Page 54 of Between Passion and Revenge, Part One (The Griot Chronicles #1)

STORM

B y the time Axel drops me and Riale back at the Suburban, there’s an hour until daylight, and I have one mission in mind: get to my parents’ house.

Guilt and anger at not being able to reach out to Shae morphed into an all-consuming need to make sure I got this shit handled once and for all.

Then I could be safe—Shae could be safe—and we could move on with our lives.

All night as Axel, Riale, and I spun up scenarios and contemplated the outcomes, one thing became clear, we need to figure out who my father is in this fucked-up play.

Is my father the enemy, a victim, or an understated hero in all of this?

I honestly don’t know the answer.

“Want me to wait for you?” Riale asks, but I shake my head.

“No.Come back for me in thirty, though.”

With a two-finger salute, he drops me at the gate of my parents’ home and drives off.

The estate looks different in the new daylight. Golden sun rays make the flowers and shrubs glow where they line the intentionally distressed cobblestones leading to the main entrance.

Sandoval Manor looks perfect, is perfect. Everything except what’s on the inside.

I head to the keypad near the gate and dial in my code before stepping back as the gates swing wide.

My father’s Maybach sits near the top of the curved driveway, but I stop when I notice the fountains are off. They’re only turned off if my parents leave town for an extended period of time.

Where are they going?

Walking into the foyer confirms my suspicions. Several trunks and suitcases line up near the twelve-foot door.

“Baby, what are you doing here?” My mom’s voice calls down to me from her position at the top of the curved stairs. It’s early in the morning, but she still looks off—her usually neat hair is pulled back in a messy low bun, and she’s not wearing any makeup. She always wears makeup.

“What’s going on?” I ask her when she flies down the stairs and flings herself into my arms. She trembles, which has me immediately wanting to burn shit to the ground.

“I don’t know,” she whispers, but when she pulls back, she says, “Your father is taking me on a surprise getaway! That silly man won’t tell me where we’re going, so I just packed for all climates.”

She gestures toward the luggage with a laugh that sounds not quite right.

“Mom,” I say, bending down to look her in the eye. “What’s going on?”

“I-I?—”

“Son.” My father sounds tired when he speaks, and I turn with my mother still in my arms to face him at the entrance to his study. “A word, please.”

I don’t move, neither does he, and if not for my mother telling me to go, I probably wouldn’t have.

“Don’t be so hard on your father,” she rasps, and I snap my head to face her. At my deep frown, she says. “It’s okay. Everything is okay. As long as I have your father, it’ll be all right. I promise, baby.”

There seems to be so much unsaid in her message, but there’s more I need to know—more that only my father can clarify.

I lean down and kiss her on her forehead. “All right, Shorty. I’ll see you in a second and you can tell me what’s really going on.”

She smiles, but it doesn’t seem to reach her deadened eyes.

When I enter my father’s office, the first thing that strikes me is the chaos.

Papers scattered all across his desk, and his rolling chair is pushed to the corner, almost as if someone kicked it over there.

Stacks of files nearly half my height make landmines around the room, and next to the small metal trash can is a computer monitor.

The screen is cracked, punched in.

“Dad?” For some reason, my voice is unsteady—maybe because I’m exhausted, or maybe it’s something else. Something that’s a hell of a lot like fear.

Dad continues to walk around the room, picking up what seems like random items and stuffing them into a cardboard box.

His head snaps up as if he were waiting for me to speak to stop his search.

And it does look like maybe he’s searching for something.

“Storm. It’s so good you stopped by. I was hopeful we’d be able to find you before we left, but I didn’t have high hopes. I guess God really does give us what we need when we need it.”

That’s not cryptic at all.

“What’s going on, Dad? Where are you going, and why are you leaving?”

Dad just laughs, and I search for reasons.

“Is it…is it the FBI again?” Axel said they have nothing on my dad, but who knows what’s true. “Or is it something else?”

Or someone else.

“The FBI? Nah, they’re not worried about me.”

“That’s a good thing. Right?”

He chuckles again. “One would think, yes?” He picks up a file and flips through it. “One would think.”

The file slips from his hand and lands on the paper-covered carpet, fluttering open and spreading its contents on the already littered floor.

“It’s Lakeland, isn’t it?” I ask, but Dad doesn’t respond. “He’s threatening you, running you to do all this fucked up shit. Isn’t he?”

More silence.

“I know about the island. The people.” His eyes flare, and he takes a step back, resting against the low set of shelves that house images of our family on vacations around the globe.

“Dad, let me help yo?—”

“Stop!” he snaps, rocketing a picture frame into the wall. Glass rains down as the gold frame shatters, and a photo floats to the floor like a feather.

“Just stop before you hurt yourself. It’s done. Finished.” The resulting silence is louder than his outburst.

“You’re running,” I say quietly. “Aren’t you?”

He meets my gaze. “I’m making space.”

“For what?”

“For you to survive this.”

That lands like a punch.

“I never wanted this for you, Storm. I thought I could manage the mess. I thought I could outplay them.” He looks around the room like he’s seeing ghosts. “But I was wrong. And now…now I just want your mother to be safe. I want you to be free.”

Free?

That word doesn’t exist in our world. Not when you’re a Sandoval.

“You’re not going to be able to come back from this, are you?” I ask.

He doesn’t answer.

“What happened? How did things get like this?” I ask.

For the first time in my life, my dad looks like he’s going to cry. His face jerks, tenses and relaxes. But then he sucks in a deep breath, straightens his back, and faces me with the confidence he’s had my entire life.

“I trusted the wrong people. I believed that even in the darkness, most humans still have a shred of decency within them. But I was wrong. There are bad people, and then there’s pure evil.”

He moves toward me, placing a hand on my shoulder.

“You were always meant to build something better than this. Be better than me. I see that now.”

Something unravels in my chest. I can’t even speak. I just nod.

Then my mother’s voice echoes from the foyer, sharp and sweet. “Charles, are you ready?”

Dad squeezes my shoulder once before turning to gather his coat.

As we walk out together, he leans in close and whispers, “Protect her and protect yourself.”

I know who he means.

My father and I leave the office, and he closes the door on the mess as if leaving at the end of a regular workday. No one would know that behind the oak door, my father’s entire life is upended onto the floor.

“Storm.” My mom’s soft hand lands on my forearm, and I face her, noticing my father move out to the car in my peripheral vision.

“You’ll call me when you land wherever you go, right?” I ask. My nose burns—my face burns.

When my mom runs her thumb against my cheek, sliding wetness under my eye, I realize that fuck —I’m crying.

“You’re going to be okay, baby. Everything is going to be okay.” She smiles again, and this time she pulls me down to her level and places a kiss on my forehead. The roles finally reversed.

When I straighten, she wipes my face one more time before saying, “Walk me to the door?”

I do just that.

My father doesn’t wait around to say goodbye. After the bags are all loaded, he slides into the driver’s seat and faces forward, waiting for my mother to get in on her side.

“I’ll reach out when I can,” she whispers, and with one final hug, she gets into the Maybach. From the window, she waves to me, finally smiling again as my father leans over to give her a quick kiss before starting the vehicle.

She looks at peace. She looks like she still believes in him. Maybe that’s all that matters now.

I stand right outside the front door and watch as they reach the edge of the drive. The sun is up now, light spilling across the lawn, painting everything gold.

The car pulls forward, making it almost to the end of the driveway. I take one step, then another, following their departure.

And then?—

BOOM.

The explosion tears the morning apart. Fire blossoms across the drive, and I’m thrown backward, landing hard on the paver stones, ears ringing, lungs screaming for air.

Smoke. Heat. Flame. Screaming.

It makes no sense that I run toward the fire, my heart stabbing itself against my breastbone and I try to make sense of?—

“Mom! Dad!” I shout, coughing as I get a few feet from the burning car, and I almost collapse to the ground when my mother’s charred silk shirt flutters against a manicured bush.

“ No! God, no! ”

I’ve got to get them out. I’ve got to get them out, got to get them out, got to?—

I cough, choke, try to get closer to the vehicle when arms band around my middle, dragging me away.

“Get the fuck off me!”

I get farther and farther away from the scene?—

“Let me go!”

Bodies clad in black tactical gear rush from the house and toward the wreckage. Security. They were supposed to?—

“Help them! Fucking let me help them! Let me?—”

My back hits the ground, and I grapple at the earth as smoke, thick and acrid, takes my vision and my breath.

It’s everywhere. Everywhere. Chaos.

Death.

“No…” I rasp.

“Storm, we’ve got to get out of here!” Riale. Riale’s got me, he’s the one who pulled me away.

“No!” I shout again, my voice like stone on stone, pain blooming sharp in my throat like I’ve swallowed knives.

Take care of yourself, son.

Mom. I clutch my chest. No, Mom.

Death. Chaos. Death. Fire.

Get out of here, son!

Blaring sirens compete with the ringing in my ears. Everything is noise.

Everything is agony.

“Let’s fucking go! I’m not asking you, Storm!” Riale grabs me again and I fight against him, struggling to go toward the blaze that’s become a full inferno.

Fire. Fire. Everything burns.

No ….

The air gets cooler as we rush up the small hill. I blink.

Riale guides me to the highest vantage point on the property. I blink.

He wants to leave, but not before I?—

No. I can’t.

I turn, one last look. And there he is outside the gate on the other side of the street.

Lakeland.

Perfectly pressed. Not a speck of ash on him. Calm as ever.

Even from the distance, he smiles.

And that’s when I know, he’s coming for me and everything I love.

My destruction is next.