Page 26 of Between Passion and Revenge, Part One (The Griot Chronicles #1)

SHAE

“ W hat are you thinking about, Sweetness?”

His voice cuts through my thoughts, low and warm and way too close to the part of me that wants to moan and curl up beside him.

Several competing ideas rumble through my brain as I try to quiet the most stressful one—that the dinner a few hours ago was an utter disaster. Well, maybe disaster is a little dramatic. Mama took to Storm almost immediately, even before she went all fangirl over his mom.

But Daddy? I don’t think Daddy will ever be a Storm fan.

So when I walked Storm to his car after the kitchen was spotless, I almost leapt into his vehicle when he said he still wanted to spend more time with me tonight.

Anything to avoid the uncomfortable conversation that I’m sure will come once I’m back home.

We’ve swayed at the top of the Ferris wheel for what feels like both a second and an hour.

The lights from Navy Pier glint below, casting halos over the crowd.

The air up here feels clearer, like it belongs to a different world altogether—one where boys like Storm Sandoval aren’t so dangerous for girls like me.

But here he is, all sharp jaw and warm cologne, staring at me like I’m something to be studied. Like I’m his mystery.

And I…I hate how much I want him to understand me.

“I was thinking about the people indigenous to this land,” I say, my attention still fixed on the ink-dark surface of Lake Michigan. “And what they thought of the lake.”

“Oh?”

I bow my head a fraction, shifting in my seat so I can look out without fully facing him. I’m still trying to get my heart to stop pretending it’s auditioning for a damn marching band.

“For many Native peoples, water is life. It sounds like a cliché now that the phrase has been so grossly co-opted, but it’s true. For the Potawatomi, this lake was a trade route, a source of sustenance, a spiritual home. It mattered.”

I brace myself and look at him. Shadows cover his face, but his gaze is clear.

“And now it’s polluted. All the life has been drawn out of it. Now it’s just…something to look at. Something that can kill, too.”

He doesn’t speak right away. Just looks down at the water like he’s trying to see it without all the buildings and structures around it. I wonder if he can see it—before the wealth, before the greed, before the condos and high-rises and super yachts.

Then his voice returns, hesitant.

“Do you always have such deep thoughts?”

My chest tightens. I know the tone. I’ve heard it from boys before—mocking or amused. And I know I should let it roll off, but still, my voice hardens before I can catch it.

“Are my thoughts deep, or am I just a thoughtful person?”

His head jerks a little, like I hit a nerve. I brace for him to get defensive, but instead, he reaches for my hand.

I should pull away.

I don’t.

Our palms press together, and I swear something clicks into place—like the entire world just shifted one inch to the left, and now everything makes sense.

“Hey,” he says, thumb brushing over my wrist, soft and sure. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to offend you. I wish there were more people like you. I’m surrounded by folks who can’t hold a conversation beyond stock futures and society gossip.”

I can tell he means it. But still…I don’t know what to do with his honesty. It’s disarming. Dangerous.

I shake my head lightly and mutter, “Lifestyles of the rich and famous?”

He chuckles. “Something like that.”

We fall into a silence that feels…weirdly intimate. Like we’ve said something that matters. Like we’re tethered to each other by an invisible string.

“I’m sorry for what my dad said tonight,” I murmur.

Storm shrugs. But I see it in his eyes. He heard every word, and they hit their intended target.

“He hasn’t been trusting lately. He’s always afraid someone’s gonna take advantage. That’s how he lost the church.”

I don’t know why I’m telling him this.

Maybe because I want him to understand that my dad isn’t just a grumpy old man. That he’s someone who loved and got burned for it.

And maybe because I want Storm to know why I don’t trust so easily, either.

“That’s how he lost the church, by trusting the wrong person.

One of the senior pastors was an accountant and was there when Daddy took the pastor role at Mt.

Pisgah. He was a nice enough man, on the outside, at least. When I was in the fifth grade, everything blew up.

Mr.Cole—that was the senior pastor’s name—had siphoned off hundreds of thousands of dollars over several years.

The church was bankrupt, they blamed Daddy, and Mr.Cole fled the state. ”

He listens quietly, eyes narrowed with something I think might be…rage? Protective rage. Over me .

And that makes me ache.

When I finish, he leans closer. “I’m sorry that happened to your family, Shae. I’m sorry that happened to you.”

I blink once, then a few times, each increasing speed. Why do I feel like crying just because he said “sorry”?

The car moves forward, bringing us back to Earth.

“Is that why you’re so analytical? Your heart’s part of the equation, but you lean on facts and numbers.”

I nod slowly. “One thing the experience taught me? Trust, but verify.”

He grins. “You’re quoting Reagan?”

I snort. “Yeah, well. Even broken clocks and all that jazz.”

Another silence. This one, gentler. His fingers keep stroking mine, and it’s making it very hard to pretend I’m unaffected.

“You seem okay being up here,” I say after a while. “I was worried it’d trigger your….”

His jaw tightens slightly, and I regret the words instantly. But before I can backtrack, his hand tightens in mine.

“I’m fine. It’s not dark like a tomb. I can see. I’m not trapped.”

I nod, not just because I understand, but because I feel that understanding, bone deep.

“You’re here with me,” he adds, voice low. “That helps.”

I should pull away, but I don’t.

The car moves again.

I ask the question that’s been burning my throat since the moment he kissed me in the elevator.

“What are we doing here, Storm?”

He meets my gaze fully, like he’s looking through me.

“I’ll tell you what I want. But I want to hear what you think, first.”

I hesitate, heart thundering. “You want me.”

His silence is confirmation, so I push further.

“I think you…like me?”

The softest smile touches his mouth. “Yes,” he says. “To all of it.”

Then he reaches for my face. And I let him.

“I like you, Sweetness. I want you. All of you. Your mind. Your heart. Your body.”

The words pour out of him like honey and thunder. And I…God. I feel it. Every syllable. Every heartbeat.

I release my trapped breath and whisper, “Why do you call me that?”

And then, just like that, I start to pull back—folding my arms, putting up my walls. It’s all happening too fast, and I need space to breathe. To think.

“You’re sweet,” he says simply, but I see the flash of something deeper behind his eyes.

“That’s all you’re getting out of me, Shae.”

And just like that, I’m disarmed, and we move again.

I shove him playfully. “Sure thing, Slick.”

He laughs, but it fades as I speak again.

“I don’t really know you, Storm. Not in the ways that matter. We need more to form a relationship.” I pause. “Assuming that’s even what you want.”

“Oh, yes. That’s what I want. I’m talking about a relationship,” he replies instantly. “Exclusive. Going steady. You’re my ol’ lady?—”

“Okay, okay ,” I say, laughing. God, this man .

“Am I alone in this?” he asks softly.

I freeze.

“I— I mean….”

Wasn’t it just a few hours ago in my room that I swore to myself that I wouldn’t let things go past tonight? Haven’t I already committed to keeping Storm Sandoval at a distance?

So why the hell does that choice feel so thoroughly wrong?

“Tell me the truth, Shae.”

When he looks at me like that, like he’s putting everything on the line, I sober quickly. “Show me, Storm. Don’t tell me. Let’s take this slow. A few dates. A courtship.”

“A courtship,” he repeats as if running the word through several definitions.

I open my mouth to clarify, or maybe give him an out, when the ride jolts, the door opens, and we’re ushered out like nothing monumental just happened.

As we walk toward the lot, the weight of everything presses down on me again. But I can’t leave him with silence, so I say what I can.

“I want everything you want too, Storm. So help me, God, I want it. And it scares the shit out of me, but….”

He stops and gently tugs my lip from between my teeth with his thumb.

“But what, Sweetness?”

“I just need some time. I can’t jump into the water with both feet because if I do, I’m terrified I’ll drown.”

The wind blows, cool and insistent, and my hair whips across my face. He brushes it away with reverence, like I’m made of glass and as volatile as lightning.

“So I just need…I just need time.”

I count along with the low beat playing from the speakers. I can’t tell what the song is, but I count to four each time anyway.

“As long as you’re willing to give me a chance,” he whispers, “I can work with that.”

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t try to convince me otherwise. Just holds my gaze like he’s anchoring both of us.

And in that moment, my mind almost believes him.

My heart though? It does a trust fall.