Chapter 15
Fifteen
Kingston
For a long moment, Ella watches the elevator swallow Sebastian. Once he’s gone, she stares at the closed doors for even longer, as if waiting for the contraption to spit him out again.
“Ella, baby,” I say, taking her hand. “Come here.”
“He just…he left,” she says, turning to look at the elevator over her shoulder as I lead her to one of the sofas. “He’s gone?”
“For now,” I say.
“But he’ll come back.” She says this in a wobbly voice. She’s trying to convince herself.
“I think so,” I say.
Last time Bash left like this, I didn’t see him for two months. He’d taken himself to a rehab center outside of Los Angeles, one that insisted on no contact with anyone from the outside world. I’d been happy he was getting the help he thought he needed, but furious he’d disappeared on me.
But he won’t be gone for two months, not this time. He has Ella. He’ll come back for her because he won’t be able to stay away. I know him, and I know her.
In the meantime, I have to be strong for her and help her see that everything’s going to be okay.
“You knew he did that, to that woman,” Ella says, her brown eyes filling with tears.
“Yes,” I say.
“And you’re still his friend.”
“Yes.” I sigh and sit down, tugging her to the cushion next to mine. “I’ve known Sebastian for years. Enthusiastic consent has been the number one rule of every hook-up. Every time. Whatever happened that night, it had never happened before and it hasn’t happened since.”
“And you don’t think it’ll happen again,” she says.
“Exactly. Or I’d never let him be alone with a woman. Not you, not anyone.”
She’s quiet for so long, I wonder if she’s going to respond at all.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” I say.
“I’m angry,” she says, taking a deep breath.
“I’m angry at Trina, I’m angry at you, and I’m angry at Sebastian.
Mostly, I’m angry with myself because despite learning that Sebastian assaulted someone, I’m more worried about how he’s feeling than I am about the woman he hurt. Have you spoken to her? Is she okay?”
I stroke the side of Ella’s face. Her skin is soft as a butterfly’s wing. “I haven’t talked to her. I wouldn’t know where to find her.”
A long moment passes. She takes my hand and begins fidgeting with my fingers, bending them, pressing her fingertips over my knuckles like they’re keys on a piano.
“So, Trina found you at work,” I say.
“It should’ve been a dream come true.” Ella keeps pressing on my fingers. “Rescued at my dead-end serving job by an agent who can help me become a star. She had the contract ready to go.”
“She had a contract for you?” I lean back to better look at Ella. “Tell me you didn’t sign anything, baby girl. If you did, I’m calling a lawyer for you right now.”
“What? No, I didn’t sign anything. You distrust Trina that much?”
“I wouldn’t trust that woman to take care of a goldfish,” I say. “I didn’t like how she handled things for Sebastian or how she’s managed him since.”
“Well, I didn’t sign anything,” Ella says. “I was too emotional, too upset about hearing what Sebastian did. If he even did it.”
“If he even did it?” I ask.
She makes a hmm sound and leans her head on my shoulder. “He doesn’t even remember doing it. But if the woman says he did, I’ll believe her. Did the victim, Alyssa, ever say?”
I frown. “Not that I know of. I never even knew the woman’s name. Trina said she did.”
My own words echo in my mind: Trina said. Not ‘the victim said.’ Trina .
Ella
Two days go by with no word from Sebastian. Kingston assures me that this is all right, and Sebastian’s all right, and everything’s going to be fucking all right.
But I don’t feel all right, not at all.
I text Sebastian over and over. It doesn’t seem like he’s blocked me, so I can only hope he’s reading my messages. Let’s talk. Please call me. I miss you .
Should I be telling him I miss him? Are we even still together? Would I date a guy who maybe attacked a woman?
I’m definitely considering it. And we haven’t broken up.
I also can’t get Kingston’s words out of my head—no one ever came forward and said Sebastian attacked them.
So did it happen? Should I trust Trina’s word?
Kingston doesn’t trust her.
And now I want to get to the bottom of this. I just have no idea how to do it.
During a quick break while cleaning Dorado Terraces, I text Kingston. Although he usually responds immediately, he doesn’t this time. Disappointing. But I have floors to vacuum and picture frames to dust, so I don’t dwell on it.
When my shift is over, though, he still hasn’t texted back. I frown at my phone. He usually gets back to me. I text again. Is everything okay?
No answer.
I put away my cleaning supplies and head out of the building. My phone buzzes, and it’s Kingston. I smile until I read the terse message. Everything’s fine. Just busy .
I resolve to take him at his word. If he’s busy, of course he won’t have time to engage in a long string of texts with me.
At the same time, I’m feeling something I haven’t felt in a while when I head to Bartleby’s—loneliness. Sebastian is gone. Kingston is busy. I threw Tommy out of my life.
I don’t even get to work with Natasha—she has the night off. Instead, I have to work with Nicholas-don’t-call-me-Nick, and he’s in a mood .
By the end of my shift, I’m a ball of misery with aching feet and a horrible attitude. I leave the pub, wanting nothing more than to curl up between Sebastian and Kingston, but wanting to cry because I know it’s impossible.
When I step out of Bartleby’s, a dark silver car is waiting at the curb. Shiny. New. Luxurious. It’s far too fancy for this neighborhood. The passenger window lowers and Kingston’s face appears as he leans over.
“Hey, gorgeous,” he says.
“Gorgeous?” I look down at my black shirt and jeans. I’m rumpled and I reek of the pub and the lemon martini someone spilled on me minutes before my shift ended.
“Gorgeous,” he confirms. “Get in the car.”
I’m too grouchy, I don’t want to hang out, and he didn’t text me back earlier—at least, he didn’t text me enough. Maybe he’s been spoiling me, but I felt ignored.
He raises his eyebrows. “Ella. Get in the car.”
Damn, when he talks to me like that, it makes me want to get naked.
“Fine,” I say, but I keep my tone sulky. Let him hear how irritated I am.
After I settle into the passenger seat, he grabs the seatbelt and buckles me in.
I flick a glance at his face, which is so near, I could tilt my head and lick his whiskery cheek. “You and Sebastian really have a thing for buckling me up, don’t you?”
“We like taking care of you.”
I glance at the interior of the car. Leather everything, shiny everything. “Nice ride.”
“Thanks. I gave Garth the night off. It’s been a while since I drove myself anywhere, and I kind of miss it.”
“So, where are we going?” I ask.
“Wherever you want.”
I shake my head. “I’m too tired and cranky to make any decisions right now.”
He nods and puts the car in gear. “Gotcha.”
I don’t ask where he’s taking us as he navigates the city streets, but soon we’re out of San Esteban entirely, moving along the freeway toward the suburb of Fair Heights. Kingston’s hand is warm on my knee, a comfort. With every mile we travel away from San Esteban, my muscles loosen and relax.
Finally, he takes what seems to be a random exit.
There is literally nothing here, just a long stretch of dark road with no street lamps.
“Um, Kingston?”
“Yeah, baby girl?”
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
He takes a turn down a pitted dirt road and has to change gears as we start climbing a hill. I grip the armrest, anxious because I can barely see the sides of the road. Is that a steep drop? I can’t tell—there are no lights out here save for the car’s headlights.
“It’s okay, Ella, it’s safe,” he says, reaching over to squeeze my hand.
Finally, he slows down and maneuvers the car into an angle so that we’re overlooking the small town of Fair Heights. It isn’t a majestic view or anything, but it’s quiet out here, and Kingston looks out his window and points up to the stars.
“Less light pollution,” he says. “Looking at the stars helps me think.”
“What is this place?” I ask.
“Just an empty piece of land. My friends and I used to come here, when I was a teenager.”
“You grew up around here?”
“I was born and raised in Fair Heights, yeah.”
I look at him. “This is your empty piece of land, isn’t it?”
He chuckles and holds up his hands. “You got me. I saw it was for sale a few years ago and bought it for nostalgia.”
It must be nice to just buy acreage because of a few memories, but I can’t be bitter about it. He has money, I don’t, and that’s just the way it goes sometimes.
“It’s nice,” I say. “Very dark, though.”
“Very private,” he says, his voice deepening.
I pretend like I don’t understand his meaning and casually nod at the view.
“You said you were cranky,” he says. “Any particular reason for that?”
“Too many to list,” I say.
Leaning back in his seat, he says, “I’ve got time.”
I don’t want to tell him that not getting good texts from him was a big part of the reason. How needy am I?
“Come here and sit in my lap.” He pushes his seat back as far as it’ll go.
“Mm, no, thanks.” I don’t know why I’m being obstinate. I really do want to sit in his lap, inhale his scent, relax into the feeling of being protected and cherished.
Loved.
The night of my big argument with Tommy, Kingston said he was falling in love with me. I said it back, but we haven’t said it since.
“Ella,” he says, his voice stern. “Sit in my lap. Now.”
In the time it takes me to turn my head and look out the window, he has unbuckled me and is yanking me over to his seat.
I accidentally knee him in the thigh, and he grunts in surprise, but he doesn’t let me go.
Before I know it, I’m sitting on his lap, facing the steering wheel, and he’s using his legs to keep mine spread apart.
He brings one hand up to cup my throat. Desire pools in my pussy as I feel myself submitting to him, easing into the role I feel I was born to play: Kingston’s little girl. I relax against his front, feel the hardness of his cock against my ass and the firm planes of his pecs against my shoulders.
“You need this,” he says, his voice full of confidence and discovery.
“Yes,” I whisper.
Continuing to hold my neck still, he makes quick work of the buttons on my jeans. He dips his hand into my panties and swears. “You’re so fucking wet for me, little one.”
“I want you, Daddy.”
“I’m all yours.” He swirls his fingers through my wetness, rubbing gently against my clit.
My muscles strain as I try to get more of him, but his hand tightens on my throat.
“Careful, little girl. I’m in charge.”
“Yes, Daddy,” I gasp.
In this beautiful place of dominance and submission, where the two of us meet and I allow his control, he fingers me into oblivion.
He spears me, caresses me, tantalizes my nerves until everything builds beyond pleasure.
My orgasm pulses through me and I cry out, held in place by Kingston’s strong grasp.
“You’re so soft, so perfect,” he murmurs, releasing my throat and kissing the side of my neck.
As soon as I can remember my name, and how to form human speech, I wiggle my ass against his lap. “What about you?”
“I’ll fuck you later,” he says, a smile in his voice. “Just now, that was for you.”
I remain where I am, leaning against him, appreciating his strength and solidity.
“I haven’t heard from Sebastian,” I say.
“I haven’t either.”
“Are you worried?”
“No, I’m not. He’s working through a lot, and that’s just how his mind works—solitude and whatever. It’s annoying to be his friend when he does it, but he always comes back.”
I want to keep being worried and anxious. Perhaps because that anxiety is a tether, holding me closer to Sebastian. But Kingston sounds so certain that I decide, once again, to put my trust and faith in him.
Kingston runs his hands over my arms, my stomach, my legs and I relax against him once more, allowing him to take care of me, allowing him to do the worrying and fretting that’s been taking up so much of my brain space the past few days.
In front of us, the lights of Fair Heights twinkle like grounded stars. One breath after another, I find myself calming, growing sleepy and content. When it’s time to leave here, I might close my eyes on the way home. I feel like I could sleep for a month.
My phone vibrates in my purse, but I ignore it, too relaxed in Kingston’s arms to want to move. The vibration continues—it’s a phone call, not a text.
But the caller could be Sebastian. I scramble up, reaching for my bag.
Pulling my phone from the pocket, I frown at the screen.
It’s a local number, but not one I’m familiar with.
Normally, I’d let it go to voicemail, but a big part of me is hoping for Sebastian’s voice, so I answer while Kingston continues to gently massage my arms and shoulders.
“Hello?”
“Miss Marchand? This is Detective Baldwin.”
“Oh, hi,” I say. Mind still on Sebastian, I rush out, “Is everyone all right?”
“No,” the detective says.
I forget how to breathe.
“It will no longer be necessary for you to answer any more questions about Bryan Crowley.”
“Bryan Crowley, my apartment manager?” Relief swirls through me. This isn’t about Sebastian, but something else entirely. At least Sebastian is safe. Clearing my throat, I say, “Why won’t you need my help anymore?”
“Because Bryan Crowley is dead, Miss Marchand. He took his own life in his cell an hour ago.”