by Laura Lee
I pick up my phone, smiling at Ainsley's thoughtfulness. All of my things, including my phone, were back at the lake house. I was dreading trying to make arrangements to collect them. I could do without the clothes, but there's one number in my contacts that I don't have memorized and really need. Surprisingly, there's only one text notification, and of course, it's from Kingston.
I take a deep breath as I unlock my phone and read the message.
Kingston: Contact forwarded: Belle Rivera-Washington
What the heck? I open the contact card and see Belle’s name with an iCloud address on it. When did she get an Apple device to have one of those?
I immediately dial Kingston's number, and he answers on the first ring.
“I see the nurse delivered your stuff.”
I get straight to the point. “Why are you sending me contact information for my sister?”
He releases a deep chuckle. "I know you were frustrated having to go through Jerome, so I eliminated the middleman. Belle now has a brand new iPad so you can FaceTime as often as you'd like. It's hooked up to a cellular network, and the bill is in my name, so there's no risk of it being shut off for non-payment. Don't worry about her dad—he's been taken care of as well. He won't interfere."
“But...how? Why?”
"Ainsley and Reed dropped by your sister's house and explained why you missed our standing date last Sunday...an explanation appropriate for a seven-year-old, anyway. Belle knows you were hurt, and you're in the hospital, but that you'll be okay. She's expecting your call whenever you're feeling up to it."
Damn him. He knows my little sister, Belle, is my greatest weakness. Her father, Jerome, rarely answers the phone when I call, and half the time, he makes some excuse why Belle can't talk. I'm not sure why he's constantly keeping me away from her, but I suspect it may be a control thing. He wants to remind me who has custody of her and who's really in charge.
Kingston's assurance that Jerome won't interfere tells me he's paying him to allow it, just like he pays him for our weekly visits. I hate that Kingston did this because he's once again using Belle to get closer to me, but I can't say it doesn't make me happy having such an easy way to speak with her.
Infuriatingly confusing man.
My mother would be ashamed of me for not acknowledging the gift, so I suck it up and say, “Thank you. That was very thoughtful.”
I swear I can hear him smile. “That was really hard for you to spit out, wasn’t it?”
“No,” I grumble.
It totally was.
Another laugh. “Are you feeling any better? Can I get you anything?”
I bite my lip, carefully crafting my response. I don’t want Kingston to think I’m opening the lines of communication with us because I’m not ready for that.
“No. The nurses are taking care of me. The best thing you can do right now is give me time.”
Aaaaand cue the awkward silence.
“I had nothing to do with this, Jazz. You have to know that.”
I shake my head. “I don’t know anything right now.”
He growls under his breath. “When I find the motherfucker who did this to you, they will pay. I guaran-fucking-tee it.”
“I’ve told you once before, I don’t need a knight in shining armor, Kingston. I can take care of myself.”
“Too bad. I don’t want to be a knight, Jazz, but I do fully intend on doing whatever’s necessary to catch this guy.”
I notice he doesn’t mention that two men attacked me. It could all be an act, though. Kingston’s the most observant person I’ve ever met—he pays attention to details, so he would know not to make that mistake if he did, in fact, know. God, trying to detect subterfuge is exhausting.
I sigh. “Last I checked, you weren’t a police officer.”
“I have access to resources the police don’t. They can conduct their own investigation, but I already have my own guy doing the same. If he finds anything helpful, he’ll pass it on to the police.”
“Why would you go through all that trouble?”
I swear I can feel his glare. “Is that a serious question? Why the fuck do you think I’d do it?”
“I’m tired, Kingston. I’m going to rest now. You should go home and do the same.”
“I’m not going anywhere as long as you’re here.” I can just imagine him combing his hand through his hair in frustration. “You want to keep me out of your room—fine. I think it’s ridiculous considering I’m one of the few people you can trust, but whatever. I’m not going to push you while you’re laid up in a hospital bed. But know this, Jazz: Once you’re out of here, I’m going to be your goddamn shadow, so you’d better get used to that idea now. I am not letting anyone hurt you again.”
“Stalking is illegal in California.” My argument is weak, but it’s all I’ve got.
His scoff is audible through the phone line. “Yeah? Well, then it’s a good thing I know some excellent attorneys.”
“You’re impossible.”
“Persistent,” he corrects. “It’s why I always get what I want.”
I know I’m probably going to regret asking this, but I do it anyway. “And what is it that you want?”
“You. And vengeance.”
Yep. Definitely shouldn’t have asked.
CHAPTER FOUR
JAZZ
After seven whole days in the hospital, I finally get to go home. Kingston kept his promise of standing guard the entire time. However, my sperm donor never showed up or made any attempt to contact me as far as I know. I wondered if he even knew where I was, until the house manager, Ms. Williams, called the hospital, passing along the message that my driver, Frank, will take me home whenever I'm ready.
I can’t help thinking about how differently my mom would’ve handled things had she been alive. She would’ve been fluttering about, making sure I was comfortable enough. Or baking treats for the hospital staff to show her appreciation for all their hard work. Belle would’ve been right by her side, coloring or reading, or snuggling in bed with me watching cartoons. I had a few bleak moments while lying in that bed, where all of my thoughts about what could’ve been, practically suffocated me.
“You ready to go home?” The orderly smiles, completely clueless to the fact that staying here is actually better than being at my father’s McMansion.
I gingerly lower myself into the wheelchair he’s offering. “Ready as I’m going to get.”
Before we even roll past the waiting room, I can sense Kingston's nearness. The man always has a way of infiltrating my senses. The spiciness of his cologne, the hint of whatever soap he uses, the timbre of his voice. Most prominent is how my body stands to attention whenever he's around. I'm inexplicably drawn to him, despite my head’s vehement protests. Even now, in my weakened state, my brain wars with my body. Part of me is anxiously awaiting my first glimpse of him, while the other part is telling me to run far, far away.
Kingston scrambles out of his chair when he sees us. “Wait!”
The orderly stops pushing my chair. “Do you know him?”
I sigh. “Yeah.”
Kingston looks better since I last saw him—at least his clothes are clean—but he still looks exhausted. That doesn't detract from my overwhelming attraction to him, though. How someone can spend a week cooped up in a small waiting room and still be so devastatingly beautiful is beyond me.
“I’ll get my car and meet you out front.” Kingston turns to Ainsley, who just joined us. “You stay with Jazz.”
“Kingston, no.” I grab his arm before he can walk away, quickly pulling my hand back when I feel the energy crackle between us.
“What do you mean, ‘no’?” His eyebrows pinch together.
Ainsley gives me a soft smile. “Hey, Jazz.”
“Hey. Thanks again for bringing my bag.”
She nods. “Of course.”
I broke down and texted Ainsley several times over the last few days, figuring she was the safest choice. Our conversation had stayed
on neutral topics, but talking with her helped curb my loneliness.
I turn back to Kingston. “Frank is waiting for me out front. I already have a ride.”
Kingston’s expression goes from concerned to pissed in half a second. “Fuck that. You are not going back to that house.”
Bossy ass.
I glare at him. “Where else am I supposed to go? It’s the only home I have.”
"My place." The indignance in his tone is heavy as if questioning him on this is ludicrous.
Okay, I’ll admit the Callahan mansion is not my first choice either, but it’s my only option because I’m sure as shit not staying with Kingston. When I lived in Watts, I spent so much time watching my sister while our mom was at work, I didn’t really hang out with anybody outside of school. My friends were more like school acquaintances. The one exception to that was my ex, Shawn, and I’m not about to ask him if I can crash at his place.
Besides, Ms. Williams told me Charles and Madeline will be in Mexico for two more weeks, so knowing I won’t have to deal with them is a relief. Even if I did have money for a motel—which I don’t—I don’t like the thought of being completely alone. At the mansion, there’s always staff on hand to help me if need be. Simple things like walking or getting dressed are still somewhat difficult to manage. I have stitches running the entire width of my pubic bone, as well as a small spot on my side, and every time I move, they’re stretched, which hurts like a bitch. I never realized how often your core is engaged with the tiniest motions before now.
Not to mention the fact that half my body was clobbered. My bruises aren’t nearly as dark, and my eye is no longer swollen shut, but every spot where I was punched, or kicked, or thrown to the ground, aches. I’m not going to lie; my super deluxe pillowtop mattress at Sperm Donor’s house sounds like heaven after spending a week on an uncomfortable hospital bed.
I scoff. “Thanks, but no thanks.”
“Why the hell not?” He’s practically shouting, no concern whatsoever for the nearby people now watching the drama unfold.
Ainsley tugs on his arm. “Kingston, calm down.”
“Uh...should I radio for security?” The orderly pulls my chair back a little.
“No.” I shake my head. “Can we just get going?”
“Sure,” he says, pushing my chair toward the elevator bay.
Of course, Kingston and Ainsley are hot on our heels. All four of us get into the elevator when the doors slide open.
“Jazz, you cannot go back to that house,” Kingston insists. “Not until we figure out who did this to you. I don’t trust them.”
“Can we please discuss this later?”
“Sure.”
"Really?" My eyebrows lift. I didn't expect him to agree so quickly.
Kingston smirks. “Yeah, we can talk about it later. At my house. After you get settled in.”
I should’ve known it was too good to be true. “I’m going back to my house. I’m not an idiot; I know not to trust any of them. I never did. One thing I am certain of is that it’s my only option. I can handle it.”
The man behind me is probably wondering what the hell is going on. I bet he doesn't usually feel like he stepped into a soap opera when he wheels someone out of the hospital. The elevator finally reaches the first floor, so we head toward the patient pickup area. Frank is standing in front of a black town car, dutifully waiting for my arrival.
Frank opens the rear door. “Miss Jasmine, nice to see you.”
I smile. “Hi, Frank. Thanks for coming to get me.”
Frank lifts the overnight bag off my lap before assisting me out of the chair and into the car. “I’m happy to help.” Poor guy is standing there, fidgeting awkwardly because Kingston is blocking his ability to shut the door.
I smile softly. “Give us a minute, will you?”
“Of course.” He nods before rounding the vehicle and getting behind the wheel. Meanwhile, Kingston is fuming—holding the door open, no doubt calculating his odds of escape if he threw me over his shoulder and made a run for it. Ainsley’s eyes widen in warning, no doubt sensing his intentions with their freaky twin brain-link.
His lips thin as I fasten my seat belt. “We’ll be right behind you.”
I look him straight in the eye. “No. You won’t. I’m going straight to bed, so there’s no point.” I turn toward his sister. “Do not let him follow—there’s plenty of staff at the house to watch over me. I’ll text you later, okay?”
She smiles. “Okay.”
Kingston grips the doorframe with both hands and leans in until he's mere inches away from my face. His eyes are forest green today with tiny gold flecks around the irises. It takes an immense amount of self-control to stay where I am and not lean into him. I can feel the heat wafting from his body as we stare at one another, and I want so badly to touch him. Have him touch me.
What is it about Kingston Davenport that entices me so much? Why can he pull me into his orbit with no effort whatsoever? This is LA—I've been around quite a few extraordinarily attractive guys in my life, but I've never had such a visceral reaction to one like I do with him.
I take a deep breath, trying to calm my racing pulse. “Kingston, please move so I can shut the door.”
“This isn’t over, Jazz.” He straightens his spine and slams the door shut.
I watch him as we pull away from the curb, allowing his words to resonate. Of course, this isn't over. It's far from over. I have every intention of finding out who attacked me, who hired them, and whatever the hell is going on between our fathers. I just need to wait until I’m mobile enough to do anything about it.
Kingston can play the tough guy all he wants, but I'm not like the girls he's used to. I'm not afraid to get my hands dirty, and I'm definitely not afraid of the truth. Regardless of how ugly it may get, I'm going to get to the bottom of this. There’s this darkness brewing inside of me, demanding retribution no matter the cost, and I have every intention of delivering. If I have to lose a little piece of my soul in the process...well, at least I’ll still have a good chunk left.
“JAZZ!”
I smile as my sister’s smile lights up the screen on our FaceTime call. “Hi, sweetpea. I miss you.”
Belle’s round chocolate eyes squint as she takes in my appearance. I intentionally waited until I was home to contact her so I could conceal my bruises. Some strategically applied makeup and subdued lighting really did the trick. Up close, you can still see the slight discoloration lurking beneath, but over a video call, not so much.
“You don’t look hurt.”
I bite back a grin at Belle’s accusatory tone. Her sass is one of my favorite things about her.
“That’s because I feel much better. The doctors fixed me up almost good as new.”
I hate lying, but there's no way I'm telling her what really happened. She's too young. Even if I sugar-coated it, she's at that age where her imagination is kicking into overdrive. The last thing I'd want is for her to visualize any part of what happened to me.
"Kingston got me an iPad, and it's not even my birthday!" she says excitedly, ultimately moving on to the next subject. Thank God.
“I see that.” I smile. “Have you thanked him yet?”
“I made a picture!” The camera is now aimed at the ceiling, so I’m guessing she set the iPad down. “See!”
I get a brief glimpse of Belle’s face hovering above the screen before she shoves her drawing in front of it. She drew a picture of a tall blond boy, a shorter dark-haired girl, and an even smaller girl with braids in her hair, all holding hands. Based on Belle’s color choices for the hair and skin, there’s no question who each person represents: Kingston, me, and my sister.
As Belle chats on and on about her life since I last saw her, I smile and nod, occasionally chiming in with a few words. My mind is elsewhere, however. I can’t stop thinking about Kingston, which is understandable, I suppose, considering he’s the reason I can even FaceTime my sister right now. Belle’s attac
hment to him after only a few outings is unsettling. But how can I blame her when he’s been nothing but sweet, patient, and generous every time she sees him? I would’ve never believed he possessed those traits had I not seen it with my own eyes.
The man is a walking contradiction.
Most of the time, he's broody and mysterious, in a totally sexy way—like catnip for the female population. But when he's with the guys outside of school, he's laid back and even goofy sometimes. With Ainsley and me and hell, even Belle, he's super-protective, and there are these moments where he's incredibly thoughtful or kind. Regardless of which Kingston you're getting at the time, there's always this underlying rage I don't think many people pick up on. Or maybe they don't understand the extent of it.
I remember watching a video during my freshman year science class about the Mount St. Helens eruption. The landscape was breathtaking, loved by outdoor enthusiasts or simply anyone searching for a peaceful place to spend their day. The volcano sat quietly for over one hundred years, all the while, pressure was building beneath the surface. There was sufficient evidence of its impending reawakening, but the reports weren’t taken seriously enough by the general public. Tourists continued flocking to the area—some even evading roadblocks and ignoring air restrictions—until the perfect combination of events caused a cataclysmic explosion. The eruption was so powerful, it literally blew the top off the mountain, killing everyone in the vicinity.
Kingston reminds me of that volcano. If you don’t look beyond his surface beauty, if you ignore the warning signs, you’re putting yourself at risk. He’s dangerous—perhaps even deadly—and I’d be a fool to forget that.
“Are you guys gonna come get me on Sunday?”
My heart aches, seeing the hope in Belle's eyes. There's no way I'll be healed by then, and I don't want her to see me like this. Plus, until I'm sure Kingston isn't a suspect, I don't want him anywhere near my sister.
“Oh, honey, not this Sunday, but maybe the next one.” If I’m well enough to see her by then, I’ll have Frank drive me.
She frowns. “How come? Don’t you wanna see me?”
