by Laura Lee
What the fuck is going on?
She’s obviously running, but why? Jazz is a smart girl, and her survival instincts are spot on. What could’ve possibly made her feel so desperate to do something so reckless? With no phone and no ride, she couldn’t have gone far. I stash her phone in my pocket, head back to my car, and dial Bentley as soon as I start the engine.
“Yo, bro, what’s up? You home from the party?”
“Is she with you?”
Bent’s silent for a moment, probably trying to figure out why I’m yelling at him. “Is who with me?”
“C’mon, man, don’t fuck with me. Is Jazz with you? Did she call you?”
“Dude. Back the fuck up. I thought Jazz went with you to the party. Why would she be with me?”
I grit my teeth. “She did. But Reed and my sister drove her home because I was held up with my dad. By the time I got to Jazz’s, she was gone, and I have no idea where she went.”
“So? Track her phone. Problem solved.”
I slam my hand on the steering wheel. “I can’t fucking track her phone because she intentionally left it in her bedroom. What does that tell you, Fitzgerald?”
“That she’s ghosting you.” He clears his throat. “What’d you do, dickhead?”
“I didn’t do anything!” I shout. “Well, not anything she could possibly know about, anyway.”
“What does that even mean?”
“Fuck!” I step on the gas as soon as I pull out of our gated community. “Are you home? We’re going hunting for feisty princesses. I’ll explain everything when I get there.”
“Word. Give me just a few, and I’ll meet you out front.” He belts out a laugh, although, for the life of me, I can’t figure out what he’d find so amusing. “Oh, and Davenport?”
“What?”
“You might want to rethink that little nickname you have for her. Because by the way she rules your ass, Jazz is a motherfucking queen.”
I grunt. “Just hurry up and get ready.”
I hang up the phone and continue the short drive to Bentley’s house, thinking about his parting comment the entire way. He’s not wrong—Jazz is a motherfucking queen. But he left out one very important distinction.
She’s my motherfucking queen.
***
“What are you going to do now?” Bentley unfastens his seat belt as I pull in front of his house.
We’ve been driving all over the place for the last three hours. Bent and I stopped at every nearby park and twenty-four-hour business in the area, which was limited to gas stations, a diner, and a pharmacy, but there was no sign of Jazz anywhere. Reed was stationed in front of Jazz’s house just in case she came home, and Ains hung out in my pool house in case Jazz showed up there. About fifteen minutes ago, Ainsley called to tell me that Jazz had reached out to her. Jazz blocked the number she was calling from, but she said she was safe for the night and that she’d talk to Ainsley tomorrow. My sister immediately relayed the message to me, so we’d call off the search.
The fact that I have no idea where she could be pisses me off. It makes me realize I don’t know much about Jazz’s life before she moved here. She’s never mentioned any friends from her old neighborhood, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t have any. Ainsley said Jazz and that dickhead ex of hers had a pretty friendly vibe—which that in itself really shakes up the hornet’s nest inside of me—but my sister doesn’t think Jazz was with him when she called.
Whatever Jazz said to her gave Ainsley the impression that she’s crashing in a hotel for the night, which marginally settles me. I don’t think Jazz would go through the trouble of contacting my sister, knowing she’d be worried about her if she wasn’t genuinely safe. I don’t understand why Jazz didn’t call me, though, and why she ran in the first place. It’s driving me nuts. Unfortunately, I don’t think I’ll get those answers until I corner Jazz, which I have every intention of doing later on this morning.
I rub at the knot forming in the back of my neck. “The one thing I’m sure of is that Jazz won’t miss spending the day with her sister. We pick her up at eleven every Sunday morning, so if Jazz doesn’t come home before then, I’m going to camp out in front of Belle’s house until she shows up there. One way or the other, I’ll get to her.”
“I hate saying this, but you know I’m gonna give it to you straight.”
I make a spit it out motion with my hand.
Bentley shrugs. “I think you fucked up... at the party, I mean.”
“How did I fuck up? I was doing exactly what we went there to do. And I made more progress in a couple of hours than I have in the last two years. My dad’s finally letting me in. He put a lot of trust in me by bringing me to that house.”
“I know that,” he assures me. “And that’s a really good thing. But the hooker part? Seriously, man?”
“I didn’t have a goddamn choice.” I blow out a breath. “If I didn’t accept his generous gift, as he called it, my dad would’ve known I was lying to him. It was his way of testing my loyalty to him, and I passed that test with flying colors. It had to be done, man.”
“Yeah, but what if Jazz finds out?”
“There’s nothing to find out,” I argue. “And even if there was, my dad or Madeline wouldn’t say shit because they’d have to explain their role in that whole situation.”
“I still think you need to come clean. Didn’t you two agree that you wouldn’t keep secrets from each other anymore?”
“She wouldn’t understand this.” I shake my head. “If I told Jazz, the only thing that would accomplish is hurting her, and she’s had more than enough pain over the last few months. I’m not going to add to it.”
“I think you’re making a mistake, man.”
“It’s my call to make. Stay out of it, Bent.”
“I care about her, too, you know. I have a right to be concerned.”
I scratch the light stubble forming over my jaw. “I know you do, but it’s still my call. Drop it.”
His brown eyes narrow. “I don’t get it. Wouldn’t you rather have Jazz hear about it from your point of view? It’s not like you—”
I hold a hand up, cutting him off. “I said, drop it. Unless you or Reed tell her—” I glare right back at him, “which neither of you will do—she won’t know. It’s better this way.”
Bent shakes his head. “I think you’re making a big mistake.”
“Yeah? Well, then I guess it’s my mistake to make, isn’t it? Since she’s my girlfriend.”
He frowns. “You’re a dick. You know that?”
I scoff. “Trust me, buddy. I’m well aware.”
CHAPTER TEN
JAZZ
“You sure about this, babe?”
I sigh and turn to Shawn. “I just told you about all the shit I’m dealing with. Why would you even question my need to protect myself?”
He sucks on his full bottom lip for a moment. “Who would’ve ever thought your life would be more dangerous moving out of the projects? If I didn’t know you so well, I’d swear you were making this shit up.”
I scoff. “My life has become a telenovela. Why would anyone make that shit up?”
Shawn’s lips twitch, probably remembering all the time we’ve spent bingeing Latinx soap operas on Netflix. We used to make fun of all the preposterous storylines, and now I’m living one. How’s that for irony?
He reaches over and fingers a lock of my hair. “I happen to have some fond memories involving those ridiculous shows.”
I suck in air when his eyes darken. More often than not, Shawn and I would only make it through half an episode before we’d wind up screwing on his bed. Chemistry was never a problem for us, and it’s clearly still not an issue for him, but I’m not on the same page. Hell, I’m not even in the same book.
Pushing his hand away, I say, “Shawn, don’t.”
“C’mon, Jasmine, forget about this crazy-ass plan of yours. Why don’t we turn around and go back to my place? You know I can make you feel
good.”
I undo my seat belt and pull the door handle. “Please don’t make me regret asking you for help. You’re the only person I have.”
Great, now he looks pissed. “You said it yourself. He cheated on you tonight. He’s probably been lying to you all along. That pretty boy doesn’t deserve you.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “That doesn’t make it hurt any less, and two wrongs don’t make a right, Shawn.”
“And you think meeting up with Tiny will make it right?”
“Nooooo. I think meeting up with Tiny will give me some reassurances that I desperately need right now. You’re the one who always preached about never relying on someone else to protect me. That if anyone ever comes at me, do what I need to do to save myself. This is me doing that.”
Shawn pulls his hat off and turns the brim backward before putting it back on. “I don’t fucking like this, Jazz.”
“Duly noted. But I’m still going in there.”
He curses. “If you insist on doing this, I’m not letting you walk away until I know for sure you can handle the damn thing. We’ll go to a range or something in the morning.”
“Can’t.” I shake my head. “Sundays are the only days I get to see Belle.”
“Well, then we’ll go Monday.”
“I have school on Monday.”
“You’re going back there? Seriously?”
I rub my temples. “I have to. You know I can’t walk away from this.”
“If something happens to you...”
“I can’t not try. Besides, something can happen to any one of us when we least expect it. My mom is a perfect example of that. She waited at that bus stop almost every damn day without incident for years. I bet she didn’t think she’d get caught in the middle of a drive-by on her way to work that morning and never make it home. I doubt anyone thinks that when they’re going through their regular a.m. routine.”
“I wouldn’t say nobody,” he argues.
I roll my eyes. “You know what I meant.”
Shawn grabs my arm to halt my progress when I try getting out of the car. “Hold up a second, a’ight? If we do this, you need to promise me that you’ll be careful.”
“I promise. You know I overthink almost everything. I’ll be safe.”
Shawn yanks the keys from the ignition with a nod, and we both make our way over to the worn-down apartment building. Shawn raps on the door in a one-two-one pattern. After listening to several locks disengaging, it swings open a moment later. The man filling the doorway is the exact opposite of small, which makes his nickname hilarious. Seriously. Dude’s six-and-a-half-feet tall and easily three-hundred pounds. To most, he’s a scary mofo, but to me, he’s just Shawn’s brother from another mother.
Tiny steps aside and flashes a toothy smile. “Damn, girl, you’re getting better with age.”
I smirk. “Thanks, Tiny.”
Shawn punches his arm. “Back the fuck off.”
His best friend takes a step back and holds his palms out. “Chill. Didn’t realize you two were a thing again.”
“We’re not.” I shake my head.
Shawn scowls at that, which makes Tiny laugh.
“So, to what do I owe the honor?” Tiny gestures for me to have a seat on the brown leather couch.
My ex-boyfriend takes a seat on the cushion beside me. “Jazz needs a piece. Something small and easy to handle, preferably.”
“You don’t say...” Tiny’s brows raise in surprise. “Someone giving you trouble, shorty?”
I nod. “You could say that.”
Tiny cracks his knuckles. “All right, then. Step into my office.”
He gestures for me to follow him into a bedroom. At first glance, it seems like a standard guest room/office combo. There’s a daybed against one wall, a small bookshelf, and a desk on the opposite wall. I’m confused as he pulls out the trundle under the bed until he reveals an army green storage container in the hollowed-out section of the mattress. Tiny fiddles with the lock before lifting the top off, revealing an assortment of handguns, neatly organized from largest to smallest. He picks up a little black one, checks the magazine, and hands it to me.
“These are all ghosts, so you don’t need to worry about anyone tracing it. This one has minimal recoil and great accuracy. The only real downfall is there are only six rounds, but it’s perfect for someone your size. I don’t usually sell ammo—don’t want to risk anyone turning a loaded weapon on me, ya know? But since I know you’re cool, I’ll hook you up. The State of California has really strict buying laws, so come see me when you need more.”
“I’d appreciate that.” I test the weight of the gun in my hand. “How much?”
Tiny rubs his chin. “Normally, I’d say six hundred, but you qualify for the family discount. Can you do four?”
I dig into my pocket and pull out the cash I brought with me. After this, I’ll only have one-hundred and forty-two dollars left to my name. I really need to get a job.
I peel off four Benjamins, which he stuffs in his pocket and begins the process of closing up shop. Once the bed no longer looks like an armory, Tiny turns around and places a small box of 9mm bullets in my hand.
“Be careful, girl. It was good to see you.”
“Thanks, Tiny. You, too.”
***
Shawn digs a rectangular tin out of his pocket and slides it open. “My shop got this awesome new strain from Colorado. It’s potent as fuck. The pre-rolls came in yesterday, so I grabbed a pack before they sold out. You wanna give it a try?”
Ah, the benefits of working at a dispensary. You get to sample all the best weed first.
“Why the hell not? It’ll probably help me sleep. There’s no way that’s happening naturally at the rate my brain’s running.”
“Hey, flower’s a-hundo-percent au naturel. Anyone who says otherwise is spreading fake news.”
I incline my head. “Touché.”
He lights the J as it hangs from his lips, permeating the air with a skunky smell. After taking a puff, he passes it over so I can do the same, then we repeat the process a few more times. Shawn offered his couch for the night, which I gladly accepted. By the time we left Tiny’s, it was already after midnight. Shawn’s place is less than a mile from my sister’s, so this makes it much easier for me to get to her in the morning. I’ll just have to take her somewhere we can get to by foot or bus and figure out how I’ll get home after.
“You really think this Ainsley chick has no clue?”
“I wouldn’t have called her if I didn’t. She’s a good friend and an even better person. I knew she’d be freaking out, and I didn’t want her to worry about me all night.” My head swims as the weed suddenly hits me. “Whoa, this is good shit.”
Shawn laughs before taking another hit. “It really is. You know my tolerance is through the roof, but this shit hits me a lot quicker than anything else I’ve tried.”
I get teary-eyed when his statement makes me think of Bentley. “Can I use your phone again?”
“Jazz. It’s after two.”
“I know.”
“I’m not giving you my phone so you can call that prick.”
“Not calling him.”
“Then, who?”
“Shawn.” I hold my hand out, palm up. “Please.”
When he hands the phone over—albeit reluctantly—I open the internet browser and log into my email account. I can’t remember who suggested this once, but ever since, whenever I store a new number into my phone, I always email myself a copy of the contact card and keep it in a saved folder. People rarely dial full phone numbers these days, which means they rarely have the chance to memorize them. This ensures I’ll never be without someone’s info if I lost my phone. Or you know, had to purposely leave it behind because someone installed a tracker on it.
I pull up Bentley’s number and dial it after masking the caller ID. Shawn gives me a weird look as I step out onto the back deck, but I don’t have the brainpower to figure him
out tonight.
“Hello?” Bentley’s voice is groggy like maybe I woke him up.
“Were you sleeping?”
I can hear him shifting. “Jazz? Where you at, baby? You okay?”
“I’m okay,” I assure him.
“Where are you?” His deep voice is more alert now. And harder.
“Remember when you promised you’d never lie to me again?”
He clears his throat. “Yeah, I remember.”
I lean against the metal railing, staring at a flickering streetlight. Shawn lives in a second-floor apartment, so I have a lovely view of the parking lot that belongs to the complex behind his. And a prostitute’s ass cheeks while she’s propositioning someone at the curb. Southern California has some breathtaking coastlines, but the so-called City of Angels definitely lives up to the term concrete jungle. It’s busy, loud, and bright, even in the middle of the night. I never minded it before, because it was all I ever knew, but living in the west hills these last few months has shown me something different. I’ve grown used to the quiet—the stillness.
“Jazzy? You still there?”
I shake out of my weed fog. “Sorry. Been smoking a little.”
“By yourself? Where are you, Jazz? You scared the shit out of us earlier.”
“My location doesn’t matter. I’m somewhere safe. Swear.”
He sighs heavily. “Why’d you leave, baby girl? What happened?”
“I think you know, Bentley.” I choke back a sob. “And I need you to be honest with me.”
“Are you crying? Tell me where you are, and I’ll come get you.”
I shake my head before realizing he can’t see me. “Tell me, Bentley. Please.”
He releases a pained groan. “You and Davenport really need to learn how to communicate better. It’d prevent a shit ton of problems. I don’t want to get in the middle of this, Jazz. I wouldn’t have to get in the middle of this if your stubborn asses would just talk to each other. C’mon, Jazzy, you know Kingston has a reason for everything he does. It may not always be the right thing, but he does genuinely believe it’s the best thing to do, whatever the circumstances.”