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.