Page 58 of Jagger
There’s an agonizing fifteen-minute wait before she replies. Aphrodite can’t even talk to me other than the basics. I think she knows something went down, and for all I know, Molly has told her. But if my cousin knew what I’d done, I’d probably be dead.
Maybe I deserve to be.
APHRODITE: Molly says fuck you. Sorry.
I grit my teeth. Molly may hate me, but if there’s one thing I know, it’s the modeling industry and how savage it is. There’s a need deep within me to protect Molly, and it fucking kills me. She hates me more than, if not the same as, Lawson Veng. Maybe I should leave it well alone. Let Molly live her life and make her own mistakes.
But I’m the reason she’s more damaged than ever, and I feel responsible for that.
However, it’s too late to make amends, and I hate it. I hate being powerless.
29
ONE YEAR LATER: MOLLY
I feel exposed, on display. But that's what modeling is, right? I stare at my reflection, my perfectly made-up face, my highlighted cheekbones I didn't even know I had. The hairstylists and make-up artists have teased my hair into curls around my shoulders, applied nude lipstick to my lips, and heavily made-up my eyes. My swimsuit, if you can call it that, clings to me like a second skin. I've been spray tanned within an inch of my life, and the cheese-string thong digs into my ass. The front barely covers my nipples.
I hate it.
I'm wearing sparkly silver stilettos—who fucking wears stilettos on a yacht? I can barely walk, they're that high. The yacht bobs on the aqua ocean, and they call my name.
"Molly, baby? You're up." Andre calls as someone opens my door.
I sigh with relief when I see it's Danny, the man I'm modeling with. His body, drenched in oil, is ripped to fuck, and he's wearing nothing but tiny trunks that match my swimsuit. He slicks back his blond hair, matching his eye make-up with mine.He's also gay, and I couldn't be happier because it means I trust him.
Sad, but true.
"Come on, hot stuff," he says with a wink, holding his hand out to me. "Let's get this shit over with."
"If it didn't pay so well..." I mutter, wishing I could drag the stupid thong bottom from my ass.
"I know, but it does. It does! And tonight is the party. We love parties, don't we, Molly?"
Danny taps his nose, and I wonder when it came to this—snorting cocaine at parties while pretending to care about the photographers and designers. But it got me through it, and it paid the bills. Well, it more than paid the bills. A year ago, I was living with my best friend, trying to recover from the shit show that was my life. So I guess modeling on a yacht on a private Caribbean island was a step up.
I follow Danny onto the yacht, inhaling a breath of sunshiny sea air before I pose.
Danny on his knees looking up at me.
Me crawling over the yacht, ass in the air.
"Seduce me, Molly!"
"Ass higher in the air!"
"Lower on your front!"
"Perfect, Molly!"
I think of the money. Because that's why I'm doing this. Halfway through the day, Danny hands me a tiny packet filled with white powder, which I snort, not even bothering to hide it. The photographers don't care, as long as I'm doing what I'm told.
And I always do what I'm told.
The party is in full swing, and I'm surprised I've got a nose left. I'm dying for the restroom, and I can't understand why in a place with so many fucking rooms, none of them are bathrooms. I push open another door, pressing my legs together in urgency.
"Yeah, baby, just like that."
I stumble into the room to find a girl on her knees, the man she's sucking off with his back to me. I can't help but notice he has a fine ass.
