by Laura Lee
“Like what?” I challenge.
“That part’s not important.” He shakes his head. “What is important is having as much information as possible so we can catch the guys who did this to you."
I rub my temples. “Kingston, if you want me to trust you, you’ve gotta give me something. You can’t keep withholding information from me. I need a show of good faith.”
“Jazz, like I told you before, I’m one of the few people you can trust. Why would I go out of my way to get you to a hospital if I wanted to hurt you?"
I know he has a point, but I’m getting so sick and tired of all this non-disclosure. This world—all these elitists—seems to be filled with nothing but secrets, lies, and cruelty.
“I appreciate what you did in that forest, Kingston. I really do. But I think my wariness is perfectly justified in this situation.”
He studies me for a moment. "Fine, I'll give you something. I saw the police report, but I know you didn’t tell them everything. What are you hiding, Jazz?”
I raise my brows. “How did you get a copy of the police report?”
“With those resources I mentioned earlier. Now, tell me what happened from your point of view. What didn’t you tell the police?”
“Nuh-uh. You first. Explain that conversation we overheard.” I glance in Bentley’s direction. “Do you know what I’m referring to?”
He and Kingston share a loaded look before Bentley gives me a single nod in reply.
Kingston shakes his head. “That isn’t something that I can just spit out, Jazz!”
“Why the hell not? Bentley knows!”
His jaw tics. “Because Bentley’s been with me every step of the way! It’s a lot of information that isn’t easy to swallow, especially for you. Ask me something else. Anything else.”
“Why did you have Bentley take me so far away from the house? What was so special about that spot?”
Kingston runs a hand through his hair, making it stand on end. “It was the closest dock to the house, not counting the one that leads to the boathouse. I’m not sure if you noticed, but I had a small speedboat tethered to it. I was planning to take you out on the water.”
“Why not use the dock connected to the boathouse?”
He gives me a look as if I’m being dense. “Because the clearing under the dock leading up to the house is less than two feet at the deepest end. There’s a slip on the front end of the house, but you can only get to it from inside the house. I didn’t think you’d appreciate being dragged through an orgy, so I had my guy move it before anyone arrived.”
“Your guy?”
“I have someone who runs errands and shit for me when I don’t have time.” Kingston shrugs.
“Like a gopher?”
He gives me a wry look. “Call him what you want, but I think of him more as a personal assistant.”
What eighteen-year-old—who isn’t in Hollywood—needs an assistant? Kingston Davenport, apparently.
“Unbelievable,” I mutter. “Is this assistant one of your resources? Is he the guy you hired to look into my attack?”
He shakes his head. "I know a private investigator. He has a lot of contacts—in and out of law enforcement, hence the police report. This guy has a knack for getting information most people wouldn't have access to, including the cops."
I fold my arms over my chest. “And how exactly does he accomplish that?”
Kingston smirks. “I tend not to ask those questions. Plausible deniability and all that.”
I pop an eyebrow. “In other words, this P.I. of yours obtains information through illegal means.”
“I’m sure some of his methods are perfectly legal,” Kingston argues. “Either way, it’s his job to worry about how he gets the information. It’s my job to pay him an obscene amount of money for that information.”
“Why do you know a P.I., anyway?”
“Because information is power,” he says matter-of-factly.
“Information about this thing you’re keeping from me?”
“Among other things.” He bites his lip, looking contemplative. “Can I say something?”
I take a deep breath and let it out. “Go ahead.”
“I can’t get the image of you lying on the ground, beaten and bloody out of my head. I can’t stop imagining all the horrendous possibilities of what you went through. It’s all I think about, day and night. It’s fucking eating me alive, Jazz—all these what-ifs. I need to know what really happened.”
My head snaps up when he barely chokes out that last sentence. The commanding tone I've come to associate with Kingston Davenport is nowhere to be found. His voice is shaky, unsure. My chest aches when I hear the agony bleeding through his words. I know it costs him a lot to have this conversation in front of Bentley. As close as these two are, I don't get the impression they like showing vulnerability to anyone.
I think about Bentley asking me whether or not I was raped. How relieved he was when I refuted it. The last time I saw Bent was before my attack, so the only way he could’ve known it was a possibility was if Kingston had mentioned it. Is that what Kingston is so worried about? Does he think I lied to cops about it for some reason? The way he’s looking at me right now—waiting on bated breath—tells me it might be.
“Tell him, baby girl,” Bentley says softly. “He needs to know.”
“I wasn’t raped.”
Kingston closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths, muttering something under his breath. When he opens them again, he asks, “What did happen?”
"Everything that's on the report is what actually happened, Kingston. I didn't lie about anything if that's what you're thinking. I just didn't give them all the information.”
Kingston frowns. “So, what—”
I hold my hand up. "It's late, and I'm fucking exhausted. I'd really like to go back to sleep now."
Bentley kisses me on the cheek and gets off the bed. “I guess that’s my cue to bounce. Text if you need anything.”
“Thanks, Bentley.”
Bentley pauses in the doorway. “You coming, man?”
Kingston barely spares him a glance. “In a minute.”
Bentley nods. “I’ll wait out front. We need to talk. Bye, Jazzy Jazz.”
Kingston waits until Bentley shuts the door behind him before speaking again. “Why are you hiding something from me? Withholding vital information could prevent us from catching the fuckheads who did this to you.”
Because I can’t ignore the doubt those men have instilled in me. If I tell you what they said, I have to face the fact that it might be true.
I try shaking off the memory, but it doesn’t work.
Your precious boyfriend doesn't give a shit about you...sweet-talking you out of your panties was all part of the plan.
I suppress a shiver. "I don't think it's relevant information. I just spoke with the detective this afternoon. The police are actively working the case. I'm sure they'll figure it out."
“Oh, really? And how many leads do they have so far?”
I bite my bottom lip. “Well, none. Yet. But you already know that, don’t you?”
“C’mon, Jazz. Deep down, you know you can trust me. You know I can help. You don’t have to do this alone.”
He seems so sincere, and I desperately want to believe this man had nothing to do with my attack, but I’m scared. I don’t ever want to be that vulnerable again, and Kingston Davenport is probably the one person on Earth who has the power to obliterate every one of my walls.
“Kingston...” I rub at the kink in my neck. “I need more time to process my thoughts.”
His Cavill-esque jaw tics as he considers that for a few moments. “How was your follow up with the doctor this morning?”
I blink rapidly from the sudden change in topic. “How did you know I had a doctor’s appointment this morning?”
He gives me a wry look. “Really?”
I shake my head. “Ah, your stalker tendencies. How could I forget?”
“I’m not stalking you; I’m trying to keep you safe.”
I raise my brows. “Sounds like something a stalkery stalker would say.”
His eyes narrow. “Can you be serious for a minute?”
"Who says I'm not serious?"
“Christ, Jazz!” He scrubs a hand over his face. “I’m not the goddamn enemy! Quick picking stupid fights with me and just answer the damn question.”
Is that what I’m doing? Ah, crap.
“Fine. The stitches came out, which was a relief because they itched like crazy. My wrist is healing well. I go back in a week, and the doctor said if all goes according to plan, he'll clear me to return to school then." I cross my arms. "Anything else you'd like to say before you G-T-F-O?"
His hazel eyes narrow. “I really don’t like you staying here.”
I prop a hand on my hip. “As I’ve already told you, I have nowhere else to go. I’m not crashing at your place, Kingston.”
He releases a heavy sigh. "I'm coming back in the morning, and we are going to talk about this some more.”
“You have classes in the morning.”
He lifts an eyebrow in challenge. “I don’t give a fuck.”
“Haven’t you missed enough school lately?”
“So have you.”
I huff. “I’m not going to have your inability to graduate on my conscience.”
Kingston gives me a smug look. “I have a 4.3 GPA and got a 1560 on my SATs. I think I’ll be fine.”
I knew he was smart, but damn. Kingston smirks as he stands, and the sight of it makes my lady bits take notice. Nope, not going there.
I sigh. “Are you ready to stop hiding what you know? One hundred percent full disclosure?”
Kingston opens my bedroom door. “If that’s what you need, then that’s what I’ll do.”
“Just...give me a week. If the police don’t have a suspect by then, I’ll tell you everything.”
Hopefully, by then, I'll have the guts to tell him.
His lips thin. “Fine. A week max. Then all bets are off.”
I don’t even get the chance to reply before he’s out the door.
CHAPTER SEVEN
KINGSTON
Peyton’s waiting for me at the end of the hallway. Unless I want to shove her down the entire flight of stairs, I have to indulge whatever bullshit she’s about to spew. As tempting as pushing her is, I don’t feel like going to jail today. Or ever, for that matter.
“How’s Jasmine?”
My eyebrows raise. “Do you really care?”
Her glossy pink lips turn up in the corners. “Not really.”
“Then why’d you ask, Peyton? I don’t have time for this.”
“Just curious.” She shrugs, trying to project indifference, but I’m not buying it. “So...my birthday is in two weeks. It falls on a Saturday this year.”
“And?”
“And I'm having a party, remember? I mean, duh, of course, you do. It's my big one-eight. I've been planning it, like, literally forever.”
“Get to the fucking point.”
Peyton twirls a strand of long, blonde hair around her index finger. “I just wanted to make sure you knew you’re still invited. What better time to put all this drama behind us and formally announce we’re back together?”
This bitch is even more delusional than I thought. “Not interested.” I try stepping past her, but she blocks me.
Her blue eyes narrow into slits. “Kingston, think very carefully about this. You have one last chance.”
“One last chance for what?”
Her nose turns up. “To apologize for your behavior. To beg for my forgiveness. To put all this nonsense with that crack whore in the past.”
My molars grind together. “Move, Peyton.”
“You’re going to regret this, Kingston.”
I step forward and get right in her face. “The only thing I regret is every minute I ever spent with you. Now, fucking move before I make you move.”
“You’re an asshole!”
I scoff. “That’s hardly news. Final warning, Peyton. Move.”
Peyton shifts her body so I can pass, but she’s still close enough that her tits rub against my arm as I walk by. That stunt is no doubt, intentional on her end, and annoying as fuck on mine. I’m beginning to think she’ll never get the hint. It’s not like I’ve been subtle about the fact that I despise her.
“Just remember that whatever happens from this point, is your fault, Kingston. You asked for this! What happened to Jasmine at the lake is nothing compared to what will happen if you continue pushing me away.”
I stop halfway down the stairs and turn around. “You have something to confess, Peyton?”
I'd suspected Peyton hired someone to attack Jazz from the start, but I didn't think she was stupid enough to admit it.
She folds her arms across her chest. “I suppose we’ll see now, won’t we?”
I laugh. "Wow...you're even dumber than I thought if you think I'll respond to one of your threats. Keep in mind, whatever you may throw at me—or anyone I care about—my retribution will always be ten times worse. Do your worst, Peyton. I’d love to watch you squirm when it’s time for payback.”
I’m fairly certain her cheeks have paled, but she’s wearing too much makeup for me to know for sure. “You don’t scare me.”
I continue my trek down the stairs without looking back. “We’ll see about that.”
Peyton releases a shrill scream as I make my way out the front door. Bentley’s leaning against his car, waiting for me.
“Was that Peyton screeching like a banshee?” He jerks his chin toward the house.
“Yep. She’s being especially extra today.” I pull my phone out of my pocket and text my P.I., telling him to add a tail to Peyton as well. He’s already watching her mom but hasn’t come across anything suspicious yet. “What’d you want to talk about?”
“Do you really need to ask?”
My jaw clenches as I flip the door open on my Agera. It fucking pisses me off that Jazz can so readily trust this joker’s ass but not me. “What about her?”
“She gonna be okay in that house?
I rub a hand over my jaw. “I don’t like it—the Callahans are high on my list of suspects. But Jazz is a stubborn shit, so I'm paying Frank to keep an eye on her until I can convince her to stay with me. He can't be with her all the time, but it's better than nothing." I'm careful to speak low enough, so we can't be overheard.
He raises an eyebrow. “Frank? As in, the driver?”
“He used to be a bodyguard for some of Hollywood’s elite, so he has the skills I need.”
"No, shit?" Bentley muses. "I guess that explains why he's built like a tank. Why'd he switch careers?"
I shrug. "He became a dad a couple of years ago. The kid lives with his mom, but Frank has regular visitation. If I had to guess, I'd say he wanted a job that didn't require so much travel or carry so much risk."
“Makes sense,” Bentley agrees. “How do you know all this?”
“How do you think?”
He rolls his eyes. “Right. Sometimes I forget about all the people you have on payroll.”
“I don’t have that luxury,” I mutter. “You hungry? I could go for a burger.”
“Bruh, you should know by now that I’ll never turn down a burger.”
“In-N-Out?”
Bentley opens the door to his Porsche and slides in the driver’s seat. “Was that a real question?”
I laugh. “Not really. I’ll meet you there.”
He gives me a smartass salute before shifting into gear and pulling away. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, so I glance up, and sure enough, I spot Jazz leaning against her bedroom window, looking down at me. We have one of our strange silent conversations where my eyes say that I'm not giving up until she gives in. Her eyes are telling me she's going to make me work for it. I smirk as I get into my car and push the ignition button.
Br
ing it on, baby.
“HOW’S JAZZ?” AINSLEY asks.
“Okay, all things considered.”
“I can’t believe you went over there after she specifically asked you not to. You’re such a jerk.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
Ainsley shoves a few fries into her mouth and chews them before speaking again. "Thanks for the food. Rehearsal was intense tonight. I'm starving, and I really didn't feel like waiting for delivery."
Our dad, the cheap bastard that he is, excuses the entire staff whenever he leaves town. I rarely eat in the main house, so I'm used to fending for myself, but Ainsley isn't. If our chef, Luis, has the day off, she usually orders takeout or is here, mooching off me. She's the reason I have so much damn chick food in my fridge.
“You know I’ll always take care of you, baby sis.” I pull her into a headlock and mess up her hair to punctuate my statement.
“Ugh! Get off me, dickface!”
I laugh as she tries—unsuccessfully, I might add—smoothing down her hair. “You love it when I fuck with you.”
“No, I don’t. Don’t make me sic Reed on you.”
“Don’t even get me started on that nonsense.”
Ainsley narrows her eyes. “What nonsense?”
“You and Reed,” I clarify. “I don’t like it.”
When one of my closest friends told me he wanted to date my sister, let's say I wasn't very gracious about it. Unfortunately, my twin doesn't really give a shit what I think, and Reed is so goddamn enamored with her, he doesn't either. They're just lucky I have plenty of other things to worry about, so I'm not fighting them. But if he winds up hurting her, best friend or not, I'm going to beat his ass.
“I don’t really care.” Ainsley turns up her pert nose. “Besides...technically, there is no me and Reed. Yet.”
Well, that’s news to me. You’d never know it by how often they’re making fuck-me eyes at each other.
“Explain.”
She shrugs. “Don’t get your hopes up. There will be a me and Reed. We just haven’t had any formal discussions or...you know, screwed each other’s brains out, to make it official yet.”
“Oh, Christ,” I gag. “I do not want to hear about your sex life, Ains. Especially when Reed is involved.”