Davina Martinez, an aspiring fashion designer, finds herself twisted into the dark world of a gangster, whom the globe knows as the rapper turned popstar, Machine Gun Kelly. Stuck in a toxic relationship with Trippie Redd, Davina finds her life spir...
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A/N: Not going to explain this graphic edit I made above because you'll find out what it's for in the chapter! I hope you like this part, happy monday <3
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THE JET AIR SMELLED LIKE THE EXPENSIVE champagne the guys were downing in crystal glasses, served by a thin Caucasian girl clad in a black and white server's uniform-her thin hair pulled tight in a neat bun at the crown of her head. Poor thing was having to refill the tiny crystal glasses by the second, as the two rappers and Pete Davidson downed their glasses a mere second after she poured it for them.
Aside from the scent of the expensive champagne, the air stung of the dense cologne the guys wore, mixed with the pristine overwhelmingly polished smell of every bit of the crimson leather that was adorned on the seats and other various surfaces inside the private jet-a decision made to cater to Trippie Redd's own aesthetic preferences.
I got up from my seat from beside them, and made my way away from the guys' little bachelor party.
"Yo, Davina," Much to my chagrin, Trippie Redd called out my name. "You didn't even touch your glass. We'll land soon."
"In thirty minutes, sir," The server spoke, hesitantly correcting the rapper.
He had probably looked at her a certain way, silencing her brutally before I spun around, standing taut in the mini hallway of the jet.
"No thank you," I folded my arms across my chest. "Have some for me, since you three are already planning to tumble out into LA maimed off of your senses."
Playboi Carti raised a brow as he grinned into his glass, his eyes peering at me with raised brows.
"Aw, what's got you so salty?"
"Possibly the fact that you came along," I snapped. "You should've stayed in New York, Carter. I didn't sign up for this to babysit you and your whims. We're on an urgent mission, in case you mistook the situation for a bachelor party."
He blinked, his drunk brain registering the insult too late and not entirely at all.
He murmured something about it being a free country and him having all the right to go to LA should he wish it because he did have a house there.
John Whittall had informed me in plain terms that the rapper was to accompany too, and had presented the reason that Carter had insisted he would be of help and would speed up the process. Playboi Carti did not usually have the knack for the art of persuasion-atleast in the past two years in which I have known him, but gosh did he have some obsession with speeding up processes and believing he excelled at the notion.
Pete Davidson had a frozen smirk on his face, a smirk he had eloquently plastered on himself permanently it seemed, since his expression hadn't even shifted since we had stepped on to Trippie Redd's jet. I turned my eyes away from his as soon as his eyes met mine. I would've preferred if he'd worn his shades-the last thing I needed at present was to be reminded of things I did not want to remember.
