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“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?"
