Page 66 of Between Passion and Revenge: Part Two
I chuckle, releasing the energy of our conversation.
“You already know you’re coming, you’re already hired to help with the little hellions,” I reply.
She smiles.
“Those are my babies,” she croons.
I throw a decorative pillow at her face.
FOURTEEN
STORM
“So, what’s your plan? Hostile takeover?” Axel says this while leaning back in the computer chair, throwing a MetLife stress ball in the air. He’s been at it for ten minutes and he hasn’t dropped the ball, which is impressive, seeing as he’s catching it one-handed while his other hand taps on the keyboard perched on his lap.
I shrug, an agitated movement.
We’re in my condo, where I’ve disassembled the telescope and left it at the front desk for someone else to pick up.
But I’m most agitated because almost as soon as I left Shae’s apartment, I got a message from Lakeland for an early morning meeting. There’s only one rational reason for it: He expected an update on Keystone by now, primarily news that all the roadblocks have been cleared and the deal’s moving forward.
He needs Keystone for something. I don’t know if it’s about laundering, leverage, or locking down Chicago, but he’s pressing harder than ever.
Who knows what the fuck’s happening now.
“Don’t know,” I bite out. Axel chuckles in response.
We’re in the sitting-area-turned-security-room-slash-meeting-room on the far side of my condo. Axel’s screens take up an entire wall, spanning a stretch of space at least twenty feet long. His convertible standing desk centers the screens like a maestro in front of an orchestra.
Now, he reclines with his feet on top of the lowered desk.
“You could always abduct her. Throw her in a safe house and forge some succession docs,” Axel says, still throwing the ball.
I give him a hard look, which he misses as he taps on his tablet at rapid speed.
“Orwe can focus on the most important thing: bringing Lakeland and his enterprise down quickly with as much focus and dedication as possible. We’ve waited eight years for this, Storm.”
This comes from Riale, who sits across the room wearing a bored expression. I dead-eye him.
“Eightyears,” he repeats.
“Iknow, Riale. The most important thing is we bring Lakeland down so Shae remains unharmed.”
Riale stands, wearing a strange look. For what may be the first time, I feel the need to keep something close to my chest when it comes to him.
‘Cause this nigga is hiding something.
Riale’s been in a shit mood for the few days we’ve been in Chicago, and I’m about sick of it.
“What’s up with you? You’ve been acting like someone pissed in your Cheerios since we got here,” I say.
Riale grunts but doesn’t back away from my gaze.
“Yeah, Riale,” Axel draws out. “What’s crawled up your ass? You seem on edge.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Riale snaps at Axel, and I stare my best friend down.
I don’t say anything more because the separate line—Lakeland’s line—rings on the desk.
