even said the VC had threatened to expel students who missed another Mass Comm 301 test.
Cute.
I padded to the bathroom, took a piss, brushed my teeth, and stared at myself in the mirror for longer than usual. Eyes smudged with leftover mascara. A faint red mark on my inner thigh. I didn’t remember how it got there.
My phone rang.
“Are you coming for class today?” Gloria’s voice, tinny and tight. She was one of those girls who still believed in attendance sheets and moral high ground. “Dr. Okoh asked about you.”
I stared at the ceiling. “Tell him I’m dead.”
“Alice—”
I ended the call.
The thing about Rivers State University was that it looked better in brochures. The main campus in Nkpolu had a way of smelling like body heat and spilled dreams. That didn’t stop students from dressing like it was Coachella. Short skirts, lip gloss, sneakers on red sand. The boys too—dripped in fake Dior and borrowed masculinity.
I showed up late. Fashionably.
No bra. Black shades. A tiny white crop top and high-waisted jeans that hugged every bad decision I’d ever made.
Heads turned.
As usual.
I lit a cigarette in the faculty parking lot, even though signs said not to. Someone’s boyfriend tried to start a conversation. I blew smoke in his face and kept walking.
Inside the lecture hall, I spotted Belema in the back row, legs crossed, lollipop in her mouth like it was a microphone. She patted the seat beside her.
“Guess who’s trending on class w******p,” she whispered as I sat down.
“Who?”
“You.”
I didn’t even ask why.
She showed me. A blurry picture of me from the party, drink in one hand, tongue in someone’s mouth. The caption: Alice the Slay Queen of Odili Road.
I laughed. Loud enough to get stares.
I loved it when they talked.
After class, we skipped the next two and went to a bar across from campus called Heatz. The kind of place that served peppersoup at 10 a.m. and sold cold beer for cheaper than bottled water.
Zino was there—leaning against his Camry like a scene from a softcore Naija movie. Black durag. Slides. The tattoos on his neck peeking above a worn-out Lakers jersey.
He looked like the kind of mistake that came with side effects.
He saw me and smiled. “You dey disguise today?”
I slid into the passenger seat like I’d been expected. “You get high grade?”
He leaned closer. “Only the kind that makes bad girls beg.”
I smiled slowly.
Belema, behind us, rolled her eyes. “God, get a room.”
We did. Later.
Not because I wanted him. But because I needed a distraction.
From Duke.
From the memory of those eyes.
From the voice in my head whispering: You don’t belong here.
That night, I lay naked on Zino’s bed, listening to the fan squeak like it was confessing sins.
My phone buzzed.
No name.
Just a number.
I opened the message.
You’re reckless. That’s what I like about you.
No name.
But I knew.
Duke.
I didn’t reply.
I stared at the message for a long time, phone glowing against the dark like temptation with a SIM card. Then I tossed it face-down and pulled Zino’s duvet over me.
It smelled like sweat, weed, and male entitlement. I buried my face in it anyway. Not because I liked the scent—because it was better than the one stuck in my nose: Duke’s cologne, sharp and expensive, like sin in a bottle.
Zino stirred beside me, arm draped lazily over my waist. “You good?”
“Mhm.”
“Want more?”
I turned to face him. His lips were swollen from kissing me too hard. There was a new scratch on his neck. I didn’t even remember giving it to him.
“No,” I said, softer than I meant to.
He looked at me, searching. “You sure?”
“Zino,” I said, sitting up and lighting a cigarette from his nightstand, “you were great. But don’t fall in love. That’s not your role.”
He blinked. Said nothing.
I left before midnight.
The road back to Odili felt longer than usual. Maybe it was the music—Seyi Vibez bleeding through the car speakers. Or maybe it was the ache between my thighs. Not from s*x, but from tension. That haunted, hungry kind that crawled out when the city went quiet.
Port Harcourt at night was a different animal. Still pretty. Still polished. But there was a wildness under the surface. Like me.
I parked, slipped into the house, and headed straight for the fridge.
I was thirsty.
But not for water.
Three days passed.
I tried to pretend like everything was normal. Like I hadn’t melted against a fridge door under the touch of someone who could ruin me. I went to class, flirted with boys, got drunk at a poolside mixer and made out with a girl named Remi while her boyfriend watched.
Still, Duke’s message stayed in my head like a chorus.
You’re reckless. That’s what I like about you.
He hadn’t texted again.
Which made it worse.
The silence felt deliberate. Like he wanted me to come to him.
And maybe I would have—if not for the chaos that Friday night promised.
Belema kicked open my door at 7:14 p.m., full glam, zero apologies.
“Party. Senator’s son. Lekki house. Tonight. Pack something slutty.”
I raised a brow. “Lekki?”
“Private jet. His dad’s pilot owes mine a favor.”
I sipped from my wine glass. “What’s the occasion?”
“His 28th birthday.”
I blinked. “That’s not a party. That’s a trap.”
“Even better,” she said, grinning.
She dumped a duffel bag on my bed. Inside: designer heels, fresh lace wigs, a vibrator I’d forgotten I lent her, and a box of condoms.
Just another Friday night.
By 9 p.m., we were on our way to the airport.
By 11, we were flying.
And by midnight, the lights of Lagos glittered beneath us like the sins we were about to commit.
I didn’t know who would be at the party.
But I had a feeling.
Somewhere in the dark, Duke would be watching.
And this time… I wouldn’t just give him a show.
I’d make him beg for an encore.
- Writer
