Page 20 of Jagger
I've searched the entire fucking town, and Molly is nowhere to be found. I don't even know if she has a job, but I still trawl the strip joints and bars, hoping to see her. But she's nowhere.
There’s a strong possibility she's taken off, but I don't know her well enough to know if she would do that. She seems to care about Aphrodite, and I can't imagine her leaving without knowing she is okay. I chew the inside of my cheek and stare at the bus station, the litter swirling in the wind, the benches empty.
Does she drive? I realize I know fuck all about her, which irritates me.
Why do I care, anyway?
Because Lawson is a shifty fucker, and he's looking for her because of me.
So?
I'm at war with myself when a car screeches around the corner, almost tilting onto two wheels with the speed it travels.I gaze at the driver, wondering who it is when my stomach tightens.
Lawson.
His lips twist into a smirk from the driver's seat, and I can't help but wonder what he's got to smile about. I glare at the bastard. There's no one else in the car with him, but then again, I don't have long to look. I snap a photo of the back of the car before it turns a corner and send it to one of my contacts.
I don't trust Lawson, and I want to know why.
I get into my car and head home, waiting for my contact's reply. Eventually, he sends me the details of the car, including the make and model and the fact that it's registered to a rental car company locally.
So, Lawson hired a car. Makes sense, I guess, but why was he driving like a loon?
I throw my keys onto the counter and text my contact back.
JAGGER: I need the driver's address.
CONTACT 4: Now?
JAGGER: Yesterday.
I don't care what he has to do to get it as long as he fucking gets it.
I doze off on the sofa, coming to when the sunlight streams into my eyes. "Fuck," I mumble, blaming the bourbon. I grab my phone and see an address and an apology for how long it took to get it to me. I line these fuckers' pockets, and they still can't do shit properly.
Fucking drives me crazy.
I send him a photo of his daughter nude, sprawled over my bed, reminding him not to take so long next time.
The address isn't far from here, and I waste no time jumping in my car and driving faster than any speed limit allows. I'm still trying to understand why I give a shit about Molly, but I haven't got time to dissect my fucked-up brain. Maybe I'm going soft.
Nah, Jagger Knox doesn't go soft.
So why am I driving like a bat out of hell, my stomach in knots at the thought of Lawson hurting Molly? For all I know, they're fucking, and she's okay with that.
The thought makes bile rise in my throat, and annoyance seeps through my veins. Fuck this. I have to stop giving a fuck.
The house the car is registered to is in a semi-decent area, and the car is parked on the drive.
Perfect.
I park further down the street and tug my hood up, surveying the area. It's still early, and not a soul is on the street. I can't see inside any of the houses because they all have the same shitty shutters, and the house Lawson is in is no exception. There's a front door, and I know it wouldn't take much to kick it down, but I'm not that dramatic. I'm also not a hero—if anything, I'm a villain in Molly's story. I have to be because I can't feel anything for her. It's just not who I am. Warning Colton off her should have been a red flag, yet here I am, hunting her down.
For fucks sake.
I move closer and watch for any movement, but there's nothing. There are no signs of CCTV, either. I head around the back of the house, listening intently.
"Can I help you?" The voice startles me, and I turn to see Lawson frowning at me from the front of the house. He's wearing joggers and a T-shirt and is a little red-faced.
