Kingston takes a few steps in her direction. “Peyton. What’s going on?”
Her watery eyes narrow on him when she snaps out of it. “Did you do this? Is this that payback you were talking about?”
Ms. Williams appears at the top of the stairs, pausing for a moment to catch her breath. “Miss Peyton. Are you okay?”
Peyton throws her hands out. “No, I’m not okay! Why would I be okay? What kind of sick joke is this? Kingston! Are you responsible for this?! ”
Ms. Williams steps forward when Peyton gestures to her bedroom and peeks inside. She goes white as a sheet and stumbles backward. “Oh, my. I think... someone call the police. Now .”
Kingston closes the gap between my bedroom and Peyton’s and follows Ms. Williams’ line of sight. Once his eyes latch on to something, he, too, looks like he’s about to be sick. “Oh, fuck. Is that his.… Damn, that had to hurt.” He steps back and turns his head to the side as he cringes.
“What had to hurt? What is that awful smell?”
Kingston tries holding me back when I approach Peyton’s room, but I squirm past him and catch a glimpse. I cover my mouth, choking back bile at the horror show in front of me. In the middle of Peyton’s no-longer-pastel-pink canopy bed is Lucas Gale, naked as the day he was born, arms stretched wide, cuffed to each post. He’s lying in a puddle of blood, eyes frozen open in abject terror. I’m guessing that has something to do with the fact that his genitals are no longer attached to his body.
Lucas’ bloody flaccid penis sticks out of his mouth like a Grizzly biting the head off a salmon, held in place by a strange leather gag that’s crusted over with dried vomit. I’m assuming those are his severed testicles placed on each of his upward turned palms, the surrounding sheets, and wall splattered with blood. If I had to guess, I’d say whoever did this slit Lucas’ throat after they mutilated his body. It looks like some kind of ritualistic sacrifice, but I know that’s not the case. This whole gruesome scene is perfectly staged for dramatic effect. It’s a message, plain and simple—a very bold, incredibly macabre warning to the owner of this bedroom.
“I-I’m going to go call the police,” Ms. Williams stutters. “I-I’ll be right back.”
“No,” Charles’ voice booms. “Nobody is going anywhere.”
I turn to the right and see my father observing the situation in the same cold, calculating way he assesses everything. When did he get here? He calmly removes his cell from his suit jacket’s breast pocket and presses a button to call someone.
A moment after he places the phone against his ear, he says, “We have a problem. I need a cleanup at my house ASAP.”
Peyton’s and Ms. Williams’ heads swivel in my father’s direction. Cleanup? Like a dead body cleanup? What in the actual fuck? When my eyes travel over to Kingston, he doesn’t look surprised in the least.
“Yes, the mansion, and at least two, possibly more.” Charles pauses for a moment. “Good. See you soon.” He closes Peyton’s door as he ends the call and levels each one of us with an icy glare. “None of you will breathe a word about this.”
“Mr. Callahan... I know it’s not my place to—”
“You’re right, Darlene. It’s not your place.” His jaw tics. “Are there any other staff members on the premises?”
“No, sir. You gave them the day off to spend the holiday with their families. Remember?”
Charles nods. “Call them immediately and tell them to take the entire week off with pay. It’s my holiday gift to them. Do not say a word about what you saw here, and do not speak to anyone else, especially the police. Go straight to my office and wait for further instruction when you’re done.”
“Y-yes, sir.” Ms. Williams hangs her head and scurries down the stairs like her ass is on fire.
He turns his angry gaze on Peyton. “What the hell happened?”
“I don’t know!” Peyton cries. “I just got home and found him like that!”
“You just got home?” Charles raises his bushy eyebrows, glancing at the face of his Rolex. “It’s almost two in the afternoon. Where were you?”
She dabs her eyes and sniffles. “The girls and I had a slumber party at Whit’s house.”
I snort. She sure as shit wasn’t with Whitney or Imogen the same night they found out she was screwing their boyfriends. And I have a sneaking suspicion she knows exactly who did that to Lucas.
Peyton’s baby blues quickly flick to me, but then back to Charles. “Daddy, what are we going to do?”
“You are not going to do anything . Let the men handle this. I don’t trust you not to fuck this up.”
Her eyes widen. “But, Daddy.”
“Not a word, Peyton!” he shouts. “If I hear a peep out of you about this, trust me when I say you will not like the consequences. Now, go to the guest bedroom and do not come out until I say so.”
“But...” she tries again.
He points his finger toward the guest room. “Go, Peyton! ”
She bursts into tears again and runs to do as he says.
Once Peyton is behind closed doors, Charles turns his attention to Kingston. “I trust I can depend on you to handle this with discretion?”
Kingston nods. “Yes, sir. Of course.” He turns to me. “Get your bag, Jazz.”
“What?” I ask incredulously. “We can’t just—”
“Shut your goddamn mouth and get your shit!” he yells. Kingston’s eyes widen, imploring me to read between the lines.
I grit my teeth. “Fine. ”
I give him the meanest glare I can manage before stomping into my room to get my things. When I return to the hallway with my bag over my shoulder, Kingston and my father have their heads together, exchanging quiet words. They stop talking when they notice me and pull apart.
My father straightens his tie. “Jasmine. I understand you’re going away with your sister for a few days. Have a good trip.”
“Really?” I scoff, throwing my hand toward Peyton’s closed door. “We’re just going to pretend there’s not a dismembered corpse in there?”
“Jazz,” Kingston growls. “Do I need to teach you another lesson in respect?”
I nail him with a look that says, you keep it up, buddy, and fuckboy in there isn’t going to be the only one that got castrated .
The asshole smirks in return.
“Whatever,” I mumble. “My apologies for being such a disrespectful asshole. You can punish me later.”
My father claps Kingston on the back. “I see you’ve finally been able to teach Jasmine how a woman should behave in this world. Good for you, my boy. Although it seems like her language still needs some work.” He raises his brows at me in a challenge, like he’s daring me to talk back.
Kingston belts out a disgustingly haughty laugh. “I’m not a miracle worker, Charles. You’ve got to give me some time for that.”
You’d think my boyfriend was doing standup based on how loudly my father is laughing.
I think Kingston can sense I’m about to lose my shit because he grabs me by the elbow and steers me toward the stairway. “Let’s go. You have a lot to atone for before we leave in the morning.”
Charles flat out guffaws at that.
The second we’re in the car, I lay into him. “You’re lucky I can read you so damn well, or you would’ve gotten a swift kick to the balls for speaking to me like that!” I punch him in the arm. “Asshole!”
“Jesus,” he mutters, rubbing the spot I just hit. “Calm the fuck down. You know exactly why I did that.”
“You could’ve given me some kind of heads up.”
Kingston pulls out of the driveway. “Really? When would I have done that? Before or after we made arrangements to cover up a murder?”
I cross my arms over my chest. “I’m still pissed at you.”
“Well, then I’ll just have to fuck that right out of you when we get back to my place.”
“Whatever.”