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CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
KINGSTON
Jazz hasn’t said a word the entire ride home, which is killing me. I need to know what happened, but I know pushing her to tell me before she’s ready won’t do either of us any good. As soon as we step into my house, she practically runs to the shower, turning the tap to scalding. She’s not even fully undressed before she’s under the spray, scrubbing furiously at her face and chest.
I quickly remove my clothes and join her. “Hey. Slow down. Let me help.”
I reach in front of Jazz to turn the temperature down a bit. I like hot showers just as much as the next guy, but when her naturally tanned skin is bright red within seconds, you know the water’s too damn hot.
“I just need to get it off,” she sobs.
“Get what off?” I help her out of her pants, which is easier said than done because they’re soaked and molding to her legs.
“Him.” She starts shaking as she grabs the bottle of body wash and squirts it on the bath sponge. “His scent... his touch... his... his...”
I grab the pouf out of her hand and try my damnedest not to react. I want to bombard her with questions about what happened, about why she has a loaded gun in her purse, but I don’t want to make it worse. “Baby, we don’t need to do this right now. Let’s just get you cleaned up. We can talk after you’ve slept a little.”
She shakes her head. “No. I need to get this out now. I just want it all out there. I need to get it all out there.”
I take a deep breath. “Okay, if that’s what you really want. Just... take your time and give me as much, or as little information as you want.”
Her red-rimmed eyes lift to mine. “It was Lucas.”
I clench my jaw, slowly running the sponge over her body. “What was Lucas?”
Jazz dips her hair under the water. “He was the one. At the lake. At the Malibu party. Tonight. He’s the one. I can’t believe I didn’t piece it together before, but he actually admitted it, so there’s no question. And Christian was his accomplice. Lucas was boasting about nearly raping me, Kingston. Telling me how much I was going to love it. He started recording us on his phone, saying that he was going to send it to you. I mean, what kind of sick fuck does things like that?”
I damn near crack the shampoo bottle down the middle as I pour some into my hand. I take a moment to bring it to a lather before transferring it to Jazz’s hair. Her body relaxes as I massage her scalp; meanwhile, I’m grinding my teeth together so hard, I’m surprised they haven’t turned to dust.
“How did you end up at Windsor?”
She turns around and rinses the shampoo from her hair before replying. “We finished up early at work. It was only fifteen minutes. I knew you were probably already on the road, so I decided to just hang at the sub shop at the other end of the plaza and grab a sandwich. I was going to text you as soon as I got there, but about halfway across the lot, they pulled up in that Escalade—Lucas and Christian—and Lucas pulled me into the car. I tried fighting him off, but he used his weight advantage to immobilize me like the last two times. Tonight, he was crushing me and cutting off my air supply.
“When we stopped... at the school, I guess... he... shoved my shirt up.” Now that her skin isn’t so red, I can see the fingerprint-shaped bruises forming on her jaw. “He...put his fingers inside of me. He pulled his pants down and...” She gags. “Oh, God.”
I’m going to fucking kill him.
“He took his pants down and what, Jazz?” I intentionally keep my voice soft to counteract the violent storm brewing inside of me.
“Rubbed his dick over my chest. My lips. He was about to force it into my mouth right before those guys showed up to take him away.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to ward off the images running through my brain. I can’t make the rage stop. I need... I need something to tamp it down.
“Motherfucker!” Jazz screams as I turn around and slam my fist into the wall, splintering the tiles, coating them with my blood. Shit, that hurts.
“I’m gonna be sick.” I turn back toward her right as she’s cupping a hand over her mouth.
Yeah, me too.
Jazz falls to her knees on the shower floor and starts heaving, but nothing comes out. Scratch that. Here it comes... and... there it goes, right down the drain.
“Shh.” I crouch down and rub my hand along her back. I hiss when the water hits my flayed knuckles, mixing blood with vomit as it swirls down the drain.
The beast inside of me is roaring, demanding vengeance, but leaving Jazz right now isn’t an option. The second I get my hands on that motherfucker though, he’s dead. I mean it. Literally fucking dead. I will make sure it’s nice and slow, too, so he can feel every bit of terror and pain he inflicted on her.
Finally, when her body is no longer convulsing, Jazz stands back up and sobs while I rewash her body and rinse the remaining vomit down the drain. I shut the water off, grab a towel, and begin the process of drying her off.
“Damn it.” My hand is really fucked. I’m pretty sure I broke some knuckles, and blood is getting all over the terrycloth.
