Page 19 of Between Passion and Revenge, Part One (The Griot Chronicles #1)

STORM

I don’t want to be here.

Not give. Invest.

Grow.

My idea is that if I can bring the investors to my father, he’ll see I’ll do what’s necessary to close the deal and honor my fiduciary responsibility .

An echo of my father saying those two words over and over has me grinding my teeth, and my fingers flex against the back of the velour loveseat.

At the end of the day, my dad’s right. Idealism has a place, but it’s always going to be second to the bottom line. Stratos’ singular function is to manage and grow money for our investors.

That’s it. Anything extra is, well…extra.

I really need Axel to come up with something to knock Lakeland off his pedestal because my plan isn’t going very fucking well.

“I don’t know, Storm. I mean, I could probably get you a meeting with my dad, but…

you know he gets weird about stuff like this.

He doesn’t like blurring that line between personal and professional.

” Mason York leans back on the opposite plush black sofa with his arms spread wide and a girl tucked into each armpit.

Mason and I went to high school together, and while he’s not the sharpest, he’s a relatively nice guy.

I feel a little bad about having him fall for my scheme, but is it really a scheme if it ultimately works out how he wants?

“I get it, man,” I say smoothly, bringing the whisky to my lips. I’ve got to stay clear-headed—not just because I need to be sharp to challenge any questions or concerns Mason may bring up.

A drunk driver killed Rainn, and I refuse to contribute to any more destruction.

Rainn would be better at this than me.

I smile to distract myself from the thought of my brother.

“Anyway, enough business. How’s life going for you? You’re finally free to live it up big. What changed? You’re looking fit,” I say.

He grins. The biggest thing that’s changed since high school is his size. He has to have dropped nearly a hundred pounds, and as evidenced by the women hanging off him, he’s loving the attention.

“I went hardcore keto,” he says. “You wouldn’t believe the….”

I stop listening to Mason as he drones on about macro and micronutrients, taking the opportunity to gaze around the crowded club.

It’s late, and I’ve been making my way through my hit list with precision, winning over former classmates and sons of my father’s friends as I move from VIP section to VIP section.

I’m tired, thirsty for water, and could use a greasy burger and a shower.

As it stands, I have six daytime meetings scheduled next week before fall break.

I’m in the process of returning my gaze to Mason when my brain short-circuits.

It’s her legs I notice first. Her toned calves and lush thighs flex beneath the strobe lights as she gyrates to the music. She dances close to another girl, which is something I can tolerate…mostly.

I move my eyes up, snagging my attention on the deep cut in her skirt that barely covers her pussy.

The pussy I’ve been envisioning sinking into, spearing my tongue into, every night since the elevator incident while fisting my cock until I spurt all over my stomach.

I’ve been avoiding her like I promised myself I would. I’ve been giving her space to do her own thing so she can fly. She doesn’t need me with all my neuroses and rich-boy problems filling up her attention.

But she’s here in front of me, seducing me just by being in my presence.

My mouth goes even drier.

Challenging my self-control, I stop staring at her breasts as they spill out from the deep V in the dress, but only because the look on her face radiates pure rapture.

Ecstasy.

Shae Rivers drips sex wrapped in gold.

“Fuck , I’d so tap that.” Mason’s voice breaks me out of my voyeurism, and I immediately scowl when I realize he’s staring at my Shae.

My Shae.

One of the girls next to him makes an affronted sound, grabbing his attention, and I stand to leave the section.

“Where are you going?” Mason calls after me, but I don’t stop. I make my way to Shae. Shae, who, the longer I look at her, reveals she is, in fact, drunk off her ass.

She’s going to break an ankle in those tall heels.

Fuck-me heels.

“Shit,” I mutter, grateful for the darkness that hides my quickly growing hard-on as the image of those heels up by my ears transposes over the vixen thirty feet from me.

“Storm?” I almost trip over Bambi when she slides in front of me in a tiny silver dress, her hair styled in what I’m sure is a fashionable twist. Her hands go to my chest as she sways.

Fuck, she’s drunk.

“Who are you here with?” I ask, looking around to see which guy has claimed Bambi for the evening. Bambi shrugs and says, “Just out with friends.”

She blinks up at me, and I zero in on the sensation of her fingertips edging beneath the panels of my shirt.

“You’re drunk,” I say, my voice firm. I look around, trying to spot Shae, but she’s moved from her dance spot.

Shit.

Bambi puts her head on my chest, and I move to the side so her head lands on my shoulder.

“Where are your friends, Bambi? I need to get you to them. I have to go.”

Her warm breath fans across my cheek when she slowly lifts her head and says, “You have to go?”

I close my eyes. Bambi hasn’t had a good time lately. A family session with her mother and her rehab counselor resulted in lots of tears and an inability to get out of bed.

Bambi called me. I helped her through it.

She always calls me, and I always help her through whatever it is.

Shae pulls my attention to where she stands on the raised platform leading to the exit. She’s not alone. Some asshole has his arms around her, his hand dangerously close to her nearly-exposed breast.

Rage pulses through me with each heartbeat, because Shae’s drunk…and this motherfucker dares touch what’s mine.

Shae gains her balance and surveys the crowd. I still in anticipation when it finally happens.

Our gazes connect.

The moment hits like a revelation. I can’t look away, can’t stop myself from drinking her in—every line of her face, every curve of her body, every bit of the aura surrounding her. In an instant, Shae Rivers banishes the tension I’ve carried since my father blew up my life.

In a second, for a second, I’m at peace.

It’s impossible to deny this moment, and the way her chest rises tells me she senses it too.

Shae is a wave, and I’m the shore—pulled together by forces crafted in the cosmos. We’re an inevitability, one I can’t deny any longer.

Not that I want to.

She’s mine.

“There you are!” A bright voice I don’t recognize bounces over to me, and Bambi takes a step back.

“This is Rebecca. One of my friends,” Bambi says. Rebecca does a small finger wave and tries to move into me.

Not today.

“Okay, you’re set then. See you later,” I say to Bambi, giving both of her shoulders a firm squeeze before moving around her and heading toward the exit.

I burst onto the sidewalk and immediately search for Shae. She couldn’t have gone far. Movement on the street draws my attention as one cab departs.

That’s when I see her.

Shae.

My breath leaves my body as a volatile feeling takes over. She exits an idling cab; the handsy dickhead who grabbed her inside pulls her from the backseat.

His grip on her arm is too tight, like she’s a prize he’s won.

I try to think through the reasons why she’s with this guy—try to convince myself this is what she wants. But then she takes one step, then another, and nearly tumbles to the ground.

She’s out of it. Way too fucked up to consent to going anywhere. Where the fuck is her so-called friend?

He holds her up while she stumbles, her head rolling on her neck. He guides her into the passenger seat of his vehicle.

I take a hard step in Shae’s direction, prepared to rip her from his grip, but a swath of clubgoers pour through the exit, creating a barrier between her and me.

By the time I push through the mass, he’s in the driver’s seat, pulling away from the club.

“Fuck.” I grind out the word, locking onto the vehicle’s details and sprinting to the valet stand where my car is parked on display.

I slam a $100 bill into the valet’s hand. “Keys. Now.”

In a few heartbeats, the engine of my black Porsche hums to life, and I peel out into the street, speeding to catch up to the vehicle currently transporting the object of my obsession.

I swear low, sweat blooming across my chest when I spot the Mercedes five cars ahead of me.

It may be the middle of the night, but it’s a Thursday in River North. The streets are still buzzing, couples stumbling out of bars and flashing lights bouncing off dark windows. I grip the wheel, keeping my focus trained on the Benz as it slips further away.

Calm down, Sandoval. Just make sure she gets home safe.

And when she does get home, I’ll make her wish she never put her body on the line.

When she does get home, I’ll make her understand she belongs to me. Every part of her.

I breathe in deep, feeling the burn of oxygen expanding my lungs to capacity.

Everything is fine. She is fine.

The light turns green just as lightning cracks across the sky, and I get in the right lane, anticipating the car’s movements and preparing to turn onto the main thoroughfare leading back toward campus.

But then, every sensation morphs into dread and fury as he cuts over two lanes and turns left toward the industrial complex near a remote part of the Chicago River instead.

I shift the Porsche and cut over to follow the Mercedes, ignoring the horns honking as I keep the car in sight.

Then comes the thunder.

Adrenaline has me pushing the Porsche harder, threading through cars and barely making the next light before it shifts to red. My heart pounds faster with each block as they veer onto a quieter, narrower road, away from the steady traffic that would take them anywhere near Shae’s apartment.

I hit speed dial on the steering wheel and begin speaking as soon as the line clicks over.

“Riale. I need you to track me and meet me wherever I stop.”

“On it,” he replies and cuts the call. I know he’ll be here within minutes, but not to help take down this fucker who dares to….

No, I’ll need Riale to clean up once I’ve torn this asshole to shreds.

The city lights fade a little as we drive deeper into the side streets.

The buildings here are older warehouses and industrial headquarters.

Some are dark and boarded up, and the area is a far cry from the polished streets of River North.

The Mercedes takes another sharp turn, pulling down a deserted side street lined with forgotten storefronts and crumbling brick walls.

There’s nothing back here but shadows.

I hang back with my headlights off as I slip onto the same street, watching the brake lights flash as the Mercedes comes to a slow halt in an alley. I watch as they idle for seconds, a minute, three.

My stomach drops to my toes when I realize there’s no movement from the passenger side. I know she’s in there…but she’s not putting up a fight.

Lights flash in the sky— crack, crack, crack . Lightning illuminates the alleyway, revealing the haunted scene playing out in this fucked reality.

The driver’s door opens, and he steps out. Metal glints in his hand. A knife.

He looks around, likely to see if he’s alone.

Not tonight, asshole.

I leave the silent Porsche idling as I slide from my seat and step onto the broken asphalt. I keep my footfalls light, staying in the shadows.

My plan is simple, straightforward.

But then he opens the passenger door and stares at the darkness inside.

He stares at Shae.

My Shae.

There’s the thunder, and it’s so loud it shakes the ground.

I’d only planned to disable him. Break his leg or his arm—or both. Get him down long enough for me to drag Shae from the vehicle and into mine.

She and I would drive off into the night.

But when I step closer and see the sweat drenching the back of his shirt?—

When I step closer and see through the open door that Shae’s legs are splayed wide as she’s out cold, completely unconscious?—

When I step closer and hear the sound of his belt buckle clinking together as he undoes his dark slacks?—

Everything goes black.

I don’t know when I picked up the brick, or when the switchblade in his hand pierced my side.

I don’t know when I tackled him to the ground.

I don’t know when I started pummeling his skull in, red spraying in a mist as his skin bursts, his brain matter squelching beneath my bloody fingers.

I don’t know when the rain began to pour down in sheets or when he stopped moving.

But everything rushes to me—all of my senses—when Shae moans, a disoriented sound.

“Storm…” she says, suspended by the seatbelt as she leans out the open door with her hands grazing the dead earth. It’s only a moment of consciousness before she’s out again.

Hot. Cold. Hot. Cold.

My teeth chatter, but I’m burning up. I’m soaked through, her attacker’s blood rinsing off my hands and pooling at my feet.

I’m burning up with Shae. For Shae.

We’re an impossible, inevitable force. One I’d do anything for.

I turn my back on the corpse at my feet, free her, and drag her into my arms.