Page 11 of Between Passion and Revenge: Part One

“Listen, I come in peace,” he replies, throwing his hands up near his shoulders. “I told him this news would shock you and to tell you in private, but he didn’t think he had the time.”

My eyebrow raises as I smell the bullshit wafting off him alongside his Tom Ford cologne.

“Right,” I bite out. “Because succession planning happensquicklynowadays.”

Lakeland shrugs, and I want to punch him for doing so.

Smug bastard.

“Storm, I gotta hand it to you. You’re an impressive, bright young man, but you’re that—young. Too young. And the stuff your father’s got his hands in…well, you’re not ready for primetime. Sorry, kid.”

With every word, I want to rip his tongue out and shove it down his throat.

But when he adds that bright, fake-ass “Sorry, kid”?

I nearly black out with rage.

“Listen, you lazy fuck. You have done shit-all for Stratos before you came into the picture and most certainly after. I’ve been preparing for this for damn near a decade, and I will not let you take that away from me. It’s never gonna happen, Lakeland.”

A moment passes, and I blink, realizing I’m standing chest-to-chest with my uncle, pushing into his personal space. Instead of intimidating him like it would anyone else, Lakeland just grins.

Fucking grins.

I’m gonna lose my ever-loving mind.

“It looks like you’ve grown some balls, Little Storm Cloud. Congratulations.”

He stands even more still, deadlocked.

“But here’s the thing: Real men know when they’ve lost. I hope you figure that out soon. For all our sakes.”

And with that, he pushes me back a step, and I control the movement and give him space.

Look, Ma. I’m trying not to kill people tonight.

“This isn’t over, Lakeland,” I say, my voice dangerously low.

He follows the same path my mother just took.

“I don’t doubt that for a second.”

3

SHAE

Iwalk into the drab building and prepare for the smell of old carpet and worn wood. The community resource office is a refurbished seamstress building that sat abandoned for forty years before Daddy and a few of the other council members came together to fix the place up.

It’s no high-rise office in the heart of the Loop, but it’s in a place that matters, situated on the main thoroughfare in historic Bronzeville.

“My baby’s here!”

I get three steps into the lobby when Mama’s head pokes above the front cubicle in the open space. She steps into the center aisle separating the two neat rows of recycled cubicles. Mama doesn’t bother keeping her voice down since the other five cubicles are vacant. In the back, Daddy has an office, but the other volunteers and employees for the Project leave at a normal time…not after eight p.m. like Mama and Daddy do on most nights.

Mama pulls me into a hug, the scent ofHappyby Clinique wrapping around me. I sink into her.

My daddy works hard. But my mama? She works harder. No one taught me the value of consistency and sacrifice more than Opal Rivers.

“I brought your daddy dinner since he says he can’t leave the office with everything going on,” she says, linking her arm with mine and leading me down the hall.

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