Ruthless Kings (Windsor Academy 2)

“I had nothing to do with this, Jazz. You have to know that.”

I shake my head. “I don’t know anything right now.”

He growls under his breath. “When I find the motherfucker who did this to you, they will pay. I guaran-fucking-tee it.”

“I’ve told you once before, I don’t need a knight in shining armor, Kingston. I can take care of myself.”

“Too bad. I don’t want to be a knight, Jazz, but I do fully intend on doing whatever’s necessary to catch this guy.”

I notice he doesn’t mention that two men attacked me. It could all be an act, though. Kingston’s the most observant person I’ve ever met—he pays attention to details, so he would know not to make that mistake if he did, in fact, know. God, trying to detect subterfuge is exhausting.

I sigh. “Last I checked, you weren’t a police officer.”

“I have access to resources the police don’t. They can conduct their own investigation, but I already have my own guy doing the same. If he finds anything helpful, he’ll pass it on to the police.”

“Why would you go through all that trouble?”

I swear I can feel his glare. “Is that a serious question? Why the fuck do you think I’d do it?”

“I’m tired, Kingston. I’m going to rest now. You should go home and do the same.”

“I’m not going anywhere as long as you’re here.” I can just imagine him combing his hand through his hair in frustration. “You want to keep me out of your room—fine. I think it’s ridiculous considering I’m one of the few people you can trust, but whatever. I’m not going to push you while you’re laid up in a hospital bed. But know this, Jazz: Once you’re out of here, I’m going to be your goddamn shadow, so you’d better get used to that idea now. I am not letting anyone hurt you again.”

“Stalking is illegal in California.” My argument is weak, but it’s all I’ve got.

His scoff is audible through the phone line. “Yeah? Well, then it’s a good thing I know some excellent attorneys.”

“You’re impossible.”

“Persistent,” he corrects. “It’s why I always get what I want.”

I know I’m probably going to regret asking this, but I do it anyway. “And what is it that you want?”

“You. And vengeance.”

Yep. Definitely shouldn’t have asked.

CHAPTER FOUR

JAZZ

After seven whole days in the hospital, I finally get to go home. Kingston kept his promise of standing guard the entire time. However, my sperm donor never showed up or made any attempt to contact me as far as I know. I wondered if he even knew where I was, until the house manager, Ms. Williams, called the hospital, passing along the message that my driver, Frank, will take me home whenever I'm ready.

I can’t help thinking about how differently my mom would’ve handled things had she been alive. She would’ve been fluttering about, making sure I was comfortable enough. Or baking treats for the hospital staff to show her appreciation for all their hard work. Belle would’ve been right by her side, coloring or reading, or snuggling in bed with me watching cartoons. I had a few bleak moments while lying in that bed, where all of my thoughts about what could’ve been, practically suffocated me.

“You ready to go home?” The orderly smiles, completely clueless to the fact that staying here is actually better than being at my father’s McMansion.

I gingerly lower myself into the wheelchair he’s offering. “Ready as I’m going to get.”

Before we even roll past the waiting room, I can sense Kingston's nearness. The man always has a way of infiltrating my senses. The spiciness of his cologne, the hint of whatever soap he uses, the timbre of his voice. Most prominent is how my body stands to attention whenever he's around. I'm inexplicably drawn to him, despite my head’s vehement protests. Even now, in my weakened state, my brain wars with my body. Part of me is anxiously awaiting my first glimpse of him, while the other part is telling me to run far, far away.

Kingston scrambles out of his chair when he sees us. “Wait!”

The orderly stops pushing my chair. “Do you know him?”

I sigh. “Yeah.”

Kingston looks better since I last saw him—at least his clothes are clean—but he still looks exhausted. That doesn't detract from my overwhelming attraction to him, though. How someone can spend a week cooped up in a small waiting room and still be so devastatingly beautiful is beyond me.