Ruthless Kings - Laura Lee Page 0,34
about Kingston touching himself. Or you know, sucking him off.
Damn it.
He smiles when heat rises to my face. “You okay there, Jazz? You’re looking a little flushed all of a sudden.”
I flip him off. “Bite me.”
“Name the time and place.”
I wave him off. “Stick to the subject. So, how does this thing work? Do you just go out and start a brawl?”
He motions for my water bottle, so I hand it to him. After taking a big gulp, he says, “There’s an underground ring in LA. A few, actually. I put some feelers out and got my name on a card.”
“An underground ring,” I repeat. “As in, illegal?”
Kingston shrugs. “It’s certainly not sanctioned by the UFC.”
I lean against the counter and cross my arms over my chest. “How often do you do this?”
He guzzles the remainder of my water. “I haven’t done it in almost two years, actually.”
Well, I wasn’t expecting that. “So, why now?”
“I couldn’t calm down after hearing your version of the events that night.” Kingston rakes his hands through his thick hair. “I couldn’t stop thinking about it, couldn’t get the images of finding you like that out of my head. Couldn’t stop feeling like the world’s biggest piece of shit for putting you in that situation in the first place. When I fight, all the chaos in my head is silenced.” He shrugs. “At least for a little while.”
I step forward and link his fingers through mine. “Kingston, I don’t blame you for what happened that night.”
I didn’t realize it until now, but I don’t. Not anymore.
He scoffs. “Well, you should.”
I shake my head. "If those guys were telling the truth about being hired—which at this point, I'm pretty sure they were—they would've gotten to me eventually. Maybe not that night, but soon after that."
Kingston’s grip tightens. “I’m going to fucking kill those bastards when I find out who they are.”
“Speaking of...where do we even begin?”
“If we can figure out who hired them, it’d be much easier to identify the henchmen. Process of elimination is a good start for that. The person behind it would’ve had to have been someone with the assets to pay for it.”
“That doesn’t exactly narrow it down now, does it?”
He thinks about that for a moment. “Yes...and no. Peyton is at the top of my suspect list—especially after she nearly claimed responsibility—but she doesn’t really have the money for that to make sense.”
“What do you mean? Isn’t she like, a mega-billionaire?”
“Technically, not until she gets her inheritance. Not a dime can be liquidated until all the terms are met. The only money she has right now is Daddy Callahan’s credit card. It’s not like she could pay for something like that with plastic.”
“Well, shit.”
“Yeah,” he agrees. “But...Peyton is resourceful when she wants something. She uses everything she has at her disposal to get it.”
“If she doesn’t have any actual cash, what’s left?”
“With Peyton...take your pick. She could blackmail someone, promise them favors. Offer her body. If she wants something—or someone—bad enough, nothing is off the table.”
My eyebrows rise. “You sound like you’re speaking from experience.”
Kingston shrugs. “I am. I’m just not dumb enough to fall for it. So, the next question is, if not Peyton, who else would want to hurt you? It has to be someone who knows you. Knows us. And they knew we’d be at the lake.”
“Wouldn’t that be the entire senior class?”
“Pretty much.” Kingston rubs his jaw, wincing when he gets to a discolored spot.
I reach out and brush my fingers against the slight bruising. “You okay?”
His signature, cocky smile comes into place. "You should see the other guy."
I roll my eyes. “Such a douchey thing to say.”
Kingston places his hand over mine before placing a soft kiss on my knuckles. “You hungry? We can grab a bite before we have to meet John.”
I smile. “Yeah, I could eat.”
He nods. “Then, what are we waiting for?”
CHAPTER TWELVE
JAZZ
“John Peterson, meet Jazz Rivera.”
John stands up and shakes my hand. “Jazz, it’s nice to finally meet you.”
“You, too.”
Kingston and I take a seat on the bench across from the private investigator. I thought meeting at Lake Hollywood Park was a rather odd choice for such a private matter, but now that I'm here, it makes sense. Sure, there are tons of people around, but they're all too busy taking selfies in front of the iconic sign or playing with their dogs to pay us any notice.
Everything about John is nondescript. From his name—if that’s even his real name—to his muddy