by Laura Lee
It was dark out, and everything happened so fast that night, I never really took the time to examine her carefully. That's probably a good thing because the damage to her face alone made me want to murder the bastards that did this to her. I'm so fucking angry, but I do my best to school my expression. My teeth grind together as I wrap my hands around her hips and place her on the cushion beside me. I'm too agitated right now to have her sitting on me.
Jazz puts her shirt back into place. “So, what now?”
“Now, you tell me what happened in that forest. After that, we work together to take all of these bastards down.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
JAZZ
It was much easier opening up to Kingston about my attack after everything he disclosed about our parents. My earlier concerns about Kingston’s possible involvement faded entirely after seeing how passionate he is about taking our fathers down for their roles in hurting our moms. Not even the best actor in the world could fake that kind of conviction. After recapping everything those men said and did to me, along with everything I learned before that, I was exhausted, both physically and mentally. We decided to call it a night and agreed to discuss possible suspects in the morning. I agreed to stay over because it was so late, but I made it crystal clear Kingston and I would not be sleeping in the same room.
God, what am I going to do about him? Lying in Kingston's bed, surrounded by his sexy signature scent all night, was absolute torture. The ache between my legs that was ignited earlier in the evening intensified to an almost unbearable level. My hand slipped beneath the covers several times, intent on chasing a release before my brain kicked in. If I wasn't so tired, I probably would've kicked off the covers, marched into the other room, and begged Kingston to touch me. Again.
Damn it, I should've never kissed him, but we were arguing, which always gets me going for some sick reason, and he looked extra hot with his stupidly square jaw clenching half the time. Plus, he was wearing gray joggers, for fuck's sake! I'd have to be blind to miss the rather large dick print beneath that thin cotton. I shake my head, reminding myself now is not the time to think about dicks, especially Kingston’s.
Fucking gray sweatpants. Total thirst traps, every damn time.
I woke up shortly before dawn and couldn't fall back asleep, so I decided to take a long, hot shower. As I'm standing beneath the rainfall showerhead, I replay last night's conversation with Kingston in my head. He looked like he was about to kill someone when I told him what those bastards did and said to me. His fists were clenched so tightly, his knuckles were blanched, and his leg wouldn't stop bouncing. There was this crazy energy buzzing around him the whole time, but he barely said a word—just asked a clarifying question here and there. When I asked him if he was okay, he brushed it off like I imagined the whole thing.
I swear, that boy keeps such a tight leash on his emotions, he's bound to snap eventually. I thought he was about to blow last night. Oddly, when—not if—that happens, I don't believe his rage would ever be directed at me, so it's not as scary as it probably should be. I can't say the same for my assailants. Now, they should be terrified. I’d like to say I’d feel sorry for them if Kingston ever got a hold of them, but I can’t. I want them to suffer, and I've no doubt he'd do the job. What that says about me, I don't know. I've never been a big proponent of violence, but recent events have me seeing things through a different scope, I suppose.
After drying off and getting dressed, I tiptoe out into the main room to grab some water. I smile when I see Kingston sprawled out on the pull-out sofa, his arm thrown over his eyes to block out the sun. It’s risen just enough to slice through the windows across his face.
What the hell?
I move closer, careful not to wake him. Are my eyes playing tricks on me? Nope. Kingston definitely has a fat lip. I have to stifle a gasp when I see the nasty gash, with a little dried blood caked on it as if the cut reopened while he was asleep. What the heck happened? He was perfectly fine when I went to bed last night.
On instinct, I reach out to touch his lip but freeze when Kingston’s hand locks around my wrist. His eyes fly open, relaxing slightly when he sees me.
He releases my arm and rubs his eyes. “What are you doing? Are you okay?”
“Are you?” I counter, swiping my thumb to the right of his mouth. “What happened to your face?” Jesus, his knuckles are swollen, too. “And your hands?”
Kingston holds his hands out, looking at the cracked skin over his knuckles. “I’m fine.”
“Really? Kingston, I’m a girl. I know ‘fine’ never actually means fine.”
He rolls over, away from the light. “Can we do this later? I’m fucking tired.”
I sit on the edge of the mattress and pull on his shoulder. “Talk to me. When I went to bed, you were about to do the same. Did you decide to punch yourself in the face a few times beforehand?”
He grabs his phone off the pillow and groans when he sees the time. “Jazz, please. I’ve only been asleep for an hour. I need at least a few more to function.” He rolls toward me and tugs on my arm. “C’mon, just lie down with me for a bit. I’m too wiped to try anything dirty; I swear.”
Why is his sleepy voice so sexy? It’s all gravelly and extra deep. Against my better judgment, I slide onto the bed next to him and lie down. Kingston scoots closer until his body is molded around mine. I’d like to say I don’t wiggle my butt and press into him, but I’m only human so...whatever.
Kingston nuzzles the back of my neck. “You smell like me.”
“I used your shower gel,” I explain.
“Mmm. I like it.”
I stiffen when he grinds his massive erection between my butt cheeks. "Kingston..."
He groans. “It’s morning wood; it’ll go away eventually. Just ignore it.”
“Easy for you to say,” I mutter. “You’re not the one with a dick nestled in your ass.”
“Shh...” Kingston whispers. “Less talky, more sleepy.”
I sigh. “You’re impossible.”
“Sleep, Jazz.”
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Despite my earlier hesitancy, it’s hard not to relax in Kingston’s embrace. It’s way too comfy and the safest I’ve felt in a long time. Before I know it, I’m drifting off to dreamland.
A FEATHER-LIGHT TOUCH brushes my cheek. "Jazz, it's time to wake up."
I open my eyes, slowly blinking Kingston’s face into focus. “What time is it?”
“Just after ten.”
Damn. I slept for three hours.
I carefully sit up and swing my legs over the side of the mattress. “Did you just get up?”
“About twenty minutes ago. I let you sleep as long as I could, but we need to talk. I have a thing at one, so I’ll need to head out shortly after noon.”
I look over my shoulder as I help myself to a bottle of water from the fridge. “What thing?”
I notice his hair is damp, and he's wearing different clothes. His lip is still swollen, but the dried blood is gone. Kingston obviously showered in the short time he's been awake.
Kingston takes a seat at the breakfast bar directly across from me. “I’m meeting my P.I. He has some new surveillance equipment for me.”
“Why do you need new surveillance equipment?”
"We're going to monitor my dad's corporate office. His home office has been bugged for months, but it's given us nothing to work with. I need to monitor your dad's office as well, but I haven't found a way in without being detected." Kingston sits up straighter. "Wait a second...I just thought of something."
“What?”
“Peyton’s big birthday bash is coming up, right?”
I can feel the deep crease forming between my brows. “Yeah...and?”
“I need you to find out if Ms. Williams will be gone—if she’s actually leaving the house for once. Knowing Peyton, this party is going to be a rager. I doubt that stuffy-ass woman could tolerate that, but I need to know for sure.”
&nb
sp; “So you can get into my father’s office,” I surmise.
“Exactly. It’d be the perfect opportunity. There should be more than enough bodies where I could sneak off unnoticed. Actually, it’d probably be better if I did it before making an appearance. I’ll show up after the party’s been going for a while, maybe around ten or so, place the camera, and then show my face. But I need to know that old bat is out of the house for any of it to work.”
“What about Charles and Madeline?”
"I already know they'll be gone. Peyton's been planning this damn thing for over a year, so I've had the displeasure of listening to her ramble about it more than a few times."
“Fine. But I want something in return.”
“Name it.”
I pop an eyebrow. “Tell me what happened to you last night.”
Kingston’s jaw clenches. “I fight sometimes.”
I’m sure I look as confused as I feel. “I’m going to need you to elaborate on that.”
He blows out a breath. “Sometimes when I’m really pissed...I need to channel the aggression into something else. The only two things that seem to work are fucking and fighting. Since I don’t think the former is going to happen anytime soon, I chose the latter.”
“You can screw whoever you want, Kingston. Don’t let me stop you.”
Kingston's heated gaze travels the length of my body, and I've never felt more like a zebra in a lion's den than I do now. "I'm well aware of my options, Jazz. Just because I can fuck someone else, doesn’t mean I want to." He holds up his left hand. "If you're not on the table, then this'll have to do while I imagine it's your mouth."
Nope. Not going to think about Kingston touching himself. Or you know, sucking him off.
Damn it.
He smiles when heat rises to my face. “You okay there, Jazz? You’re looking a little flushed all of a sudden.”
I flip him off. “Bite me.”
“Name the time and place.”
I wave him off. “Stick to the subject. So, how does this thing work? Do you just go out and start a brawl?”
He motions for my water bottle, so I hand it to him. After taking a big gulp, he says, “There’s an underground ring in LA. A few, actually. I put some feelers out and got my name on a card.”
“An underground ring,” I repeat. “As in, illegal?”
Kingston shrugs. “It’s certainly not sanctioned by the UFC.”
I lean against the counter and cross my arms over my chest. “How often do you do this?”
He guzzles the remainder of my water. “I haven’t done it in almost two years, actually.”
Well, I wasn’t expecting that. “So, why now?”
“I couldn’t calm down after hearing your version of the events that night.” Kingston rakes his hands through his thick hair. “I couldn’t stop thinking about it, couldn’t get the images of finding you like that out of my head. Couldn’t stop feeling like the world’s biggest piece of shit for putting you in that situation in the first place. When I fight, all the chaos in my head is silenced.” He shrugs. “At least for a little while.”
I step forward and link his fingers through mine. “Kingston, I don’t blame you for what happened that night.”
I didn’t realize it until now, but I don’t. Not anymore.
He scoffs. “Well, you should.”
I shake my head. "If those guys were telling the truth about being hired—which at this point, I'm pretty sure they were—they would've gotten to me eventually. Maybe not that night, but soon after that."
Kingston’s grip tightens. “I’m going to fucking kill those bastards when I find out who they are.”
“Speaking of...where do we even begin?”
“If we can figure out who hired them, it’d be much easier to identify the henchmen. Process of elimination is a good start for that. The person behind it would’ve had to have been someone with the assets to pay for it.”
“That doesn’t exactly narrow it down now, does it?”
He thinks about that for a moment. “Yes...and no. Peyton is at the top of my suspect list—especially after she nearly claimed responsibility—but she doesn’t really have the money for that to make sense.”
“What do you mean? Isn’t she like, a mega-billionaire?”
“Technically, not until she gets her inheritance. Not a dime can be liquidated until all the terms are met. The only money she has right now is Daddy Callahan’s credit card. It’s not like she could pay for something like that with plastic.”
“Well, shit.”
“Yeah,” he agrees. “But...Peyton is resourceful when she wants something. She uses everything she has at her disposal to get it.”
“If she doesn’t have any actual cash, what’s left?”
“With Peyton...take your pick. She could blackmail someone, promise them favors. Offer her body. If she wants something—or someone—bad enough, nothing is off the table.”
My eyebrows rise. “You sound like you’re speaking from experience.”
Kingston shrugs. “I am. I’m just not dumb enough to fall for it. So, the next question is, if not Peyton, who else would want to hurt you? It has to be someone who knows you. Knows us. And they knew we’d be at the lake.”
“Wouldn’t that be the entire senior class?”
“Pretty much.” Kingston rubs his jaw, wincing when he gets to a discolored spot.
I reach out and brush my fingers against the slight bruising. “You okay?”
His signature, cocky smile comes into place. "You should see the other guy."
I roll my eyes. “Such a douchey thing to say.”
Kingston places his hand over mine before placing a soft kiss on my knuckles. “You hungry? We can grab a bite before we have to meet John.”
I smile. “Yeah, I could eat.”
He nods. “Then, what are we waiting for?”
CHAPTER TWELVE
JAZZ
“John Peterson, meet Jazz Rivera.”
John stands up and shakes my hand. “Jazz, it’s nice to finally meet you.”
“You, too.”
Kingston and I take a seat on the bench across from the private investigator. I thought meeting at Lake Hollywood Park was a rather odd choice for such a private matter, but now that I'm here, it makes sense. Sure, there are tons of people around, but they're all too busy taking selfies in front of the iconic sign or playing with their dogs to pay us any notice.
Everything about John is nondescript. From his name—if that’s even his real name—to his muddy brown hair, lean build, or the polo/chino combo he’s rocking. He’s not a bad looking guy per se—there’s just nothing about him that stands out. He’s completely forgettable, which I suppose comes in handy when you spy on people for a living.
John slides a small reusable grocery bag across the picnic table. “Everything we talked about is in there.”
Kingston takes the bag and briefly peeks inside. “Including the additional item for Callahan’s office?”
“Yep,” John confirms.
“Same installation instructions?”
John nods. “The main thing you need to worry about is choosing the correct device. The Callahan house and your father’s office have slightly different models. According to the intel you sent me, the equipment in that bag should be identical to the current models within each building.”
“Sounds simple enough,” Kingston says.
“I’m sorry, but what exactly are we talking about here?” I ask. “I feel like you’re talking in code.”
Kingston smiles and holds the bag open, so I can peek inside. "Smoke detectors. They're fully functioning—these just happen to have tiny cameras in them."
“Man, it’s kind of scary it’s this easy to spy on someone,” I muse.
John nods. “It is. That’s why I never travel without a detection device. You’d be surprised how many times I’ve found hidden cameras in hotel rooms.”
My jaw drops. “Seriously? What’s the point
in that?”
"Usually, it's your run-of-the-mill pervert hoping to engage in a little digital voyeurism." He shrugs.
“Gross.” I make a face, suddenly glad I’ve never had a reason to check into a hotel room before.
John checks his watch. “I need to head out. Do either of you have any questions?”
“Nope.” I shake my head.
“I’m good,” Kingston says at the same time.
Kingston waits for John to walk away before inclining his head to the sizeable grass-covered area. "Feel like walking around a bit?”
“Sure.” I grab the small bag and hitch it on my shoulder.
Kingston stands and offers his hand to help me up. I start to pull away once I’m standing, but he tightens his grip and starts walking, pulling me with him. I would’ve never pegged Kingston Davenport as a hand holder, but he likes to do it a lot. I decide not to fight him on it as we make our way across the grounds. We don’t go too far, and definitely not too fast, but the sun on my skin and the fresh air is nice after being cooped up indoors for so long.
Kingston pulls me to a stop before digging his phone out of his pocket. “Hold up a sec.”
My brows pinch together. “What’s wrong?”
He wraps one arm around my shoulder and uses the other to hold his phone out. Our faces appear on the screen with the Hollywood sign in the background.
“Really? You want to pretend we’re tourists?”
Kingston’s greenish-gold eyes sparkle with mirth. “Can you even say you’re from LA without a selfie in front of the Hollywood sign?”
“I wouldn’t think the great Kingston Davenport would give a shit about some old sign.”
“I don’t,” he agrees. “But I want a picture anyway, so shut the fuck up and smile at the camera.”
The camera clicks in rapid succession as I laugh.
Kingston scrolls through his photo reel and holds one out for me. “See? Perfect.”
In the shot, I’m facing him with my mouth open in laughter. Kingston’s eyes are directly on me, lit up with amusement but also...something else. If I didn’t know better, I’d say reverence, but that can’t be right.