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.
Bring 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.