Page 110 of Hexed
But we all know who really runs the show here, and it isn’t them.
The Southside docks are owned by Uncle T, but they’re in a bad part of town and off the beaten path, which makes them the perfect place to meet. Other than some empty warehouses and my uncle’s freights, there’s nothing and nobody here at this time of night, and it’s far enough away from civilization that Johnston can test the guns with no one calling the cops when they hear the shots.
But I wish they’d hurry and get here. It’s thirty minutespastthe time we’re supposed to meet, and every second makes me grow antsier, my brain running a mile a minute, my nerves making me feel like bugs are crawling underneath my skin.
Finally, there’s the distinct rumble of motorcycle engines, and my spine bristles at the sound, my hackles rising like a shield.
Showtime.
Five motorcycles pull up, and their engines go silent one by one, the men standing from their bikes. Their leather cuts are faded, and I’ve always wondered if that’s from their rides in the sun or if they’re made that way on purpose.
The guns themselves are already packaged into crates, and Johnston walks over with a scowl on his face, barely visible through the long, wiry black beard covering it.
Anxiety pricks at my back like needles.
“You,” he states, his voice a deep growl.
I cross my arms as I lean against one of the wooden crates. “Me.”
“Where’re the men?”
“Oh, I’m sure they’re out somewhere being a disappointment.”
His scowl deepens. “Trent sent you here unprotected?”
I bring my hand up, curling my fingers and looking at my nails like I’m unbothered. Even though my heart is pumping trepidation through every single piece of me.
“He seems to think it’syouwho needs the protection.” I grin widely.
But seriously, fuck Uncle T for letting me come here alone.
He cocks his head to the side. “You do a lot of the grunt work for your uncle, don’t you?”
I know what he’s really asking:Was it you who fucked with my family?
“Sometimes,” I reply.
He watches me closely for a few seconds, taking out a cigarette and lighting the end before he blows the smoke in my face.
My eyes water, but I ignore it.
He smiles. “You’ve got fire, girl. I like that in a woman.”
I laugh, becausewhat?“Honey, no offense, but you couldn’t handle a woman like me.”
His eyes look me up and down, and it feels sleazy, like he’s stripping me bare and leaving me exposed. It’s an odd moment to realize how much I like when Enzo does it, and how the feeling changes when the intent is different.
“You let me worry about what I can handle,” he says.
I tap the top of the crate. “All you need to handle is right here, Johnston.”
His smile widens, and it makes my stomach churn. Ugh, he’s so disgusting.
There’s a system to how these drops go down. They look in the crates, they can take them out and fire them if they wish, and then they load them up, and I leave.
Easy as pie in theory.
“Most of them are around back.” I gesture to the warehouse we’re standing in front of, and he puts his arm out like he wants me to lead the way.
