I cringe as Kingston drops onto the opposite end of the couch, leveling his friend with a vicious glare. I purposely take the seat next to Reed, which happens to be across the room from the other two. I don’t know what Kingston has to share with us, but one thing’s for sure, this conversation is going to be super awesome.
Not.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
JAZZ
The scotch Kingston and Bentley had consumed earlier kicked in shortly after the bathroom incident, plus they smoked a little weed, so thankfully, the testosterone has been taken down several notches. Both men are so large that they still fully have their wits about them—unlike someone with a much smaller stature—but they've chilled out quite a bit. Reed's the only one who is completely sober, but he looks ready to fall on his face.
“Welp, I’m out,” Reed says. “You guys have fun.”
“Later, man,” Kingston and Bentley say in unison.
“See ya,” I mutter as Reed’s halfway out the door.
I head to the bar and mix myself another vodka cran. I know I said I wouldn't drink tonight, but after learning all that shit about the police corruption, on top of all the other fucked up shit going on with Preston and Charles, all I want to do is drown my sorrows. I've only had two drinks, so I'm barely buzzed, but I need more to quell this panic rising inside of me. I'm trying hard not to flip the fuck out, but my brain won't shut up.
“Hey.” Kingston grabs the glass out of my hand and sets it to the side. Fuck, I’m so inside my head, I didn’t even see his approach. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” I lie. “I’m fine.”
“Really?” His eyebrows lift. “Aren’t you the one who told me you know ‘fine’ doesn’t really mean fine?”
“That rule doesn’t apply when I’m the one saying it.”
Kingston takes my hand and leads me back to the couch. “Sit down with me for a sec.”
Bentley grabs his pipe and refills the bowl before passing it to me. “Relax, baby girl. You’re making me anxious, and that's a damn near impossible feat with all the THC I have floating in my system."
He flicks the lighter while I press my lips to the mouthpiece and inhale. I take a little too much and wind up in a coughing fit, making both guys laugh.
I flip ‘em the bird. “Fuck off. Like it’s never happened to you.”
I pass the pipe to Kingston, but he declines, setting it on the coffee table. “What’s going on in that head of yours? No bullshit this time.”
I shrug. "I can't turn my brain off. The police stopping their investigation, the missing evidence, the proof that once again, money talks, or blackmail, or what-the-fuck-ever these assholes are using to cover their tracks. I can't stop wondering how many other victims are out there, suffering the same fate because some evil bastard had the right connections. How many unavenged assault cases are sitting in a file collecting dust? All the while, the victims are living in this constant state of terror. How does someone continue with their life, trying to find some semblance of normalcy when they're continually expecting their own personal boogie man to jump out of the shadows?"
Kingston’s hand lands on my bouncing thigh. “Hey. That’s not going to happen. I’m not giving up. John’s not giving up. We will do everything in our power to figure this out. You’re not alone in this, Jazz.”
Bentley bumps his arm against mine. “It’s true, Jazzy. We’re here for you one hundo percent, girl.”
“You guys can’t be with me every second of every day.”
“The fuck we can’t,” Kingston scoffs. “If that’s what it takes to ease your mind, that’s what we’ll do.”
I shake my head. “You can’t slay every goddamn dragon out there that looks at me funny. And I don’t want you to. Don’t you get it? I have to do this for myself. I have to show them I’m stronger than they think. I refuse to let those fuckers win. I will not give them that power over me!”
He cups my face in his hands. "Hey, you won't. I promise we'll fix this."
I brush his hands away. “Did you know that everywhere I go, everything I do, I’m waiting for the assholes who attacked me to show up? Wondering if they’re watching me. Sometimes, I swear I hear his voice—the fuckwit who beat the crap out of me—in the hallways at school. And then I ask myself, could it be someone from Windsor? Do we share any classes? Do they see me every weekday, laughing amongst themselves about how clueless I am that they're right in front of my face? Don't even get me started on the fact that every suspect we have may not be a suspect after all." I fist my hair and scream in frustration. "All these unknowns are driving me fucking crazy."
Is this what my mom lived with for however many years? Was she always looking over her shoulder? I don’t know how she survived with her sanity intact, let alone being such an incredible mother of two.
I blink through a thick layer of tears. “And then there’s the camera in my bedroom. I know I said I was fine with it, but I’m not fucking fine with it, Kingston.”
“Wait...what camera?” Bentley asks.
“Oh, he didn’t tell you?” I tuck my legs under me, turning toward Bent. There’s a manic edge to my voice, but I couldn’t give a single fuck right now. “There’s a hidden spy camera in my bedroom. And only my bedroom. My pervy dad, or his pervy dad" —I hitch my thumb over my shoulder— "or Madeline, or Peyton, or whichever other psycho in my life wants to watch me is watching me. They’ve seen me naked. They’ve seen me thrash about when I’m having nightmares. They’ve seen me do other things! God, the thought of what they’re doing with that particular footage makes my skin crawl.”