Page 211 of Between Passion and Revenge: Part Two
Lakeland laughs.
“Many have tried,” he says. “Including you. Well done on that hit. There’s something poetic about trying to kill a man while he’s getting some head.”
I stare hard at him.
“Unfortunately for you, I know how you move, Storm Sandoval.” He walks toward where I sit in the center of the space, and when he’s a foot from me, he bends and says, “I win. You lose.”
I spit in his face, my saliva landing on his cheek.
Lakeland lets it hang there for a long moment before chuckling and removing a handkerchief from his shirt pocket.
The punch he delivers next is no surprise.
“This is gonna be fun,” he says, spinning around and marching to the open sliding door. He sighs, as if feeling the temperature difference of the outside air feels good on his skin.
“You always said fire is your element, Storm,” he says, looking out the door as if he were waiting for someone. “It’s only fitting that you go out in a blaze of glory.”
“Why are you like this? What do you gain from all the shit you’ve done to me?” I ask, needing to know his reasoning—and give myself time to figure out a way to loosen the bindings.
“Why?” he asks, giving me a haughty look. “It’s because he took everything from me. He tookher.”
I scrunch my face, not knowing what the hell he’s talking about.
“Her? Who’s her?” I ask.
“Maya.Yourmother.” My hands stop moving as I take in his words. He’s gone on a rampage…because of a woman?
“Dad stole my mom from you?” I grind out, still disbelieving thatthisis the source of all this pain.
He wanted revenge because of a broken heart. How…basic.
Marching over to me, he slaps me across the cheek, a disrespectful move in the symbolism itself.
“He stole her. He took her before I even had my chance. I met her first, I saw her first. She wasmine. But your fuckin’ father swooped in and smiled at her, flashed those fancy degrees and that lil’ bit of money he’d already made in finance, and there she was—so ready to spread her legs for the richer Sandoval brother.”
Keep him talking and keep working the rope, Storm.
“And the nicer one, the better one,” I add, goading him. Lakeland sneers.
“Your father was no saint, but I think you know that. You saw what he got up to on Isla Cara,” Lakeland says, grinning. “Do you know it took a heavy dose of ketamine to get him to fuck another bitch? He cried and cried when he sobered up. He never really wanted to cheat on your mama. He ran all the way back to Chicago and begged for her forgiveness.”
He chuckles.
“You know the silly bitch actually forgave his ass?” He looks over to me. “You know, Storm, these hoes ain’t shit.”
I remain silent, internally rejoicing when one of the ropes releases tension a fraction.
“Anyway, enough chit-chat, ‘cause here comes my little helper,” Lakeland says, brightening.
I shouldn’t be surprised to see Skai walk into the studio, but I am.
She’s in an all-white nightgown; it looks like something out ofLittle House on the Prairie.
Or, actually, more like something out of a Jordan Peele horror flick.
Blood covers her from head to toe, staining her palms and splattering her dress.
She’s a walking massacre, and I know deep in my gut it’s notherblood. The sea of bodies replays in my mind, and it’s clear that’s her handiwork. It’s also clear this is not her first time murdering someone—or many someones.
