Page 8 of Between Passion and Revenge, Part One (The Griot Chronicles #1)

How did I want that to go?

My entire future is on the line, and if there’s anything I should focus on, it’s getting Stratos back. But instead, I’m standing here, replaying how she laughed like it’s the only sound that matters.

“I don’t want to keep Lance waiting, so I’ll head toward the front, then,” Bambi says. She steps around me, sucking in a fragile breath. And at the sight of her dejection, the reason for my even being here with her stabs me in the chest.

Bambi. Rainn. Her mother. Betrayal.

I’ve got too much going on to add more to my mess.

“Wait up, I’ll still escort you,” I say to Bambi.

I shove the flyer in my backpack and walk her to her car.

Riale Huntley and I became friends after my brother died, and my father assigned him as my personal bodyguard following the accident.

For years, he’s been my shadow, so I shouldn’t be surprised to find him leaning against my apartment door when I step off the elevator—even though he’s supposed to be in China, doing whatever as my father’s new head of security.

“Fuckin’ took you long enough,” he grinds out, smirking. Riale lives in the apartment directly across from mine, and the floor has been annoyingly silent in the weeks since he left for Asia.

Despite the great Chuck Sandoval being proudly Divine 9, the son of civil rights leaders, and decorating his private cigar room with all the Kente cloth and African busts available on this side of the Atlantic, back then, it seemed like my pops only employed white people—with the exception of Riale’s father.

I don’t think his reason for this came from not wanting to hire Black people. Even today, most of his C-suite and executive team is made up of melanated people. Instead, it seems like it did something for him to have a whole bunch of white men beneath his thumb.

It’s weird, and I’m not sure I would trust someone I wanted to feel subordinate to me protecting my life, but I didn’t really care then and I sure as fuck don’t care now.

Darren Huntley has worked for my dad since the beginning of his success, operating as Dad’s head of security. It’s no surprise Riale followed in his father’s shoes when Darren retired, although to hear Riale tell it, his dad wanted him to be anywhere but in security for a family like mine.

Riale’s always done what he wants, though.

“When the hell’d you get home?” I lean in to give him a quick dap and side hug. Riale slaps me on the back in return.

“Last night. Took some time to sleep off the time difference, and now I’m on Storm Watch.”

“Funny,” I deadpan, rolling my eyes at the annoying-as-fuck nickname. “Well, come in, I guess.”

“Don’t sound too fucking happy about it,” Riale throws back. I tap my phone to the lock on my front door.

Riale makes himself comfortable on my couch, and I head to the kitchen.

“Do anybody interesting while in Beijing?”

He snorts. “Don’t you mean, ‘do anything’?”

“Nah, I said what the fuck I said,” I reply, and Riale barks out a laugh.

“Not really. Work kept me running ragged the entire time I was there. Work, eat, shit, sleep. That’s all there was time for.”

I hum, pulling the fridge open. My stomach grumbles, and I suck in air through my teeth when I realize Marisol hasn’t been by yet with her weekly meal prep delivery, so all I have are the things to make a sandwich.

Well, I have bread that’s probably still good, some lunch meat I got the other day, and a thing of mayonnaise. Who needs lettuce or tomato anyway?

“You gonna tell me what you were up to?” I ask after I pull out the sandwich fixings, and his face shuts down, as it always does when I try to step too far over the line into what my father has him doing in his new role as security manager for the Sandoval family.

“No,” he replies, his voice low and serious. “I’m not going to tell you.”

There’s a sense of finality to his words that has me not wanting to press more.

Shaking my head, I change the subject.

“So how far up my ass are you going to be?” I reply. “You came back abruptly. Is something going on?”

He releases a long breath, his only tell for his agitation, and one I think he only shows for me on purpose.

“Nothing’s happening, and I won’t be any more in your face than I already am because I’m not your bodyguard anymore. I’m here solely as your friend.”

For some reason, I don’t believe that. Not for a second.

“Although, I do wish you’d get your head out of your ass and allow Chuck to give you a security detail.”

I assemble the sandwich, cut it, and grab a bag of chips and two beers before heading to the armchair next to the sofa where Riale sprawls out.

When I throw a Pabst at him, he catches it in one hand and has it open the next second.

“I’m not sixteen anymore. I don’t need a babysitter, and if someone tries to step to me, I know how to handle myself.”

Riale gives me an offensively disbelieving look.

“Oh, so you a regular gangbanger now? Okay, Urkel.”

I kick his knee with my Air Force Ones.

“Nigga, you know not to test me. How many times have I knocked your ass out cold in the ring?”

“Once, nigga. You did that once. And I had the fuckin’ flu when you did it, so stop frontin’.”

I shrug and crack open my beer.

“What did Chuck do this time?” Riale takes a long swig after he asks.

I put the plate on the side table, suddenly not hungry.

“What’d he do? He fucked me over, that’s what.” Recalling my anger, my knuckles tense around the glass bottle, tension shooting down my spine.

“You’re gonna have to say more than that, chief.”

I run my free hand down the side of my face. “Stratos. He just named Lakeland as his successor.”

Riale releases a descending whistle. “That’s fucked up.”

“Yeah,” I reply. Riale knows how hard I’ve been working to prepare myself to step into my father’s shoes, and even though he frequently argues that I should give my father the middle finger and do my own thing, I ignore his suggestions.

Stratos is mine. It belongs to me.

“This isn’t over. I’m taking Stratos back.”

He takes another long sip in response.

“No shit?” His eyes narrow, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I’m not sure what he’s thinking.

“I have no fucking clue how I’m gonna do it, but I’ll figure it out,” I say, more to myself than anything.

“Sure,” he says, unable to mask the skepticism in his tone.

“I’m not dumb, Riale. Something’s going on between my dad and Lakeland. He’s always had plans for me, just like he had plans for Rainn. He wouldn’t just…abandon them.”

Riale takes another drink at that, and I copy him, gulping down half of the bottle.

He leans forward, slapping the beer down on the glass coffee table.

“You’re not Rainn, man. You’re you. And I’m telling you, chasing after whatever the fuck you’ll get by running Stratos? It’s not worth it. Live your damn life. Don’t let him or fuckin’ Lakeland make you a puppet.”

This argument. This is always his argument.

Riale has never been in my shoes, so maybe that’s why he doesn’t get it. His parents are a lovely, simple couple.

They live a lovely, simple life in their lovely, simple home.

Riale has never had to win his parents’ affection because they give it freely.

My mom, for all her love, is nearly suffocating with her need to keep me safe, especially after Rainn died.

My dad? Well, he wants to be there. I know that’s true. But there’s always something that comes before me.

Money.

But when Rainn died suddenly, I wasn’t just the spare. I needed to stand in shoes that I had no idea how to walk in.

Riale could just fucking be Riale.

“What’s mine is mine, Riale. I’m not backing down from this. If I have to take this shit all the way to Hell to prove I’m better than Lakeland and that I deserve this, then I’ll do it. I don’t care.”

Riale blinks slowly a few times, clearly absorbing my words. Then, as if coming to a conclusion, he rises and says, “Whatever you say. You know I’ve got your back.”

I tilt my chin up in acknowledgment.

“Anyway. No more alcohol for you. Go to bed, kid. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Riale takes a long, final drink from his beer and tosses the empty glass in the recycling before heading to his apartment across the hall.

In the silence, I look at the rest of my bottle, lifting it to assess how much remains.

Nearly empty.

For some reason, it feels like a metaphor for my entire fucking life, and I don’t like it.

Pouring the beer down the kitchen sink, I drop it in the recycle bin and move through the three-thousand square foot apartment, checking all the lights and outlets and ensuring everything is in its place. As I do so, some of the anxious tension in my chest settles.

By the time I reach my bed, I feel calm.

Well, as calm as I can be without my go-to tools.

I’m unsure why I’m not calling up any of the girls I hooked up with last month.

Oh, you know why.

And just like that, Shae Rivers’ face is right in front of me, and also just like that, I’m all bricked up.

“Fuck,” I groan, falling backward into the bed.

I have a laundry list of things I could and probably should focus on right now, but all I can think about is Shae and how she looked standing in the middle of the quad. How she smelled when I got close to her and?—

“God-fucking-damnit,” I grind out, unable to do anything else but grab my dick and start stroking it.

What the hell am I going to do about Shae Rivers?

Because if there’s one thing that can’t happen, I can’t let anything distract me from my mission.

Not even her.