Page 13 of Hexed
“They?”
“That’s right.”
I slip my hands in my pockets and rock back on my heels. “Do you keep your name from them too, or am I special?”
She laughs, and it tugs me in like a scarf around my neck. “You’re a man, honey. I’m afraid there’s nothing special about any of you.”
Grinning, I step closer, and the space between us hums like a string being plucked until it vibrates a deep, dark note. “Sounds like you haven’t met the right man.”
She smiles back, and her eyes dance with mirth. “Sounds like something the wrong man would say.”
My grin grows wider, even as a pinch of guilt tries to weave its way into the moment. It’s not like me to be so forward with a woman when I’m in a relationship with another, but there’s something here…something about her that makes it impossible to resist. “Tell me your name, piccola sirena.”
Her pupils flare, but the sound of tires crunching on loose gravel interrupts our moment, and her gaze slides past my shoulder, locking on something in the distance. The tension breaks, and I feel like I’ve been sucker punched in the chest by this woman who’s robbed my breath and bruised my lungs.
“See you later, Lover Boy.”
She walks past me.
I turn to watch her go, surprised she knows my nickname and irritated by the way it makes my mind fire with interest.
“Tell me your name,” I call to her back.
She spins slightly and gives me a bright white smile, her eyes flashing with amusement.
And then she disappears around the corner and out of my sight.
THREE
VENESA
There’sa chip in my nail polish. Everywhere else, the red is smooth and perfect, but not there, not on my pinky. It’s right by the cuticle too, theworstplace for an imperfection. My mind races, as it’s prone to doing, while I try to figure out when it happened. Was it before or after I combined that methyl bromide? Maybe it was post-preparation but pre-use. Or maybe it was when I hit my hand on the bus’s seat while heading out here to my uncle’s forty-acre estate.
Most likely, though, it was after running into Enzo Marino, just walking around the property like he owns it.
Picking at my cuticles when I’m nervous is a nasty habit I’ve neverquitebeen able to break, and as much as I hate to admit it, Enzo being here makes me nervous.
For several reasons, although I’d never speak them out loud.
“You were supposed to make it look like an accident.” Uncle T’s rumbling voice floats through the air and snaps me back into reality.
Dropping my hand to my lap, I cross my legs and settle further into the bucket chair facing his desk. His sky-blue eyes are piercing as we lock gazes, and it’s easy to see he’s upset aboutthe way I handled my latest project. He’s always had a terrible poker face; that broad nose of his flares and those frown lines crease deeper whenever he’s up in arms.
“Oops?” I shrug, flashing a wide smile.
Uncle T’s fist drops against the cherrywood, rattling the small odds and ends scattered across the top of his desk: a crystal tumbler filled with Kentucky bourbon, a custom engraved case that holds his finest Cuban cigars. A framed picture of his late wife, Antonella, and their picture-perfect daughter.
“Damn it, Venesa, this isn’t a game. When I say to make it seem like an overdose, youmake it seem like an overdose.”
A jab of shame hits me, right in that space inside where I ache for his approval. “I know that, I just…” My words trail off because what’s the point of wasting breath trying to explain something that shouldn’t need an explanation? I did what he asked me to do, and thatshouldbe the end of it.
Clearly, he doesn’t agree, and unfortunately for me, Idostill give a damn about his approval. It’s all I give a damn about, if I’m being honest with myself.
Still, I’m a Leo rising and sun sign, so the need to get my point across burns bright enough in the moment where I can’t hold my tongue.
“This way was better,” I argue. “He’ll have permanent brain damage now,severelifelong issues.”
“If he survives.”
