by Laura Lee
He takes a stick of clear deodorant and runs it over the place we agreed on before grabbing the transfer paper and holding it against my arm for a few seconds. Kai inspects his work after peeling back the paper before turning my arm so I can see it.
“That look okay to you?” he asks.
I take in the small flower running about two inches down the side of my forearm, starting right below my wrist. “It’s perfect.”
Ainsley stretches her neck so she can see. “A flower? That’s really pretty.”
“Not just a flower,” I correct. “It’s a jasmine flower.”
Ainsley giggles. “In case you get drunk and forget your name?”
I give her a head shake. “No, smartass. It was my mom’s favorite. She used to call me her sweet flower all the time. Plus, it's the Philippines' official flower, so it's in homage to our heritage."
She gives me a closed-mouth smile. “I love it, Jazz. It’s perfect.”
“Thank you.”
Malakai grabs his gun and sets my arm back on the stool. “You ready? It’s going to pinch at first—especially near the wrist since that’s one of the more sensitive spots.”
“Sure, now you tell me,” I grumble.
He laughs. “Regardless, I need you to remain as still as possible unless you want me to fuck this up.”
I take a deep breath and let it out. “Let’s do this.”
Kai nods and gets to work. He’s right; the needles do pinch at first, but I adjust pretty quickly as he outlines the flower. The pain isn’t nearly as bad as I was expecting. Maybe my threshold went up after recent...events.
“Smile!” Ainsley holds her phone out to take a selfie of us.
I comply and wait for her to take the shot before speaking. “What’s that for?”
“Girl, we’re making memories here.” Ainsley turns her phone to face me, showing me her Instagram page. “I had to post it on Insta. I figured Malakai wouldn’t mind me tagging the shop, right?”
“Free publicity is always good publicity, baby,” Kai agrees. “Even better if two beautiful ladies such as yourselves are promoting the shop.”
I roll my eyes. “You do remember she’s taken, right? And don’t you think you’re a little old?”
Kai laughs. “First of all, I’m twenty-four. That’s not old. Secondly, who says Ainsley’s the one I’m trying to charm?”
“Well, it sure as hell isn’t me.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Why not?”
“Uh, because I dated your brother.”
"So?" He shrugs. "I have eyes, and you're no longer jailbait. What's the problem? Are you taken, too?"
I pull my lower lip between my teeth. “Um...it’s complicated.”
Ainsley’s phone pings with a text alert, and she laughs. “Speaking of the complication...his ears must've been burning. Or, more likely, he just saw my post." She runs her thumbs over the screen, presumably replying to her brother's message. "Ooh, somebody's cranky."
Kai’s full lips quirk as he works on shading in the leaves. “Damn, that sounds like a story I need to hear.”
“Maybe another ti—”
The bell over the front door rings, causing the three of us to look up.
Shit.
“Whose sweet ride is that out front?” the man asks.
Ainsley’s eyes widen, obviously knowing who the newcomer is based on his resemblance to his brother. It takes him a moment, but as soon as Shawn’s eyes land on me, his jaw drops.
“Jazz. What are you doing here?”
I gesture to my arm. “What people come here to do.”
Shawn eats up the distance between us in a few strides and checks out my ink in progress. “Nice. It suits you.”
“Thanks,” I mumble.
“Isn’t that the same design Kai sketched out a while back?”
I nod. “Yeah, it is.”
Neither one of us says a word for a good minute. Jesus, this is awkward. What’s the protocol here? This is the guy I lost my virginity to. Is this what it always feels like when you run into an ex? Am I supposed to pretend like the boy’s never been inside me? Oddly, I can’t even recall what sex with Shawn felt like, which helps, but I can’t deny that it happened. Many times.
He makes eye contact with Ainsley. “I’m Shawn. You a friend of Jazz’s?”
“The bestest,” she replies. “And you’re the ex.”
Shawn gets a shit-eating grin on his face. “She’s mentioned me, huh? All good things, I’m sure.”
Ainsley lifts her eyebrows. “Something like that.”
“What are you doing here?” Kai asks his brother.
“I just got off work,” Shawn replies. “Came to see if you wanted to grab a bite.”
“As you can see, I’m with a client.”
Shawn pulls up a chair and takes a seat next to Malakai. “It’s all good. I don’t mind waiting.” His eyes roam my face and venture south, lingering on my chest. “Can’t beat the view. Damn, Jazz, you’re a sight for sore eyes. I almost forgot how fine you are.”
“Thanks. I think.”
“How’ve you been, baby?”
I glare. “I’m not your baby.”
Shawn holds his hands up, his whiskey eyes twinkling in amusement. “So, it’s like that, huh? It’s nice to see you still got that sexy attitude. You know it just gets me hot when you’re like this.”
“A slight breeze would get you hot,” I counter.
“Why you gotta be like that, baby? You broke up with me, remember? And from what I recall, it didn’t take much to get you going either.” He emphasizes his statement with a wink.
“Okay, man, you’ve made your point,” Malakai says. “Quit making the woman uncomfortable, or take your ass outside.”
Shawn ducks his head to meet my eyes. "C'mon, Jasmine. You know I'm playin'. Look, I'm sorry, a'ight? Is that what you want to hear? We were friends once, you know. No reason we can't be that way again." He sticks out his lower lip in an exaggerated pout. I try not to smile because he looks so ridiculous, but I fail. "C'mon, baby. Will you please be my friend? When you’re done here, we can grab some of those quesadillas you love from Keith’s food truck. My treat—think of it as a peace offering.”
Damn him. He knows I can’t resist a quesadilla from Keith’s. And as much as I hate to admit it, he’s right. We were friends for a long time before we started sleeping together. Shawn knew me better than almost anyone. It was always so easy to be around him. I guess I don’t see the harm in hanging out for a little while, especially with Ainsley and Kai tagging along.
I look to Ainsley, and she nods in approval. "Fine. But I want a quesadilla and some tacos.”
Shawn’s smile stretches from ear to ear. “Deal.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
KINGSTON
It’s driving me crazy Jazz and Ainsley are in Southern LA right now. I was tempted to drive down there, but knowing Jazz, she’d have my balls, and it’d do more harm than good. She’s just starting to let me back in, and I can’t fuck that up. I have to keep reminding myself Jazz knows that area better than I can ever hope to, and she’d never put my sister in danger.
But still, why did they go all the way down there for a tattoo? And when did Jazz even decide to get one in the first place? I can’t say the thought of her with some ink isn’t hot, but I don’t like being caught off guard like this. Not with everything so up in the air.
Also, who the fuck are those guys? I know one of them is the artist because he held a tattoo gun in the first picture Ainsley posted. But why are all four of them hanging out at a fucking taco truck together? I don't like the way the second guy looks at Jazz. His eyes are glued to her in every single shot like he can't possibly force himself to look away. I pull up Ainsley's latest post, and sure enough, the fuck nugget is still undressing Jazz with his eyes. Aw, hell. I know that look. That dick knows what’s under her clothing, no doubt. My sister actually tagged both guys in this one, so I do the only thing someone in my situation would
do: I stalk that fucker’s page.
Two seconds into scanning Shawn Cooper’s photos, I really wish I hadn’t. He’s been posting his own pics tonight, but his shots only include him and Jazz. The first caption said, “Eating my favorite tacos with my favorite girl.” As if that wasn’t bad enough, Jazz is snuggled into his side with a huge smile on her face. I don’t have to go too far into this asshole’s feed to find a lot more pictures of the two of them from several months back. In well over half of them, that motherfucker has his lips on Jazz, or his limbs are wrapped around her like a goddamn octopus. It's obvious these two have history, and I don't like it one bit. Even though she's not big on social media, I check Jazz's page while I'm at it, but there haven't been any recent posts.
I knew Jazz wasn’t a virgin before we met, but knowing she fucked someone else and seeing who she fucked are two entirely different things. Yes, I'm hypocritical considering Jazz has to live with a girl I screwed countless times and said girl likes to rub it in, but that fact does fuck-all for my rage right now. I'm clenching my phone so tightly, I'm honestly surprised it hasn't cracked in half. It's bad enough I have to deal with the Bentley situation, but now I have to worry about an overly friendly ex?
This jealousy crap is all so new to me, I don’t know what to do with it. I swear to Christ, my sister chronicled their entire night on her Instagram page just to fuck with me. She knows damn well I’d be driving myself crazy.
I fist my hair as I pace back and forth. “Fuck!”
My phone starts buzzing, so I look down and see my P.I. is calling.
“What?”
“Did I catch you at a bad time?”
I shake my head even though he can’t see me. “No. What’s up, John?”
“Following Madeline Callahan has finally produced something,” he says.
I take a seat on the couch, adjusting the phone against my ear. “What’d you get?”
“She’s been to the same location in the financial district several times over the last few weeks, but it’s a condo building, so I had no way of knowing who she was visiting. On average, she stays for one or two hours before leaving and driving straight home.”
“Okay...and?”
"And...I managed to slip past the doorman the other day, and Madeline and I happened to share an elevator up to the twentieth floor. She went left while I went right, but I hung back long enough to see which door she ducked into. Take a guess who's on the deed for unit twenty-ten."
“I have no fucking clue, John. Just tell me.”
I can practically hear his smile over the phone line. “It’s owned by none other than Davenport Boating Incorporated.”
“Is this building on Wilshire?”
“It sure is,” he confirms.
“That’s my dad’s corporate apartment. It’s supposed to serve as a place to stay for any big dollar clients or vendors that come into town, but I’m pretty sure my dad uses it as his own personal fuck pad.”
"I would say your assumptions are correct based on what I just saw while reviewing the feed. I would also say it's fair to assume he's screwing Mrs. Callahan regularly."
Holy fuck.
“Wait a sec...what feed?”
"Luckily, I had a small camera on me when I followed her into the building. Never leave home without one, right? Anyway, I placed it on a light fixture on the opposite wall, aiming it at twenty-ten's door. I reviewed the feed just now and saw Madeline Callahan leaving the apartment, but not before giving your father a very friendly goodbye kiss. And when I say friendly, I mean they were shoving their tongues down each other's throats, and he was palming her ass."
Gross. I could’ve gone my whole life without that visual.
I shake the thought out of my head. "Sadly, I can't say I'm surprised, but this could be a good thing."
“How so?”
"Charles Callahan and my father have the same antiquated ideal on how a wife should behave. According to them, two of the biggest offenses a wife can commit is not spreading her legs when her husband wants to bust a nut or adultery. They're both grounds for some serious consequences. Hell, my dad is currently filing for divorce from his fourth wife because Vanessa decided that if he can cheat on her, she can do the same to him. If Madeline is fucking my father, I can guarantee Charles doesn't know about it. And when he finds out, shit's going to hit the fan."
“So, what do you want to do?”
I think about it for a moment. “Let’s hang back and watch for a while. It’s in our best interest to keep Charles in the dark for now, but compile any footage of them in compromising positions for when the time is right. I can't have any dissension between them if I have any chance of getting into the fold. I'm too close."
“You got it.”
“What about Peyton?” I ask. “Anything on her yet?”
“Nothing that stands out. Basic rich teenage girl routine—the four S’s: school, shopping, spas, or socializing. She’s been spending more time at the Gale residence lately, but you already know the reason behind that.”
“Right.” I nod. “Keep an eye on her. Any news from your contact in the police department?”
John clears his throat. “This isn’t official yet, but they’re stopping the investigation unless somebody comes forward with new information. They claim they’ve hit a dead end.”
“How can that be?” I comb a hand through my hair. “I know it’s a small town department, but how could they still have found nothing? It’s been five weeks.”
"According to my source, the report will state they've exhausted all their resources and have insufficient evidence. They're saying the elements likely didn't help. With the leaves falling and the heavy showers that rolled up on the mountain, anything useful was likely washed away. Since Jazz never told the cops the perpetrators mentioned having an employer, they've nowhere else to look."
“Fuck.” I take a few deep breaths, trying to calm myself. “Where do we go from here? Do you think she should tell them about the employer thing?”
“No, I don’t. I think she should let them close it.”
“Why the fuck would she do that?”
John sighs audibly. “Because they’re covering something up. My source was personally present when they combed the scene. They found two sets of fresh footprints heading away from the scene, both of which appeared to be male, based on the size and shape of their shoes. Photos and soil evidence were collected. Somewhere along the way, they magically disappeared.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mutter.
“Afraid not. When my source questioned it, her supervisor feigned complete ignorance—said she must have been mistaken. The only prints or DNA evidence they have on record belong to you and Jasmine.” John clears his throat. “Somebody with money and influence is definitely involved, Kingston. Who do you know that fits that description?”
“Fuck.” I scrub my hand down my face. “You think my father or Callahan hired those men?”
"It's possible. At the very least, I think one of them knows who did, and they're helping cover it up."
“So, what the hell do we do?”
"The best thing you can do right now is continue acting normal. The same goes for Jasmine. Go to school, go to parties, and whatever else you did before she was assaulted. Don't raise suspicion, but keep your eyes and ears open. If these people think they got away with it, they'll get cocky, which causes people to get sloppy. In my professional opinion, it's your best shot."
“Why would my father or Callahan want Jazz dead? That part makes no sense to me. If they didn’t want her around, why file the paternity affidavit after almost eighteen years? Jazz would’ve never known either of them existed.”
“But Callahan or your father had no way of knowing that for sure. As far as they’re concerned, Jasmine’s a loose end—her mother could have told her everything, which would explain the camera in Jasmine’s bedroom. Maybe Callahan installed it to keep an eye on her. Determine what she knows, if anything.”
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“Jazz thought the same thing, and as fucked up as this is, I’d rather have that be true instead of someone perving on her.”
“I don’t think they want her dead—at least not unless they confirm she’s a threat. But I do think Jasmine was right about the stabbing being an accident. I think someone was trying to scare her, not necessarily cause bodily harm. The attempted rape may or may not have been a hired gun going rogue.”
“My dad said something to me the other day that raised some flags. The prick actually asked if I organized the assault to knock her down a few pegs. Maybe that was a test, trying to determine where my loyalty lies before he admits anything. A few times now, he's asked probing questions about her. Has made his interest in fucking her blatantly obvious. The prick actually suggested we tag team her. It felt like he was intentionally goading me.
"As far as I know, the one and only time he's seen Jazz in person was at a dinner party over two months ago. You and I both know Preston Davenport is one sick fuck, and he likes 'em young, but something about this doesn't sit right. Peyton is beautiful—and blonde, which seems to be his preference—yet he never made a suggestive comment about her the entire time she and I were together. I'm playing it off, but my dad definitely suspects I have feelings for Jazz. Maybe this is all one big test.”
"Maybe," John agrees. "Or maybe Peyton hired those men because she's jealous and Callahan or even his wife are covering for her. Or maybe we're grasping at straws, and it's none of the above. We need more information, Kingston. The last thing we'd want to do is throw around accusations without absolute certainty. Hopefully, the new bugs will give us something."
“Fuck. There are so many balls in the air, and it only seems to be getting worse by the day.”
John is silent for so long, I have to check my phone to make sure the call is still connected.
“John? You still there?”
“Yes, I’m here. Just thinking.” He clears his throat. “Jasmine bears a striking resemblance to her late mother, correct?”
“Freakishly so.”
“When I was looking into Mahalia’s past, I was primarily focusing on her connection to Charles. I think I need to dig deeper.”