Page 56 of Between Passion and Revenge, Part One (The Griot Chronicles #1)

SHAE

H e finally called me.

Four days after my positive test and two days after I found out about the car accident that killed his parents, Storm finally called me.

Hearing his voice nearly broke my heart all over again, but for a new reason.

He sounded like he’d died along with them.

So even though he didn’t invite me over, I find myself standing outside his apartment door after having knocked for a third time.

Just when I’m about to turn around and leave, the door cracks open so slowly it almost feels like something out of a horror movie until his face appears.

“Storm,” I say on a breath.

He looks terrible. Stubble coats his jaw—something he never lets happen—and his T-shirt looks at least three decades old.

But the way he looks at me…it sends a shiver from the top of my head to my feet. He’s never looked at me like this, and I don’t know what to do with it.

“I brought you some cookies,” I say dumbly, holding up the glass Tupperware container with honey-lavender shortbread cookies. “I thought something sweet might…help.”

Yup. Dumb.

My stomach turns over and I grit my teeth in an attempt to prevent myself from throwing up. Again.

“Thank you,” he says, but makes no move to take them.

“Can I come in?” I whisper, uncomfortable and awkward. I know he’s going through the worst time in his life, but this coldness he’s radiating? It doesn’t feel like it’s only his grief.

Some other darkness is there, infecting him to the core.

Storm moves so quickly, it takes me a second to understand what’s happening.

With one hand, he takes the container from me; with the other, he pulls my body close to him, jerking me into the entryway of his apartment.

He kicks the door closed with his foot.

Setting the cookies on the entry sidebar, he wraps both arms around me and buries his face into my neck, breathing deeply as if he were trying to draw my scent deep into his lungs.

“Storm,” I say, choked by my instant tears. “What do you need, baby?”

I run my palms over him, up and down his back, his shoulders, across the nape of his neck.

“I’m so sorry this happened. It’s unthinkable.” He shakes as if he’s holding back silent tears, and the realization has me sobbing.

“Storm, I’m so damn sorry. I’m here for you. What do you need?”

His grip tightens, flexing in the fabric of my coat.

“It’s whatever you want,” I vow and he groans. It’s a pained, desperate sound.

Hurt. Broken.

“I love you, Storm,” I whisper into his ear, and he shudders again, and suddenly he picks me up and attaches his mouth to mine.

I push my coat off my shoulders and jerk the scarf from around my neck.

His lips and tongue and teeth attack, drawing out my moans and sighs and making me instantly wet.

It feels like he’s channeling all his pain and anger and grief into the action, and while I should hesitate, while I should air out the major issue in front of us, I let him take me.

I allow him to take what he needs from me.

“I need you, Shae. I need you around me,” he rasps, walking us into his bedroom.

I nod, already removing my clothes as he releases me from his hold. When I stand in front of him completely naked and open to him, I say, “I’m yours. Use me for whatever you need, Storm.”

I watch him then, the hardness of his face and body making him seem more imposing, more terrifying than I’ve ever seen him.

This is the Storm the rest of the world gets.

But I want my Storm.

“Come here, Sweetness,” he says, his voice whisper soft.

The next time he kisses me, it’s different. It’s like he’s washed out all the anger and agitation and replaced it with gentle care. His lips and tongue trace mine, as if mapping the terrain of my mouth, and I let him take his time.

When his fingers slide across my slick lower lips, I groan, my hips rotating as he works me up higher and higher.

“Sweetness,” he says on a groan that sounds almost like a sob. It’s my turn to cry out when his hot mouth latches on to my sensitive nipple. Urgent arousal floods my pussy and his fingers.

“Take me out,” he whispers against my flesh, and I obey him. Palming his thick, veiny dick, I run my hand up and down the shaft and pick up the bead of pre-cum at the tip with my thumb.

“Mmm,” I moan when I suck on the digit.

Storm’s eyes flash when he tracks the movement of my tongue.

“You gonna let me fuck you, baby?”

The words are startling. Not because that’s not the plan at the moment but because….

What we do is make love.

I reach for his dick again, trying to smile at him, trying not to let his closed-off expression worry me.

I don’t know if I succeed or not.

“I love you, Storm,” I say again, and there’s no missing the flash of hurt in his gaze.

But I can ignore it.

Storm kisses me again, hot and urgent, and then spins me so that I land flat on my back on his bed.

I bare myself to him while he remains fully clothed with his jeans unzipped. I recline on the bed, propping my feet on the edge of the mattress to spread myself wide open for him.

“Turn over,” he says, not looking at my face but at all the other parts of my body. As if…as if detaching the action of the moment from who he’s doing it with. “I want to see that ass slamming against my hips while I fuck you.”

There it goes. Another stab to the heart. But then I say, “Whatever you need, Storm,” and get on all fours, arching my back to present myself to him. I watch over my shoulder as he undresses.

“Fuuuck, your pussy is so pretty, Shae. The most gorgeous sight I’ll ever see in my life.”

I don’t know what to say to those words, so I sway from side to side, waiting for him to make the next move.

“Maybe you should try sticking your dick in it. See how it feels,” I say, trying to lighten the mood.

But Storm doesn’t say anything. In fact, he’s completely silent as he kneels on the bed behind me, runs his dick up and down my slit, and slides into me in one move.

“Oh, shit!” I shout into the mattress. He’s so much bigger from this position, and with each punishing stroke, it’s like he’s trying to climb inside me, to imprint himself on my soul.

“Storm,” I groan, and he leans over me, reaching around to rub and pinch my clit, ratcheting me to new heights.

“You’re part of me, Shae. Part of my heart. Part of my soul.” He says the words so low I almost miss them over the fleshy slap of our bodies together.

“I love you, Storm.”

“You wreck me, Sweetness,” he continues, whispering. “I don’t know how I did life before you.”

I hiss, riding to my peak, and he notices.

“That’s right, baby. Milk this dick. Take it. Come on it.”

“Shh— Fuck , Storm!” I shout, turning my face to scream into the mattress as the wave crashes over me. I clench tight, squeezing him as I come, and with several hard, almost angry thrusts, he comes inside me, groaning as if it were a war cry.

When he finishes, he doesn’t stop stroking inside me, as if trying to make this last.

But when my heartbeat slows and he finally stills, I break the moment.

“I love you, Storm.”

He doesn’t reply to the statement, and with each second that passes, the urge to cry grows and grows.

Right when I think I’m going to start sobbing into his sheets, he pulls out of me and places an almost reverent kiss on my lower back.

Breathe. I can breathe.

“Let me get a towel,” he murmurs into my skin, and I slide down until I’m flat on my stomach on the mattress.

How much longer will I be able to lie on my stomach? Is it safe to lie on my stomach like this now?

Shit, I need to get some books or something.

In the time since I found out about the baby, I’ve decided I want to keep it. Storm and I made this baby out of love, and we’ll figure out the rest. I’m not alone. I think.

I know this will be a surprise for him, too, and nothing he or I planned to happen, but I just know it will end up being a good thing.

I hope.

“Open your legs, Shae.” Storm’s warm voice sounds close to my ear. I keep my eyes closed and spread my legs so he can wipe up the cum spilling out of my body with a warm wet washcloth.

I love it when he does that, probably just as much as he likes seeing it leak out of me.

“Storm, I know it’s a terrible time, but we need to talk,” I say, gathering my courage.

He’s silent, passing the cloth over my sensitive lips three more times before standing.

“Did you hear me?” I ask after he goes into the bathroom without acknowledging my statement.

Still more silence. I sit up and listen to the sound of water hitting the sink bowl and hope to hear his response.

Still nothing.

Sick, sticky terror weaves its way down my veins, clogging my heart.

I begin to dress, grabbing my bra and panties and pulling on my shirt and pants before he exits the bathroom in black boxer briefs.

He eyes me down, that dead, hard look back on his face.

I hate it.

“Storm,” I say again, trying to access calm. “We need to talk.”

“Yes, we do need to talk.” The words are so clipped I almost flinch.

“Okay,” I say, sitting on the foot of his bed. “You first.”

I smile, but get no reaction from him. My palms sweat, and my hands start to shake.

“Fine,” he bites out. Crossing his arms and spreading his stance so he seems much more imposing, he says, “We should end this right here.”

I blink at him once. Twice.

Spin the words around in my brain.

Try to make sense of them.

“I’m…what did you say?”

He takes in a slow breath before saying in an even harder tone. “Our relationship is over. This has run its course.”

I’m silent, staring at him with my mouth open because I don’t know what to think or feel or….

“You’re going to move soon, and I thought about it. I don’t see myself wanting to leave Chicago. Too much going on. And I don’t do long-distance relationships. I don’t see the point.”

I blink once, then several times in a row, as if I’m having some type of neurological issue.

“I don’t… I’m not going to Harvard,” I blurt out, and he stares even longer, his muscles tightening.

“Well, that’s a stupid decision. I hope you didn’t give up your spot already.”

This time, I do flinch.

“That’s it?” I spit, standing. I gesture toward the rumpled sheets. “So what was that? One last pity fuck?”

I vibrate from head to toe, sweating, and I know I’m seconds from bursting into sobs that might kill me.

But then…Storm shrugs, an easy, unbothered look on his face.

What?

The world spirals, hot flames licking up my ankles and thighs and chest until I’m being burned alive.

What? What? What is happening?

I try to breathe, I try to calm my racing heart, but there’s no help for the full-blown panic I’m in.

“Storm, y-you’re hurting right now, but you don’t have to do this. Please don’t do this!”

I rush forward, grabbing his arm and trying to get him to—I don’t know. Hold me? Bring me close?

Say this was a big fucking joke and he’s sorry to get me all riled up?

But instead, he makes the move that kills me instead.

He jerks away.

“Don’t beg, Shae. Never beg someone to be with you.”

I break. My whole entire heart shatters into pieces, because despite his vows and promises and proclamations, he turned out to be exactly who I thought he was.

Who I feared he was.

I bring my hands to my chest, clasping them together as if holding myself will prevent me from falling into a million shards all over his floor.

“Right,” I say through numb lips. “Got it. You…you don’t have to worry about me anymore, Storm.”

Especially now that it’s clear he never did.

I rush to his door, moving so quickly I knock the Tupperware container with the cookies over, shattering the glass—not unlike my shattered heart.

I pick up a piece of glass, but it cuts my palm deeper than I’d expect.

“Shit, Shae. Let me hel?—”

“ Don’t !” I shout. I damn near screech. He stops a foot from me, standing over me with his chest rising and falling as if he were out of breath. And there I am, sprawled on the floor beneath him.

Hurt.

It’s all one big circle, isn’t it? It’s just like how we met. I guess I should have expected we’d end how we began.

I stand, dropping the bloody glass on the side table and scooping up my coat and scarf. Before the door closes behind me, I throw over my shoulder, “Goodbye, Storm.”

I don’t look back to see his reaction.

I do well walking down the hall to the elevator.

I even make it to the first floor and don my coat and scarf without incident.

But once I step onto the busy street outside Storm’s building, I lose it. One tear turns into two, which turns into blinding, terror-ridden sobs as I stand on a sidewalk in the midday traffic with wet panties, snot running down my face, and a bloody palm.

Where am I? What am I doing? What will I do?

What happens now?

God. God! Why is this happening?

My heart breaks, cracked, crushed. Irreparably damaged.

All from the uncaring hand of Storm Sandoval.

You are Shae Oliviya Rivers. You are strong, smart, capable, and resilient. Breathe.

In. I breathe. Out. I exhale. In. I breathe. Out. I exhale.

Once I’m calm enough to gain my bearings, I pull out my phone to schedule a rideshare. But before I can select the icon, a message appears, and I freeze like the frigid air swirling around me.

Reminder: Your intake appointment at Luna Women’s Clinic is tomorrow. Send Y to confirm or N to cancel.

My finger hovers over the keyboard, feeling the weight of my decision on my shoulder as heavy as the future ahead of me.

What do you want to do for you, Shae?

My mother’s words ring in my head, spiraling on repeat as I try to decide.

What do I want?

What do I want for me?

A car horn sounds too close to where I stand, and I jump a foot in the air, grasping my chest.

“Fuck,” I pant, and as soon as I break my silence, the tears fall.

They fall and fall and fall.

God always gives you what you need.

What do I need right now? I search around the street, my gaze going from the muddy snowdrifts to the tall residential buildings.

What do I need right now?

Breathe. Breathe. Let the cold air shock, let it hurt.

What do I need?

I lock every muscle and slide my eyes closed, and tune out the sound of the city.

Air, blood, soul—it’s all here in my body. I’m here. I’m alive.

I will continue living.

My phone buzzes again, and this time it’s my calendar.

Another reminder.

There are twenty-four hours until the acceptance deadline.

What do I want?

I flip the screen and open the text editor. Without a single moment of hesitation, I type my response and shove my phone in my pocket, choosing to walk a few blocks to clear my head.

I have everything ahead of me, and my life is going to be good. Amazing.

But if there’s one thing I know for sure, it’s that however it comes out, the Shae that loved Storm Sandoval is dead. And that girl is never coming back.