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When I agreed to reconcile—at least as far as the general public was concerned—I made it clear I would not be a one-woman man this time around. She didn’t like it, but she did accept it with one caveat. Once we got engaged, neither one of us would fuck someone else. Hopefully for me, that day will never come.
Peyton claws at my hand, panic now starting to set in. “I’m sorry!” She takes a deep breath when I loosen my grip. “If I truly thought you’d get as mad as you did, I would’ve never done it.”
Yeah, right.
“I believe that just as much as I believe your tits grew three cup sizes during your summer in France.”
She glares. “I didn’t hear you complaining when you were fucking them.”
I step back and pinch the bridge of my nose. “Peyton, can we not do this right now? Bentley and Reed will be here any minute. You need to leave.”
Peyton pastes a smile on her face, as if the last five minutes never happened. “Sure, baby. I’m meeting the girls to go shopping anyway. Maybe I can suck you off later? You don’t even need to touch me.”
My jaw tics. If she thinks I’ll allow her to mark her supposed territory, she’s even dumber than I thought. “Not happening, Peyton. It’s never happening.”
She stomps her foot, all traces of a smile gone. “Well, if you think I’m going to just stand by and let you fuck my slutty stepsister, you’re wrong!”
I scoff. “And why exactly do you think you have any say in the matter?”
“Because if you touch Jasmine again, our deal is off.” Peyton looks pleased with herself, thinking she’s backed me into a corner. Little does she know I’m working on a backup plan where I won’t need her anymore.
“Oh yeah?” I taunt. “Don’t forget, you need me for something, too.”
Peyton clenches her fists at her side. “Don’t you dare dip your dick into that skank again, Kingston. If you do, we’re going to have a big problem.”
I fist her hair and pull back until she winces in pain. “You know I don’t respond kindly to threats, so I’d recommend thinking twice before you start throwing any around. Are we clear?”
Tears prick at her eyes. “Yes.”
I release her and give her a little shove. “Get the fuck out, Peyton, before I get really pissed. Who knows what I’ll do to you if that happens.”
She can’t get away from me fast enough. Peyton knows what I’m capable of. A couple years back, I went through a self-destructive phase after discovering what my father and Callahan were up to. Before I decided to channel that rage into taking them down, I was an angry motherfucker. Scare tactics aside, I would never intentionally hurt a woman—I watched my father do it too many times in my life—but I did beat dozens of guys to a bloody pulp in an underground fighting ring.
As Peyton’s Ferrari peels out of the driveway, Bent and Reed pull up.
I nod as they exit Reed’s new DB 11. “’Sup?”
Both guys offer up a fist bump before we cut through the house to get to the back.
“Daddy Davenport around?” Bentley asks.
“Nah.” I gesture for them to follow me. The pool house is off-limits to the staff unless I’m in school, so it’s one of the only places I feel comfortable having this discussion.
When we get there, Reed switches on the big screen, tuning it to the NFL Network while Bent hooks his phone up to the speakers and starts blasting some Post Malone bullshit.
I open the fridge and toss a beer to each of them.
“Why was Little Miss Priss here?” Bentley asks. “I thought you shut that shit down a while ago.”
“I did.” I take a few gulps of beer. “That doesn’t stop her from yapping my ear off every chance she gets though.”
Reed barks out a laugh. “What’s her problem now?”
“One guess.” I flop on the couch and kick my feet up on the coffee
table.
“Ah, jealous of Jazzy Jazz, is she?” He throws his head back and groans. “Goddamn, I cannot get that girl out of my mind.”
