by Laura Lee
The tips of my ruby red fingernails scrape against Kingston’s light brown stubble. “You keep looking at me like that, and we’re never getting out of here.”
“As tempting as that is, I’ve got a job to do.” His full lips curve. “But save that thought for later.”
“Uh-huh.” I pat his cheek condescendingly to cover up the fact that I want to climb him like a tree. “I’ll be counting the seconds until I can get you naked.”
“Smartass.” Kingston smacks me on the butt. Hard.
“Huh,” I muse. “I think I can see the appeal.”
He laughs. “What?”
My lips twitch. “Nothing.”
He stares at me for a moment like he’s trying to read my mind. “We should get going.”
“Yep.” I grab the little clutch purse—also borrowed—from Kingston’s nightstand, shoving my lip gloss and phone inside. “Let’s do this.”
***
A chill skitters down my spine as I remove my coat and hand it to the butler, shaking my head at the fact that anyone would need an actual fucking butler. Alexander Ivanov, the host of tonight’s shindig, lives in a mansion in Brentwood Hills, and it’s as opulent as one might expect. The weird thing is that places like this aren’t shocking me as much as they used to, and I’m not entirely comfortable with that fact.
Kingston runs his finger down the crease between my brows. I didn’t even realize I was frowning until he did that.
He places a hand at the small of my back and leans into my ear. “Relax.”
“I’m fine,” I assure him. “I was just taking in all the swanky stuff.”
His hazel eyes briefly look around as he presses a hand to his chest to activate the wire. “I’m so used to it, it doesn’t even faze me.”
“And that’s exactly what I’m afraid is happening to me,” I mumble under my breath.
“Don’t worry, Jazz. No matter how long you’re in this world, you’ll never be like that.” He nods his head to the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills wannabes.
Holy crap! As I get a better look, I think one of them might be the real deal.
Kingston guides me through the house toward the back end, where most people are gathered.
“Have you been here before? It seems like you know where you’re going.”
“No.” He shakes his head. “But I’ve been to enough of these things to know how it works. There’s a pattern. Women are usually gathered off to the side in small clusters socializing while the men are somewhere else bullshitting or talking business.”
“Well, that seems awfully sexist.”
His shoulders lift. “It is what it is.”
As I glance around, I see what Kingston’s talking about. For the most part, the room is awfully segregated, save a few exceptions. One of those exceptions is Ainsley, who we’ve just spotted standing next to her father and a dark-haired man. My bestie gesticulates wildly as she talks, while Reed stands at her side, looking amused by her obvious enthusiasm.
Preston notices us first and waves us over, rudely interrupting his daughter. “Kingston! Jasmine. Come join us.”
Ainsley’s eyes fall to the polished floor, not at all surprised by her father’s dismissal, which both saddens me and pisses me off. Reed’s expression is leaning more toward homicidal now, which leads me to believe he feels the same. She gives me a small smile when I stand next to her and link our pinkie fingers together.
“Alexander, I’d like you to meet Jasmine Callahan.” Preston inclines his head in my direction.
“Jasmine, I’ve heard so much about you.” I’m not at all okay with the fact that these two were discussing me. Neither is Kingston if the tic of his jaw is any indication. “You weren’t kidding, Preston. From what I recall, she does resemble her mother quite a bit.”
I stifle the urge to cringe when Alexander takes my hand and places a kiss on top. “You knew my mom?”
Kingston places his palm on my lower spine, which lends me the strength I need to remain calm.
“Yes,” Alexander confirms. “Though, regretfully, not nearly as well as some.” He side-eyes Preston as he says that last part.
Preston flashes a smarmy smile. “Your father and I have been doing business with Alexander for many years.”
“What kind of business?” Kingston asks.
Preston’s goldish-green eyes slice to his son. “A little of this, a little of that. You know how it goes.” His gaze returns to me. “Coincidentally, Alex and I met the same evening Charles introduced me to your lovely mother.”
“Really?” I tilt my head to the side in question. “I didn’t realize she and my father had the kind of relationship where he would introduce her to friends.”
Of course, I know Preston knew my mom, but he doesn’t know I know.
The look Preston is giving me couldn’t be mistaken for anything but predatory. Even Ainsley picks up on it. Her curious eyes are volleying back and forth, but I can’t worry about that right now. If Preston wants to talk about my mom, I’m taking advantage of it.
“Oh, I knew Mahalia very well. I’m surprised your father hasn’t mentioned it. Although he always was rather... stingy when it came to her. Constantly looking for ways to keep your mother to himself. I haven’t seen him act that way with a woman before or since.”
I have to literally bite my tongue to avoid lashing out at the way he speaks about my mom with such familiarity. “What’s that supposed to m—”
Kingston’s grip on my hand tightens. “Speaking of Charles... is he here tonight?”
My boyfriend’s diversion tactic is jarring, but I know why he’s doing it. Preston Davenport is getting bolder by the second. Having this conversation is proof of that. For a man who supposedly prides himself on keeping his composure and maintaining discretion, he’s doing a shit job of it.
“No, he’s not,” Preston answers coolly. “Why do you ask?”
“Just curious, I suppose.” Kingston shrugs.
“So...” Ainsley pipes in, obviously trying to diffuse the awkwardness. “Mr. Ivanov, you mentioned introducing me to a friend of yours from the LASPA?”
“Yes, of course.” Ivanov smiles. “I last saw him by the parlor. Shall we see if he’s still there?”
Kingston and Reed share a look before Alexander leads Ainsley and Reed off in search of his friend. I wait for them to step out of earshot before I start grilling Preston.
“When you say you knew my mom ‘very well,’ what exactly did you mean by that?”
His lips curve into a smug smile. “Perhaps that’s a story for another time. For now... let’s just say my son and I have more in common than you might think.”
With that cryptic bullshit, he walks away without another word.
“You and your son are nothing alike, asshole,” I mutter, turning to Kingston. “God, I literally want to strangle that man.”
He glares at his father’s retreating back. “Get in line. Although knowing my dad, there’s probably quite a few other people ahead of us.”
“No doubt.” I snort. “What now?”
Kingston looks around the open space. “I see a few familiar faces, but they won’t speak candidly if you’re with me.”
“So, I’ll hang out here.”
Kingston scoffs. “Yeah... no. I’m not leaving you alone for a second. Let’s go find my sister and Reed. He knows to keep an eye on you.”
“I don’t need a babysitter.”
“Just humor me, Jazz. I know you’re smart and capable, but you’re also tiny. You’re not strong enough to fight off someone twice your size, no matter how scrappy you get.” He points at me as I glare. “Don’t give me that look. You know I’m right.”
My eyes roll. “What’s the worst that could happen to me in front of all these witnesses?”
He blows out a breath. “I’m not taking any chances.” When I open my mouth to protest, he puts a finger to my lips. “Stop fucking fighting me. If you won’t do it for me, do it for your sister. You can�
�t protect Belle if something happens to you, right?”
My eyes narrow. “That was a low blow.”
The jackass doesn’t look apologetic in the least. “Then stop forcing me to hit below the belt.”
“Fine. Let’s go.”
Kingston takes my hand and leads me through the crowd until we spot his sister. She and Reed just turned away from the man they were speaking to, so it looks like our timing is perfect.
“Hey,” I say to Ainsley. “Was that the dean?”
“Yep,” she confirms. “Apparently he’s good friends with Madame Rochelle from my studio. She’s mentioned me to him. He’s going to come watch me practice sometime next week.”
My brows rise. “That’s a good thing, right?”
Ainsley nods. “It’s a very good thing.”
“That’s awesome, Ains. So the odds of you staying in LA just got higher?”
She smiles. “Much higher.”
Reed’s smile is packed with pride and adoration. If I didn’t know he was such a kinky fucker, I’d swear the boy is a giant marshmallow when it comes to Ainsley Davenport. Regardless, it’s apparent the guy is head over heels, which makes me incredibly happy for my friend.
Kingston nudges Reed with his arm. “I saw a few people I wanted to say hi to, but I don’t want to bore Jazz. You cool if she hangs with you for a bit?”
“Of course.” Reed gives a stern nod.
“Duh,” Ainsley adds, swinging her arm around my shoulders. “What do you say we go find the booze?”
Kingston and Reed have a silent exchange before Kingston yanks me into him and plants a kiss on my mouth.
“I’ll be back soon.”
I wave him off. “Do what you need to do.”
I watch as Kingston weaves through the crowd. He has his eye on someone in particular, but Ainsley tugs on my arm to get my attention before I can see who he’s after.
“Jazz? Did you hear me about the booze?”
“That sounds like a great idea.” I could use something to take the edge off from my encounter with her father.
“So... what’s up with the weird vibes I was getting earlier?”
I frown. “What do you mean?”
“I mean...” She stretches the last word out. “Why was my dad acting like a total creeper? And he knew your mom?! How crazy is that? What did he say after I went to talk to the dean?”
“Uh...” I look to Reed for some help.
“Babe.” Reed puts a hand on Ainsley’s lower back, guiding her to the bar. “Let’s get those drinks. I’m thirsty as hell.”
Ainsley giggles and presses up on her toes to whisper something in his ear. Reed’s hand flexes around her hip, leading me to believe that whatever she said was filthy. Whatever he says back to her is likely even filthier because she’s turning beet red.
Diversion successful. God bless teenage hormones.
After she disengages from the dirty talk, Ainsley’s hazel eyes, identical to her brother’s, roam the room. “Is it just me, or are there an awful lot of girls our age here?”
I noticed that, too, but I wouldn’t exactly know what’s considered atypical with these types of gatherings.
“And that’s odd?”
Ainsley nods. “Totally odd. Usually, the only women present are freshly Botoxed wives or girlfriends. At least in the parties my dad has hosted at our house. They must be dancers, too, here to meet the dean.”
Reed is scanning the room right along with me and based on the wary look in his eyes, I’m guessing the same thoughts are running through his brain. Could these girls possibly be trafficking victims? My recent online research has taught me that sex trades can take on many different forms. On the surface, victims could look like your average happy, healthy person.
But sometimes, beautiful women are used as high-class escorts in wealthier circles. Or they work as masseuses—not to be confused with massage therapists—through seemingly legitimate day spas or likewise establishments. You just never know because things aren’t always as they seem. They even have task forces during the Super Bowl, whose sole job is to raise awareness or provide an opportunity for victims to escape during the massive influx of travelers.
Sadly, it’s not always easy for a victim to leave, even if they had the chance. The traffickers keep them compliant with threats, blackmail, drugs, material things, or pretty much anything they can use as leverage. One recent study said that girls in foster care are particularly vulnerable. Is that how my mom got sucked in? Is this what she was subjected to?
Ainsley’s right—a lot of these women are in their late teens, maybe early twenties. Kingston once told me that you can usually spot an interested buyer by watching how closely they observe others. Pay attention to their body language as they track a young woman or, even more disturbing, little girls. As I attempt to do that, I think I spot one.
The man isn’t even that old—maybe thirty at best—but he’s giving off strange vibes. The redhead he’s talking to flattens her palm over his chest, before lifting up on her toes to whisper something in his ear. When he pulls back, he nods and watches her walk away. Another woman—this one blonde and closer to his age than mine—comes up to him with fire in her eyes.
I’m guessing this may be his wife or girlfriend who just happened to witness his interaction with the other woman. The man’s face flushes as she presumably rips him a new asshole before stomping off. With slight hesitation, looking down the hall the younger woman walked down just moments ago, he chases after the blonde. I look down the hallway and spot the redhead disappear behind some French doors. My gut’s telling me something’s not right. I need to make an excuse to step away so I can follow her.
“I need to pee real quick.”
“Okay,” Ainsley says.
“Hold on a sec,” Reed adds.
The man from the ballet school approaches us. “Miss Davenport, may I have another word? It’ll be brief; I promise.”
Reed looks back and forth between Ainsley and me.
“I’ll be fine,” I assure him, hitching a thumb over my shoulder. “I think the powder room is right there. I’ll only be gone a minute or two.”
Reed reluctantly allows Ainsley to pull him aside while talking to the man. I see him running his thumbs over his phone screen, probably texting Kingston, but I don’t waste any time hanging around. I head down the hallway and find the doorway the mysterious woman walked through. It leads to a small brick patio right off of a beautiful courtyard. I get a quick flash of her coppery hair as she disappears into what appears to be a large hedge maze.
I have a feeling I’m going to regret this, but that doesn’t stop me from going in after her.
CHAPTER EIGHT
JAZZ
Well, one thing’s for sure, this is definitely a maze. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve rounded a corner, and there’s no end in sight. I’m trailing behind the woman just enough to avoid being seen, but not too far where I could lose her. The outdoor lighting barely reaches this area, so the darkness helps conceal me, but I still need to move cautiously. Thankfully, whoever designed this thing thought to pave the path, so it’s easier to navigate in these damn heels I’m wearing.
My phone is vibrating like crazy in my purse, but I’m not going to risk pulling it out and scaring this chick off. I may have no clue where we’re heading, but she certainly does, and I intend to find out what’s at the end of this labyrinth. Just when I think this will go on forever, the hedges open up to a patio, like the one at the other end. Behind this one, though, is a small cottage. It seems rather odd to have your guests go through all that to get here, but what do I know? I suppose it would afford them privacy.
The woman walks through the front door without knocking, so I’m guessing she’s the person staying in the house. I turn around to begin the long trek back when a familiar voice catches my attention.
What the hell?
I whip my head around and see the redhead had left the door slightly ajar. I slowly
creep closer, my eyes darting back and forth to ensure the area is clear. I plaster my back against the stucco siding just to the right of the door and listen carefully. The unmistakable sounds of sex are echoing throughout, and if I had to guess, I’d say there’s more than a few bodies inside. It sounds exactly like what I heard outside of the boathouse by the lake.
What is it with these rich people and their orgies?
My ears perk up when I hear the voice that drew me here.
“What took you so long?” the woman asks.
I quickly peek through the crack, and sure enough, Madeline is standing right inside the door, talking to the auburn-haired girl. She’s wearing a short, bright red dress that hugs all her curves with a pair of skyscraper heels. I can’t hear the other woman’s reply over the grunts and groans behind her because she’s talking too quietly, but I do hear what my stepmother says next.
“If you want more, you know what you need to do to earn it.” Oh shit, she’s walking this way. “Were you raised in a fucking barn, Nadia? Close the damn door when you come in.”
I press a hand to my chest as Madeline slams the door shut, willing my racing heart to calm down. Fuck, that was too close. I stay crouched down and duck walk to the other side of the house. There’s a sliding glass door back here that allows me to see inside. I know it’s risky as fuck, but I need to know what the hell is going on in there. Group sex, obviously, but why is Madeline just standing there fully clothed? Staying as close to the exterior wall as possible, I approach the glass to get a better look.
I stifle a gasp when I catch my first glimpse. There aren’t many people inside, but it’s obvious why they’re there. I expected to see comfy furnishings, maybe a small kitchen like in Kingston’s house, but none of that is here. No, this place has one purpose and one purpose only, and I doubt there’s any sleeping or lounging around going on. Ever. The lighting is subdued, but still bright enough where I have a clear view of everything.