All these unanswered questions are driving me crazy. Thank God Reed found her when he did. Who knows what could’ve happened if my dad and I ran into Jazz? Or, if she made it through to the end of the maze and stumbled on that house? My father was on a mission to test my loyalty. If Jazz saw what was actually going on in that house... there would’ve been no coming back from that, on several levels.
At least now, my plan can move forward. I may have had to do some things that made me uncomfortable tonight, but I gained quite a bit of ground in the process. As far as my dad is concerned, fucking that woman proved to him that my feelings for Jazz aren’t as deep as he thought. That while I’m possessive of her, it’s because I don’t want to share my toys, not because I’m hopelessly in love with her.
I scrub a hand down my face, shaking my head. I still can’t believe they’re running a prostitution ring. He didn’t divulge many details, and I wasn’t going to risk suspicion by pushing it, but he did say what happened in that house only scratched the surface of what he has going on. That sex sells, and he’s become incredibly wealthy because of that. He hinted at more business opportunities that he and I could tackle together . When I asked about Charles’ involvement, he simply said Charles wasn’t involved in everything , and he planned on keeping it that way. When I inquired about where the women came from, he assumed I didn’t like what I saw and said, “There’s plenty to choose from if you’d like a more diverse selection.” That’s when he called that Latina chick over, telling her to give me the golden treatment .
There was no way in hell I would find out what that meant in the middle of a sex den, especially in front of my father and Madeline, so I asked if there was somewhere more private we could go. Thankfully, he confirmed there was and told the girl to show me to a bedroom. According to my dad, that room is for clients who require the utmost discretion to indulge certain inclinations , and they pay handsomely for privacy. I’m guessing those preferences are pretty questionable considering what was going on out in the open like it was perfectly normal. Knowing my dad, though, he probably just didn’t want his fuck buddy, Madeline, to see my dick because then, she’d dump his ass so she could attempt to ride me.
I shudder at the thought. I have nothing against a hot MILF, but that woman is the true definition of a femme fatale. No pussy is worth your inevitable demise. Okay, maybe one pussy could take me down, and I’d likely be smiling the whole way, but that’s less about the organ and more about the person attached to it. Christ, the guys were right. I am pussy-whipped. Not that I’d ever admit it, especially to the owner of said pussy. I’m having a hard enough time dealing with all these goddamn emotions she makes me feel.
Like right now, I feel crazed as I park my Rover in front of her house. I don’t know why, but my gut tells me that something is very, very wrong, and the longer I wait, the worse it’s going to get. Thank God Reed thought to drop my car off before he and Ains drove back to his place in hers. My Agera or my bike aren’t exactly quiet, and anyone inside would’ve heard me coming down the road.
It’s late, so I use the key Peyton gave me long ago to let myself inside through the garage’s side door. I creep through the mudroom and into the kitchen, careful to listen for any signs of people. I’ve taken this route so many times when I used to sneak into Peyton’s bedroom at night, the darkness doesn’t impede me one bit. This time though, I bypass Peyton’s room entirely and stop in front of Jazz’s door. I press my ear against the wood and hear nothing but silence. I test the handle, breathing a sigh of relief when I find it’s unlocked.
The second I open the door, my panic increases tenfold. The bedside lamp is on, so I can see Jazz’s phone resting on the charger. Both the closet and bathroom doors are wide open, so it’s pretty apparent Jazz isn’t here. I check the game room across the hall and the basement and back yard for good measure, but I know it’s pointless. Jazz isn’t anywhere on the property, and she intentionally left her phone behind so I couldn’t find her.
What the fuck is going on?
She’s obviously running, but why? Jazz is a smart girl, and her survival instincts are spot on. What could’ve possibly made her feel so desperate to do something so reckless? With no phone and no ride, she couldn’t have gone far. I stash her phone in my pocket, head back to my car, and dial Bentley as soon as I start the engine.
“Yo, bro, what’s up? You home from the party?”
“Is she with you?”
Bent’s silent for a moment, probably trying to figure out why I’m yelling at him. “Is who with me?”
“C’mon, man, don’t fuck with me. Is Jazz with you? Did she call you?”
“Dude. Back the fuck up. I thought Jazz went with you to the party. Why would she be with me? ”
I grit my teeth. “She did . But Reed and my sister drove her home because I was held up with my dad. By the time I got to Jazz’s, she was gone, and I have no idea where she went.”
“So? Track her phone. Problem solved.”
I slam my hand on the steering wheel. “I can’t fucking track her phone because she intentionally left it in her bedroom. What does that tell you, Fitzgerald?”
“That she’s ghosting you.” He clears his throat. “What’d you do, dickhead?”
“I didn’t do anything!” I shout. “Well, not anything she could possibly know about, anyway.”
“What does that even mean?”
“Fuck!” I step on the gas as soon as I pull out of our gated community. “Are you home? We’re going hunting for feisty princesses. I’ll explain everything when I get there.”
“Word. Give me just a few, and I’ll meet you out front.” He belts out a laugh, although, for the life of me, I can’t figure out what he’d find so amusing. “Oh, and Davenport?”
“What?”
“You might want to rethink that little nickname you have for her. Because by the way she rules your ass, Jazz is a motherfucking queen.”
I grunt. “Just hurry up and get ready.”
I hang up the phone and continue the short drive to Bentley’s house, thinking about his parting comment the entire way. He’s not wrong—Jazz is a motherfucking queen. But he left out one very important distinction.
She’s my motherfucking queen.
*
“What are you going to do now?” Bentley unfastens his seat belt as I pull in front of his house.
We’ve been driving all over the place for the last three hours. Bent and I stopped at every nearby park and twenty-four-hour business in the area, which was limited to gas stations, a diner, and a pharmacy, but there was no sign of Jazz anywhere. Reed was stationed in front of Jazz’s house just in case she came home, and Ains hung out in my pool house in case Jazz showed up there. About fifteen minutes ago, Ainsley called to tell me that Jazz had reached out to her. Jazz blocked the number she was calling from, but she said she was safe for the night and that she’d talk to Ainsley tomorrow. My sister immediately relayed the message to me, so we’d call off the search.
The fact that I have no idea where she could be pisses me off. It makes me realize I don’t know much about Jazz’s life before she moved here. She’s never mentioned any friends from her old neighborhood, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t have any. Ainsley said Jazz and that dickhead ex of hers had a pretty friendly vibe—which that in itself really shakes up the hornet’s nest inside of me—but my sister doesn’t think Jazz was with him when she called.