Bad Santa

First Published in Great Britain in 2021 by

LOVE AFRICA PRESS

103 Reaver House, 12 East Street, Epsom KT17 1HX

www.loveafricapress.com

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

The right of Kiru Taye to be identified as authors of this work has been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

ISBN: 9781005662189

BLURB

Although Gina Badu is a good girl all-year-round, she knows her Christmas wish will never come true. Not with a recent divorce, late parents and a sister who courts trouble.

Then Santa abducts her in the middle of the night. Except this Santa is terrible—a silver fox of a tattooed fallen angel.

Osagie Peters is a ruthless, cartel boss whose dark soul threatens to consume her. He scares her as much as he fascinates her. It seems he’s got her on the naughty list. Still, there’s a chance she might have a Merry Christmas after all.

Celebrate the festive season Yadili style. Osagie: Bad Santa is an Enders series romantic suspense novella and is the prequel to Osagie: King of Clubs. Osagie was first introduced in Xandra: Killer of Kings, Enders series book 2.

Content warning: kidnapping.

ONE

SIR, THE PARTY PLANNER, for the Odilis’ New Year’s Eve dinner party, wants to know if you will have an escort. She is finalising numbers and seating arrangements. What should I tell her?

It took two words to ruin Osagie Peters’ day.

Party planner and dinner party. Actually, four damned words but hey, he could be excused for miscounting.

He didn’t have a university degree, as some people liked to remind him. Polite society didn’t want him. But they loved the taxes he paid, loved that he employed people, and loved that his businesses attracted visitors, contributing to local tourism and the economy.

Nicknamed the ‘King of Clubs’, Osagie owned the most popular party venue in the country and perhaps, the African continent. Club Arufin was the crown jewel in his nightclubs chain, and almost a million partygoers walked through the doors annually. He controlled one hundred franchisees and many more associates. Anyone who wanted to run a successful club in the region paid dues to him.

Yet, the word ‘party’ might as well be a trigger. Mention it in Osagie’s presence and his stomach clenched hard, while his body temperature elevated.

He maintained outward calm at his assistant, Remi’s question.

He had no problems with the upcoming event.

Duke Odili was the new boss in town. Almost a year ago he’d eliminated John Bull Owo and his son Marlon in a cartel war, married the Owo heiress, Carla and taken over the Owo operations in Lori Osa and surrounding regions. He’d ascended into the head of the Odili family’s position in the megacity, a coveted rank in the Yadili network.

With Duke’s promotion from ‘Underboss’ to ‘Boss’, he’d extended a hand of friendship to Osagie. They were working on an alliance that would protect their interests and expand their reaches.

To Osagie’s knowledge, the party was Duke’s way of cementing the new alliances. He would need them to survive in the shark-infested waters of doing business in Lori Osa.

Although Osagie was at least fifteen years older than Duke, he appreciated the invitation and respected the man. In this game, age meant jack all. What mattered was the clout, connections, and cash a person brought to a deal. Duke had all three, and as the son of a late statesman, he was also political nobility.

However, the event drew a twinge of discomfort, reminding Osagie of his one regret—he didn’t have his family close. Or rather, what should have been his family.

More specifically, his son.

His ex-wife, though. She could burn in Hell, after what she did to him. She was lucky not to have become a late wife.

He had no illusions about the kind of person he was. He was not a nice man. He’d been on Santa’s naughty list for too many years.

However, he could never live with himself if he’d hurt the mother of his child.

Not even after he’d caught her in bed with another man. She’d begged for her life. Her excuse had been that he wasn’t educated and her family hadn’t approved of him because of it. She’d felt under pressure and had succumbed to the affair with another man.

Educated ko, pressure ni, as his half-Yoruba business partner had said in disdain at the time.

What about his love for her, his willingness to do anything for her?

What about her loving him back, and telling her snobbish family to go to Blazes?

As an orphan, he’d wanted a family of his own so much. He would have done anything to provide for and protect them. He’d been young and stupid enough to believe that a woman from a different background would return his affection.

Instead of love, she’d betrayed him and taught him valuable lessons. He would never be good enough for polite society, so why bother trying to appease them.

Instead of slitting hers and her lover’s throats, he’d walked out of the house and divorced her.

She’d remarried and had more children.

He would’ve loved to keep Odigie, his eighteen-month-old son, with him. Still, he’d accepted the boy had been too young to be without his mother at the time.

That had been twenty years ago.

In the early years of their separation, they’d rotated who had custody during the summer, Easter, and Christmas holidays. He never missed birthdays or special occasions if he could help it.

Now Odigie was old enough to choose where he wanted to spend his holidays. The boy hadn’t mentioned if he would visit soon, although they communicated regularly via facetime.

Osagie wouldn’t dictate or beg for a visit. If his son preferred to spend the festive season with his other family, so be it.

It didn’t stop the hollowness in his chest or the fatigue descending on him. He didn’t feel sociable or interested in parties.

As for female companionship, while there’d been sexual encounters, he hadn’t entertained any candidates for the next Mrs Peters. He wouldn’t give his heart away again.

Instead, he’d sunken his time and energy into running his businesses both legit and not-so-legit. He had neither the time nor the inclination to keep a steady lover.

Sir? Remi’s tentative voice pulled him from his reverie.

Tell her I’ll have a companion. His contact list was full of options.

The sound of the opening door caught Osagie’s attention.

Idehen Cruz walked in, his expression grim, and his voice gruff. Remi, excuse us.

Osagie rubbed his hand on his temple. His friend’s countenance didn’t bode well, and Osagie wasn’t in the mood for any bad news.

Remi shifted in the leather chair across the desk, eyes widened and alarmed. Will that be all, sir?

Yes, thank you, he said, glad he’d already given out instructions before his friend’s arrival. He lifted the bottle of water and poured into a glass, sipping the cold liquid before taking a deep calming breath.

The woman looked uncomfortable as she packed up the folder and retreated hastily.

Osagie stared at his oldest friend and business partner who marched to-and-fro, at risk of burning a path through the hard-wearing carpet.

Just like Osagie, Idehen had started greying and had trimmed white facial hair against umber skin. But unlike him, his friend had a completely shaved head while Osagie had a shock of salt and pepper hair he kept cut almost to the scalp. His eyes were whisky-brown compared to Osagie’s midnight-black.

Idehen was a formidable figure, broad-shouldered and at over six feet. Yet, he was generally the more mellow of the two friends, the one who made silly jokes. One of the few people who could make Osagie laugh.

Osagie was the one often described as unapproachable, the cold, calculating one and people scurried away from him before he’d even spoken.

But Idehen’s warm and jovial appearance could be deceptive. Like a hurricane, he had the power to cut down a mob of men in a fight.

And right now, Idehen moved like a tornado.

They had been homeless street boys who had fought and stolen for survival, for the food in their bellies, the clothes on their back, even the places they’d lain their heads. They had been each other’s keepers. Even taken care of other vulnerable children around them.

Over the years, Osagie had learned to adapt and evolve with the times like a chameleon. The key to his survival and staying relevant in an ever-changing world. He couldn’t remember stepping into a classroom. Everything he’d learned had been self-taught. He’d spent most of his youth at internet cafes, reading, learning and, of course, grifting.

Idehen had been by his side through it all. A combination of savvy brain and quick-footed brawn had kept them not entirely on the right side of polite society and yet not hardcore enough to be excluded totally.

Now, Osagie grabbed glasses and a cognac bottle. He strode through a door behind his desk. The soundproof private lounge provided a haven in the bustle of a busy enterprise.

He lowered the items on the dark wood low table, removed the tailor-made jacket of his charcoal suit, hung it over the arm of the sofa and sank into the worn leather sofa.

Idehen followed, the door slamming behind him.

What’s the bad news? Osagie poured the dark-amber liquor into the tumblers.

His friend said nothing for a few seconds that stretched painfully.

We’ve been hacked, Idehen said finally, his voice gruff as if he’d been shouting all day.

Hacked? Osagie lifted his eyebrow and tilted his head.

Yes. Someone hacked into our system and wired money out of one of the accounts.

Osagie said nothing while he processed the information. This wasn’t the first time someone had attempted to defraud them. It came with the territory. However, not many people were brave enough to try it in the first place because the consequences were dire.

Osagie did not forgive. He’d used up his forgiveness quota on his ex-wife.

Anyone who slighted him was punished heavily. Painfully.