by Laura Lee
WINDSOR ACADEMY #3
LAURA LEE
FALLEN HEIRS ©2020 Laura Lee
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
FALLEN HEIRS (Windsor Academy, #3)
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
EPILOGUE
ALSO AVAILABLE BY LAURA LEE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Cover Design: Lori Jackson Designs
Editing: Ellie McLove of My Brother’s Editor
CHAPTER ONE
JAZZ
“Ladies, you look stunning,” Charles says as I join them in the foyer.
My sperm donor’s words may be kind, but his body language and the accusatory glare he’s flashing his wife are anything but. I wonder if he knows about Madeline’s affair with Kingston’s dad. It would certainly explain his sudden shift in attitude toward her.
Madeline looks nervous, but Peyton seems oblivious as she beams at the compliment.
Meanwhile, I’m fighting nausea as I mutter, “Thanks.”
After spending four nights at Kingston’s house, Charles sent his driver, Frank, to collect me. Despite my boyfriend’s vehement protests—I’m still getting used to calling him that—I got into the car. Knowing Peyton is scheming against me simultaneously freaks me out and pisses me off, but after watching Mr. Davenport’s not-so-subtle threat, warning her to stay away from me, I feel slightly appeased, as messed up as that sounds. Peyton may be a conniving bitch, but I do think she has enough self-preservation to hold off on fucking with me for the time being.
Kingston was right about my father’s expectations regarding Thanksgiving. When I returned to the mansion, I was promptly given a lecture about propriety and playing nice. He informed me that although I’m eighteen now, I’m still living under his roof, and he’s paying my tuition; therefore, I follow his rules.
When I asked him to be more specific, he said, “Quite frankly, I don’t care where you sleep at night, or if you’re fucking the entire polo team, as long as you’re doing it behind closed doors and they come from good stock. But certain obligations come with being a Callahan. There will be times when you will be required to attend a gathering as a member of this family. And when that happens, you will look like a Callahan lady and act like a Callahan lady. In layman’s terms, whatever you would normally do, do the opposite.”
As I was mentally flipping him off, I made a note to legally change my name back as soon as possible. You’d think my own father would make an effort to get to know me, but that clearly isn’t a priority for this man. Like I’d ever sleep with some douche who played polo. It was no surprise Madeline had a cocktail dress and a team of stylists waiting to get their hands on me to fulfill that whole look-like-a-Callahan part. What was unexpected, however, is how sexy the dress is.
Madeline chose a form-fitting sleeveless mermaid-cut gown with a plunging back. Strategically placed black lace appliques set over a nude liner make it look like I could expose the goods at any given point in time. The dress is gorgeous and, based on the designer, likely expensive. Still, I would assume it’s far too provocative for a holiday dinner. Given my father’s reaction when he first saw me, I’d wager he hadn’t seen it before now, and he’s less than pleased with Madeline for selecting it.
Considering both Peyton and Madeline’s dresses are much more conservative, I can’t help but question my stepmonster’s motives, given Kingston’s suspicions about some of the guests. I can’t lie, though, and say the thought of Kingston seeing me in this dress isn’t thrilling. It’s a double-edged sword, really; I’d love to have my boyfriend’s eyes on me, but not any of the sick bastards who may be in attendance tonight. The other major downfall is there’s no way I’ll be able to gorge on mashed potatoes in this thing, and I really fucking love mashed potatoes.
Charles looks at his diamond-encrusted watch. “We should get going. Frank is waiting out front.” His blue eyes turn toward me. “Jasmine, I trust your date will be here at any moment?”
I don’t miss Madeline or Peyton’s scowls when he refers to Kingston as my date.
“He texted me right before I came downstairs. He should be here in just a few.”
He nods. “Very well. We’ll see you there.”
Peyton flashes a wicked glare in my direction as she walks away. I’m trying really hard not to look at her differently, but that’s easier said than done after seeing the video of her with Mr. Davenport. The way he slapped her across the face, how he forcefully shoved his dick down her throat, the fact that it clearly wasn’t the first time either of those things had happened, I’m seeing her in a different light. Dare I say I actually feel sorry for her?
Don’t get me wrong; I still think she’s a massive cunt who should take the fall for her actions. But no woman should be beaten or violated, no matter the circumstances. I have to keep reminding myself that Peyton doesn’t live by the same code, and she doesn’t deserve my empathy. After all, she sent some guy to beat and violate me, not once, but twice, without any qualms.
I wonder if Madeline knows about the deal her daughter made with Satan to split her inheritance, or the fact that Preston is fucking both mother and daughter. For some reason, I can’t see Madeline being okay with the latter. Not because she has some sort of moral aversion to an almost sixty-year-old man screwing a girl who just turned eighteen. Considering the massive age gap between Madeline and Peyton’s birth father, it’s par for the gold digger’s course. But Madeline seems like a woman who does not like competition, and Peyton is the younger, hotter version of her mother.
I step outside as I hear Kingston’s sex-on-wheels car pulling up the driveway. The tint on its windows is so dark, I can’t see him, but I can feel his eyes on me as he brings the vehicle to a stop right in front of the wooden double doors. Kingston’s big body practically leaps out of the car once he kills the ignition.
Goddamn, he looks good in a tux.
Kingston scrubs a hand over his slightly stubbled jaw and mumbles a curse. His golden-flecked eyes eat me up, probably the same
way mine are doing to him, as he closes the distance between us. Once I’m within reach, his fingers bite into my hips as he pulls me into him until our bodies are flush.
“I changed my mind; fuck the dinner. The only place you’re going in this dress is my bed.” His eyes travel down my body and back up again. “Christ, Jazz.”
“You’re not so bad yourself.” I smooth down the lapel of his jacket. “But the bed will have to wait until after our fathers’ fabulous Thanksgiving feast.”
He frowns, probably because he can sense my apprehension beneath the sarcasm. “It’ll be okay, Jazz. I’ll be right by your side, and if I have to leave for any reason, Bentley or Reed will take my place.”
“I know,” I assure him. “But it won’t change the fact that we’ll be in the same room as a bunch of revolting predators. Not to mention the fact that this will be the first time we’re seeing your dad after watching that video. I honestly don’t know if I can hide my disgust, which would reveal the fact that we’re on to him.”
Talking Kingston off the ledge after watching that video was no easy task. He was ready to go after his dad and ex-girlfriend, full-throttle, without any concern for consequences. Thankfully, my boyfriend is one of the most logical people I know, and I could leverage that. I reminded him that Peyton and Preston may not be the only threats, and Kingston can’t be with me—nor protect me—from prison. The feminist in me hates admitting that I need a man’s help, but facts are facts. I’m in way over my head here. Kingston has the information and resources we need to take down these bastards, which takes priority over my pride.
“I know you can do this, Jazz, but if you need a break at any time, just say the word. We’ll step out until you can regroup.” He bends his knees until our eyes are at the same level. “Okay?”
I gaze into his golden-green orbs and nod. “Okay.”
Kingston pulls me into a quick hug, kissing the top of my head, before opening the car’s passenger door and helping me in. We keep our conversation to a minimum as we drive, probably because I’m too busy focusing on my breathing to avert a panic attack. As we pull in front of the fancy hotel and Kingston bypasses the valet in favor of parking the car himself, I laugh, grateful for the sudden levity.
“I’m not giving those fuckers the keys to my baby,” he explains. “It’s one of the rarest cars in the world.”
I laugh again. “Of course not. No one drives your precious but you.”
“Damn straight,” he mutters, totally ignoring my awesome Gollum impression.
I raise a brow. “Well, now that you’ve said that, it’s the first thing I’m going to do when I get my license.”
Kingston scoffs as he slides the Agera into a parking spot and kills the engine. “Yeah, right. If I won’t let someone who parks cars professionally touch it, why would I hand the keys over to a brand new driver?”
I cross my arms over my chest, not missing the way his eyes travel to my cleavage as it’s pushed up.
“I bet you’d change your tune if I threatened to withhold sex.”
He gives me a good once over, making no attempt to disguise his desire. “Yeah, right. You’d be begging for my dick within hours.”
I tell my vag to slow her roll because the bitch really likes the visual Kingston’s words just conjured.
“You think so, huh? How about we test that theory now?”
The conviction in my tone is lacking, and with the way Kingston is smiling right now, I’d say he damn well knows I’m full of shit.
“Sure, Jazz. Let’s see who can hold out the longest. What do you say we make this interesting and add a little wager?”
I eye him skeptically. “What kind of wager?”
He thinks about it for a moment. “If I win—which we both know is going to happen—you owe me a blow job every day for a week straight.”
My lips turn up in the corners. “And what do I get when I win?”
“I eat your pussy until you’ve come at least three times for a week straight.”
I squirm in my seat. “You do realize neither one of those things is an actual punishment, right?”
Kingston’s a big fan of going downtown, and I don’t exactly mind returning the favor.
His shoulders lift. “Bragging rights.”
I shake my head, fighting a smile. “You’re an idiot.”
“Maybe.” He grins. “But I’d bet this two-point-five-million dollar car that your pussy is soaked right now just thinking about it. Shall I check?”
I flip him off in reply, but what I really want to do is pull my panties down and shove his face between my legs.
Kingston unfastens his seat belt and leans over the center console to lift my chin. “You feel better?”
My eyes drift shut when he pulls my lower lip between his teeth. “Yeah.”
I don’t know how this man can always sense what I need. He sees me like no one else can. Whether it’s tempting me with his body because he knows I need a physical release, or picking a stupid fight because it allows me to vent the frustrations running through my head, or playfully teasing me because I could use a good laugh, Kingston just knows. The funny thing is, I don’t think he even tries. He’s so attuned to me, it’s pure instinct.
Lately, it seems as if my soul is colored in every shade of gray. Kingston understands that better than anyone because the same war is waging inside of him. If I believed in fairy tales, I’d say we were fated for one another. Like, maybe everything has happened for a reason, and we were meant to fall back into each other’s lives at precisely the same moment in time. But then again, I’m not exactly a rescue-me-from-a-tower kind of girl, and Kingston Davenport is certainly no prince.
“You ready to do this?”
I take a fortifying breath. “Let’s get this shitshow on the road.”
CHAPTER TWO
JAZZ
Hundreds of eyes track us as Kingston and I walk into the lavishly decorated ballroom. Geez, I feel like I just stepped into a wedding reception, not a holiday dinner. The entire space is filled with round tables dressed in crisp white tablecloths, although most guests are standing around, mingling. Like Kingston promised, there’s a decent amount of guests in our age bracket, and every single one of them looks bored out of their minds. Can’t say I blame them.
A long, rectangular table sits toward the back of the room—I’m guessing it’s reserved for the Davenports and Callahans—complete with a few tall floral arrangements. Crystal chandeliers are glinting off the crystal goblets below while waitstaff are making their rounds, offering hors d’oeuvres and flutes of champagne. I grab a glass of bubbly from a nearby waiter and down half of it in one go. I’m not stupid enough to get drunk at this thing, but I need something to take the edge off. It’s either this, or sex in a coat closet, and I don’t think Kingston and I could get away with option número dos.
“Why are they all staring at us?” I whisper, stifling the urge to lift my middle finger in the air.
Kingston’s fingertips press into my spine as he guides me to the right. “They’re all staring at you, princess. You’re the sexiest belle of the ball.”
“It’s the dress.”
I surreptitiously scan the room, seeing if anyone triggers my perv-o-meter.
Kingston chuckles. “It’s not the dress, Jazz, although it is hot as fuck.”
My eyes narrow when I spot some politician-looking dude eyeing me like I’m a big, juicy ribeye. “Regardless, this is the last place I want to draw attention to myself.”
He laces our fingers together. “I know, but it would’ve happened no matter how you were dressed. Charles Callahan’s long-lost daughter is big news in this circle.”
“If that’s true, these people need to get a life.”
“I won’t argue with you there.” Kingston points his finger. “There’s Ains.”
My eyes follow Kingston’s finger to find his twin standing next to Reed. Ainsley looks absolutely gorgeous in her dark green one-shoulder gown. Its layered c
hiffon falls to the floor, and the color brings out the green in her eyes, really making them pop. For a little extra flair, there’s a dramatic slit up the front, showcasing her toned dancer’s legs. It’s sexy, yet classy, which suits her perfectly.
“Wow. You look incredible, Ains.”
Ainsley smiles as Reed wraps his arm around her. “Thanks, Jazz. You, too. That dress is... wow.”
A low whistle sounds from behind me right before I hear the familiar voice.
“Damn, ladies, you’re looking mighty fuckable tonight.”
Bentley sidles up to us while Kingston glares at him. I know Bent’s comment was absolutely harmless—especially because Ainsley was also included in that statement—but it still pushes my boyfriend’s buttons. It’s not like that’s a hard thing to do, though. Kingston has become even more in touch with his inner Neanderthal lately. Come to think of it, Bentley probably needles his bestie because it irritates him.
I playfully jab my elbow into Bentley’s stomach. “Yeah? Well, I suppose you look a’ight, too.”
Bentley scoffs. “Please, woman. I look fly as hell, and you know it.”
He really does. Kingston, Bentley, and Reed have panty-melting features on any given day, but in a tux, we’re talking volcanic-explosion-in-your-pants good-looking. I thought they couldn’t get any hotter than when they wore their finely tailored suits for homecoming, but clearly, I was wrong. This is upper echelon shit right here.
I glance around, raising my brows as I spot several recognizable faces. Man, Kingston wasn’t kidding when he said there’d be some famous people in attendance. It’s not like a celebrity sighting is a rare occurrence in LA, but I can’t say I ever thought I’d be in the same room as one of Hollywood’s hottest leading men.
I point to the actor and whisper, “Please don’t ruin it for me and tell me he’s on your list of suspected perverts.”
Kingston’s low growl rumbles in my ear. “I’m half tempted to lie to you, to wipe that thirsty look off your face.”
“Oh, stop. You’d have to be blind to miss how pretty that man is.” I lift up on my toes to nip Kingston’s jaw. “Don’t worry, big guy, I’m not going anywhere.”