Wicked Liars: A High School Bully Romance (Windsor Academy Book 1)

by Laura Lee

  He nods, intuitively knowing how hard this is for me, but also how unbelievably happy I am. Could he possibly know what significance this place holds? He must, I decide. Kingston is obviously resourceful, not only finding out where my sister lives, but also making arrangements with her father, somehow convincing him to allow us to take her out for the afternoon. Why would this guy—one who’s proven to be self-serving since the day we met—go out of his way to do something so incredibly selfless and sweet? This is by far, the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.

  I keep my questions to myself for now and decide to enjoy the limited time I have with Belle. We walk throughout the park and play some of the boardwalk games. Kingston shows off his baller skills, winning a giant stuffed animal for Belle by sinking some baskets. We go on the shark head tilt-a-whirl ride that always makes me feel sick, but Belle loves it so much, I suffer through it. We gorge on soft pretzels, churros, and cotton candy, before grabbing burgers for dinner. We even go for a ride on the Ferris wheel, and I somehow manage to make it through without crying. Grabbing a few ice cream cones, we eat them while walking on the beach as the sun begins to set.

  Belle falls asleep on the ride home and remains asleep as I pull her out of the Range Rover. She wakes briefly when I kiss her on the forehead before handing her over to her dad. Kingston and Jerome exchange a few quiet words before Jerome takes my sister inside and we head back to the car.

  I lean my head against the window as we pull onto the road and start driving. When we stop at a red light, Kingston places his hand on the side of my face. I turn into his palm, pressing a soft kiss in the middle before looking up.

  “Thank you.” My voice is barely above a whisper, but I know he hears me.

  He swallows hard as his eyes search mine. The light turns green, so he turns his attention back to the road, breaking the spell. I return my focus back to the window when he doesn’t respond.

  I startle when he links his fingers with mine a moment later. “Thank you for allowing me to be a part of it.”

  I squeeze his hand and smile. For the first time in months, I feel genuinely happy and it’s all because Kingston Davenport does actually have a soul, and a damn fine one at that. Who would’ve thought?

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  KINGSTON

  “So... Jasmine... Belle... I’m sensing a theme.”

  Jazz’s smile grows. She hasn’t stopped smiling all afternoon. I wouldn’t think it was possible, but she’s even more beautiful when she does that.

  “Yeah, my mom had a thing for Disney princesses. Obviously.” She laughs. “Jasmine was her favorite princess. According to her, she took one look at me, and knew that I would be independent and a little rebellious, but also sweet and compassionate. All traits someone would use to describe my royal counterpart.”

  Also a perfect way to describe you.

  “For Belle,” she continues. “That was actually my favorite princess, which is how she got her name, but she’s actually lived up to it which is a little freaky when I think about it. My Belle is kind, imaginative, a little quirky, and the girl can spend hours in front of a book. We’ve spent a lot of time in the library.”

  “She’s a pretty great kid.”

  “She’s the best.” Jazz sighs before turning her gaze to me. “Can I ask you something?”

  “You can ask...can’t guarantee I’ll answer.”

  She shakes her head as she chuckles lightly. “How did you know? How did you find her?”

  “You’d be surprised how easily you can gather information on anything or anyone with enough money and the right connections.”

  Having a private investigator at your beck and call doesn’t hurt either.

  “God, our childhoods have been so different. I can’t fathom how easy things must have been for you.”

  My jaw clenches. “Just because I have money, doesn’t mean I’ve had it easy.”

  She looks away. “You’re right; I’m sorry. That was an ignorant assumption.”

  I raise my eyebrows, not used to someone so readily admitting any wrongdoing. “It’s all good. I’m sure I’ve made some assumptions about you that aren’t true either.”

  “Quite a few, I’m sure.” Jasmine laughs. “Can I ask you another question?”

  “Shoot.”

  “What’s the deal with Peyton?”

  Shit. I didn’t think she’d go there. “What do you mean?”

  “Like, what’s the deal with her dad? Her last name is Devereaux, right? But she calls herself a Callahan and according to Madeline, she and Charles married when Peyton was a baby and he’s raised her ever since.”

  I scoff. A series of nannies have raised Peyton. Neither Madeline nor Charles have any natural instincts when it comes to parenting. I suspect zero interest in the job as well.

  “Her dad died when she was a baby—maybe ten or eleven months old, I think.”

  “Oh.” Jazz nibbles her lip and if I weren’t driving right now, I’d be tempted to pull it free with my teeth. “So, if her dad is dead, why didn’t Charles adopt her and officially make her a Callahan? All three of them put a lot of importance on surnames, especially that name.”

  “It’s your name too, you know,” I remind her.

  “Ugh.” She throws her head back into the seat. “Not if I have anything to say about it. Do you know the bastard legally changed my name without asking how I felt about that?”

  “It doesn’t surprise me in the slightest. In case you haven’t noticed, Charles Callahan is rather full of himself.”

  “You can say that again,” she mutters. “Do you know why he never adopted her?”

  “I do, actually.” I glance at her out of the corner of my eye. “You ever hear of Devereaux Broadcasting?”

  She shakes her head.

  “It’s a giant European media conglomerate,” I explain. “The largest, in fact. Peyton’s birth father, Pierre Devereaux, owned it, and if she meets the stipulations of his will, she will become the sole heiress of the entire thing. It’s worth over twenty billion.”

  “Whoa. Do you know what she has to do to get it?”

  I nod. “It’s very specific. First and foremost, she has to retain the Devereaux name since she’s the last of the bloodline. Even if she marries.”

  “That’s weird.”

  I shrug. “It’s how it is in our world. Like you said, surnames are very important.”

  “So, that’s it? She just keeps her name and she gets billions? He didn’t leave anything to Madeline? Weren’t they married?”

  “They were, but she didn’t get a dime because they were married for less than five years.” I shake my head, wondering why the hell I’m volunteering all this information. I don’t normally offer intel to anyone outside a need to know basis. “Between you and me, that’s why Madeline sank her claws into your father. The woman is the textbook definition of a gold digger and unfortunately for her, Pierre’s will had that five-year clause. Charles and Madeline were married less than six months after Pierre passed. I’m pretty sure they were having an affair before he died, considering he lived in France while she and Peyton were in California.

  “As for Peyton, she needs to marry before her nineteenth birthday, and the marriage needs to be legitimate. Then, she needs to produce an heir by twenty-one and ensure that child—and any future heirs—bears the Devereaux name as well.”

  “Why so young? Was he aware we’re living in the twenty-first century?”

  “No idea. He was pretty eccentric from what I can tell.” I shift my car into park in front of her house. “He was also seventy-two years old when Peyton was born. The guy had a well-documented history of being a stereotypical playboy. I guess he was feeling his mortality and finally decided he’d get married and produce an heir with his pretty young wife before he kicked the bucket.”

  A crinkle forms between her brows. “Why do you know all of this?”

  Here’s where I decide whether or not to trust her. The only people who know a
bout this are Charles, Madeline, Peyton, me, and the guys. And Reed and Bentley aren’t supposed to know, nor do the others know they know. In order for Peyton’s marriage to appear legitimate, she needs to keep her mouth tightly closed about our agreement and the reason behind it. But if I do give Jasmine this piece of information, I’ll make great strides in earning her trust, which I need.

  I clear my throat. “If I tell you this, you cannot say a word. It’s serious shit.”

  “Serious like whatever’s going on between our fathers?” I nod. “I promise to keep my mouth shut. You can trust me, Kingston.”

  I blow out a big breath. “Because Peyton and I made a deal. I agreed to marry her and do whatever was necessary for her to collect her inheritance.” When Jazz’s jaw drops, I add, “But that deal’s off. I have no desire nor intention of ever being a part of her life again. I haven’t even fucked her in over six months.”

  “Why? And what were you set to gain from this deal you made, because I know you didn’t agree to it out of the goodness of your heart.”

  Fuck, she’s too perceptive for her own good. “That’s another one of those, I’ll tell you when the time is right things.”

  She sighs heavily. “I’m holding you to that, Davenport.”

  I nod toward the front door. “You should get inside.”

  Jasmine unfastens her seat belt and shifts toward me. “I know I said it earlier, but thank you again for today. I mean it, Kingston. I don’t know how you pulled it off, but that was everything my soul desperately needed and I couldn’t be more grateful.”

  Jazz licks her lips while staring at mine. It’d be so easy to lean over the console and close the gap between us. I bite my tongue, resisting the urge.

  I nod toward the front door again. “I’ll see you in the morning, okay? Pick you up at the same time?”

  She jumps out of the car and nods. “See you then. Goodnight.”

  I watch her in my rearview as I drive away. Jazz doesn’t make a move to go inside the house until I’m practically out of sight. It’s almost as if she’s reluctant to see me leave, which is exactly the reaction I was hoping for. Now I need to convince myself that I don’t feel the same way. I don’t know why the fuck this girl gets to me as much as she does, but I’m starting to hate it less and less, and that is crossing into very dangerous territory.

  “Fuck.” I press the voice command button on my phone. When it beeps, I say, “Call John P.”

  “Calling John P.,” Siri replies.

  “Davenport,” my PI says in greeting. “I’ve been waiting for your call.”

  “Did you get any hits?”

  John barks out a laugh. “Yeah, I got some hits. A lot of them, in fact.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  He clears his throat. “Well, first of all, I did confirm Mahalia Rivera was employed as a maid in the Callahan mansion. Everything seems legit on that end, but she was young—just turned eighteen when she started. The girl was born about six months later.”

  “Where was she before that?”

  “Foster system,” he says. “Abandoned as an infant. Bounced around a lot—never in the same home for more than a couple months. Was listed as a runaway for about four months before she aged out.”

  I stretch my neck from side to side. Well, that confirms my suspicions on how Jasmine’s mother came into Charles Callahan’s life. She would’ve been the perfect target—young, beautiful, no one to care about her whereabouts. I have no doubt she ran away to be with a man over twice her age who made a lot of promises he had no intention of keeping.

  “What else?”

  He clears his throat. “According to her tax records, she listed that same Hidden Hills address on her returns for three years straight. The next year, and every year thereafter, she used an address in south Los Angeles.”

  What the fuck?

  “She lived there for three years?”

  I wasn’t expecting that. That would mean Jasmine lived in that mansion during the first few years of her life. Peyton and Madeline would’ve also been there at that point. Madeline had to have known Jazz was Charles’s kid. There’s no way that woman would’ve permitted a maid to live there with a kid in tow. Knowing that, she’s also aware of her husband’s proclivity toward fucking teenagers. It makes me wonder what other information she’s privy to.

  “Yep,” John confirms. “Slightly over. And here’s the kicker: an affidavit of paternity was filed shortly before Rivera’s death. Callahan had his name added to the girl’s birth certificate.”

  Why the hell would he do that? Now I’m really fucking confused.

  I pull into my garage and shift into park. “Do you know the cause of death?”

  “Gunshot wound. Police are calling it a stray bullet from a drive-by. She was shot in the head while waiting at a bus stop one morning. Pronounced dead at the scene.”

  I scrub a hand over my face. “Fuck.”

  This conversation is triggering something in the back of my head, but I can’t put my finger on it.

  My head jerks up when it hits me. “John, I gotta go. I want a tail on Madeline Callahan.”

  “Am I supposed to be looking for anything in particular?”

  I shake my head. “I don’t know yet. I just want to know what she’s up to. Who she’s spending time with. Get back to me if you find something suspicious.”

  “Will do.”

  I end the call and rush through the property until I get to the pool house. I head into my closet and pull down some boxes from the top shelf. My dad’s second wife, bitch that she was, wanted no trace of Jennifer Davenport in the house. My dad would’ve been fine tossing everything into the garbage. Thankfully, my sister turned on the waterworks and begged him to let us sort through everything. Tough task for a pair of nine-year-olds, but that’s my dickheaded father for you.

  We donated most of our mom’s belongings but Ainsley kept all of the jewelry and the photo albums went into these boxes, which I’ve kept in my closet. Every once in a while, I’ll go through them, usually around the anniversary of her death when I’m feeling her loss even harder. I sit on the floor, flipping through one album after another until I get to the right age range. After a good thirty minutes, I finally find the picture I was thinking of.

  My mom is standing next to another woman who I now know is Mahalia Rivera. Jazz has a framed picture with her mom and sister on the desk in her bedroom. I had this weird déjà vu moment when I first saw it as I was snooping around, but I assumed it was simply because Jazz resembles her mother so much. In the photo I have, there are also three children. Me, Ainsley, and a little girl who has to be Jasmine. I once asked my dad who the other woman was and he simply said, “A friend of your mother’s.”

  Holy fuck.

  My sister and I used to play with Jazz. Is that why I feel so drawn to her? Because somehow, even though we were so young, my subconscious somehow remembers her? Right when I thought I had this situation with my father and Charles Callahan figured out, another wrench gets thrown into the mix.

  Could this shit get any more convoluted?

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  JAZZ

  I can’t stop thinking about my outing with Belle and Kingston yesterday. I smile fondly as I pick up the picture on my desk. Belle, our mom, and I are high above the ocean sitting in one of the cabs of the Pacific Park Ferris wheel. Every year on my birthday, we would spend the day on the Santa Monica Pier. It was our thing for as long as I can remember. We didn’t have much—hardly anything, really—but she’d work overtime just to get enough cash for a few unlimited ride bracelets followed by churros and ice cream.

  God, I miss her.

  What is Kingston up to? You can’t threaten somebody one minute then do the nicest thing possible for them the next. And what about all that information he divulged regarding his arrangement with Peyton? I know he’s trying to keep me from snooping around whatever our fathers are up to, but this seems a bit extreme. I know he has some sort of motive—
I’ll just have to keep my guard up until I figure out what that is.

  There’s a knock on my bedroom door right before Ms. Williams says, “Miss Jasmine, your presence is required in the dining room in exactly ten minutes.”

  What the hell? I usually don’t eat breakfast before school—maybe a quick apple if anything. Ms. Williams knows that. Plus, since I’ve been here, I haven’t seen anyone eating breakfast in the dining room on a school day.

  I open my door. “Why?”

  Ms. Williams frowns. “It’s not my place to question Mr. Callahan. All I know is that he has requested both yours and Peyton’s presence at breakfast this morning.”

  “Requested, as in, it’s optional?” I raise an eyebrow in challenge.

  Her eyes narrow. “No, young lady, it’s not optional.” She looks at the slim watch on her wrist. “You now have nine minutes, so I suggest you finish getting ready for school.”

  I sigh. “Fine. I’ll be there.”

  Ms. Williams nods and turns on her heel. I was ready before she knocked, so after quickly checking my reflection and grabbing my backpack, I head downstairs. Kingston will be here to pick me up soon so thankfully, I won’t have to suffer through sitting with those people for long. We haven’t shared a meal together since the night Kingston and his dad were here. It doesn’t seem to be a big thing in this household unless we have guests, which is perfectly fine with me.

  Charles is reading something on his iPad when I arrive. He looks up when I enter the room and sets the device on the table.

  “Jasmine.”

  “Morning,” I mumble as I take a seat at the opposite end of the table.

  A chill races down my spine when we make eye contact. He’s looking at me like he’s trying to read my mind. Does he know Kingston and I were spying on him the other night?

  Madeline and Peyton walk into the room, breaking our stare-off, and take their seats as well. Madeline sits next to my father and Peyton sits directly across from me, no doubt so she has a direct line of sight to glare at me.