Page 32 of Between Passion and Revenge, Part One (The Griot Chronicles #1)

I lean back in my chair, resting my head on my closed fist with my elbow placed on the table.

“The truth?” He raises an eyebrow and makes a rough sound in his chest. “That depends. Are you ready to play the game, Nephew?”

I try to grin, but I know it comes out like a snarl.

“The game? Enlighten me, Uncle.”

I keep my relaxed pose, and Lakeland takes a long sip of his wine, draining the glass.

“I heard about your incident a few weeks back. Something about you getting into a situation over a piece of ass. You’ve gotta learn how to control that fiery temper, Little Storm Cloud.”

Yeah, I’m fucking snarling now.

“That’s none of your business,” I rasp.

“Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong, Storm. Oh, so wrong. You see…” He trails off, probably able to sense my heart racing and the furious anger raging along my nerve fibers.

“The thing is,” he continues after pouring another glass of cabernet and taking a long drink. “There is balance in the universe, Storm. For every action, there’s an equal and opposite reaction. That’s science. That’s spirit.”

“What the fuck are you getting at?” I spit.

“I’m getting to it—you really need to learn the art of patience. One day, your impulsivity will be your downfall. You think you’re invincible, but you’re not a god, Storm.”

Our attention fixes on each other, and I’m irritated it takes so much effort for me to regain my cool.

But he’s talking about Shae, and I can’t…I can’t be calm when it comes to her…or the thought that he might do something to harm her.

“Anyway, Nephew,” he drawls, “you will be held accountable for your actions. If not by the authorities, by the other powers in charge.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Such as?”

He spans his hands wide. “Namely…me.”

The statement lands like a thunderbolt in my brain. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Lakeland grins. “You think your nerdy ass father could cover up a murder? Really, Storm. You’re smarter than that.”

The room starts to tilt to the side, the air beginning to buzz.

“You….”

“Yes, I. I was the one who facilitated your cleanup. I was the one who made sure Jaxon Samuels was wiped from the face of the earth. And, I’ll want payment for that.”

“What do you want?” I grit out.

“I’ll get into specifics later, but to give you an idea, you’re going to do some work for me.”

I bark out a laugh.

“What the fuck? I ain’t doing shit for you. I ain’t your bitch.”

His smile is peaceful.

“But aren’t you? Because the way I see it, you’ll do whatever I tell you. Especially if you want to keep that little piece you got tucked away at Asheford safe. It’s too easy to let the wrong information slip to the right people.”

My face burns. “You. It was you who gave all that information to McAdams about Samuels.”

Lakeland doesn’t respond right away.

“Actually, no. Thankfully, I was able to clean it up for you. And for your father, but that’s a whole different situation…” He trails off, looking at his wine glass before taking another sip.

“But you don’t have to worry about that. Not as long as you do what I tell you,” he adds.

I scoff. “So that makes me indebted to you, now. You want me to be your slave?”

Lakeland places his wine glass on the table and claps his hands in slow, loud applause.

“Ding, ding, ding! The kid does in fact have a brain cell working. There’s hope yet.”

It takes me a second to register that I’m standing and the table is flipped, all the food splayed across the floor.

The windowpanes shudder with the sudden squall outside—a wintry storm.

“Well, that was a waste,” Lakeland grinds out, still sitting in his chair.

“Listen, motherfucker,” I grind out, stepping toward him, but stop cold.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he admonishes, but I focus on the cold press of metal to the base of my skull. From the shadows, five burly guards step forward with their handguns drawn.

“Calm down, Storm.” Lakeland’s voice goes hard. “I’d hate for you to learn these lessons the hard way.”

I try to burn him to ash with my gaze, but he sits there with that satisfied look on his face.

He thinks he’s won.

And maybe right now…he did.

“This isn’t over, Lakeland. If it takes all the breath in my body, I will take you down. Believe that.”

He gets a look in his eye, a look that seems almost…excited.

“I’d like to see you try, Storm. And may the best man win.” Lakeland rises from his chair and gives a nod to the guard behind me. A second later, the pressure leaves my neck, and I sidestep the aim. His security detail files out behind him, and I’m left alone in the messy dining room.

What the fuck.

What the fuck am I going to do?

Deep in the hall, the grandfather clock my father purchased twenty years ago chimes for the top of the hour.

Pressure. The pressure within my chest grows until I’m suffocating. Literally suffocating.

What will you choose, Storm?

What’s there to do?

I pace back and forth, my hand gripping at my short hair, as the song drones on for the seven o’clock hour.

Back and forth.

Back and forth.

“ Fuck! ” I shout, and it drowns out the melody until there’s nothing but silence from me and the timepiece.

One minute goes by.

Another minute.

One more.

I don’t know what the truth is or what I can do to free myself from this shit…but I’m determined to figure it the fuck out.

Tick. Tock.