Page 134 of Hexed
A spark of warmth hits my chest, and it catches me by such surprise that my hand flies up to cover the feeling.
I glance at the bartender. “Who says I can be ‘gotten’?”
Scotty’s eyes skim over the room, widening when they land on me. Immediately, he heads over, his gaze flicking back and forth between the bartender and me.
When he reaches us, he grips me harshly by the upper arm. “What the hell are you doing here?” he asks, sounding almost panicked.
I pat his hand and remove his fingers. “Hi to you too, cutie.”
“Scotty, you know anything about this one?” the bartender asks. “She’s a steel trap.” He laughs, but it dies off quickly when Scotty reaches over the bar and punches him in the shoulder.
“You don’t talk to her.” Scotty points his finger. “You don’t evenlookat her.”
“Oh, it’s like that?” He backs up from the bar and puts his hands in the air.
I scoff and roll my eyes. “It’snotlike that.”
“You don’t worry about what it is neither,” Scotty demands. The guy nods and listens, barely giving me another glance before he’s off and down to the other end, talking to another patron.
I click my tongue.Coward.
“Wow, you’re a powerful man around here, huh?” I ask Scotty.
“Does E know you’re here?” He reaches for me again, but I slide from the barstool and stand just out of his reach.
“Quit trying to manhandle me. And no, actually. I’m trying to find him. Do you know where he is?”
He shakes his head and taps his fingers on the bar. “You shouldn’t be here, Venesa. This ain’t no game. New York’s no place for you right now.”
I reach out and cup his cheek, giving him a wide grin. “Scotty, quit treating me like I’m some damsel in distress and tell me where to find Enzo. I need to talk to him. It’s important.”
He purses his lips and tilts his head, like he can’t quite decide what to do with me. “Listen, he’s not here, but I’ll tell him you’re in town, okay? You got a number for me?”
I nod, disappointment settling heavy in my chest as I tell him where Enzo can reach me, and then I sip from my drink as I watch Scotty disappear into the crowd.
Something feels off, so I slip a ten out of the pocket in my bra and leave it on the bar top before following Scotty across the main floor and into a back hallway.
The layout here is actually pretty similar to the Lair, except on a larger scale. But it’s the same hallway and then stairs into a basement where things arenotwhat they seem.
The underground of the Royale is a different world. I can smell the sweat and testosterone in the air, and bodies are packed together like sardines, hovering close to a cage with a platform in the center.
Two men are there, bloody and bruised, whit tape on their hands as they fight. If the club upstairs is nice, then this place is primitive.
I find Enzo immediately.
Scotty, that little liar.
Enzo is standing off in a corner, dressed to perfection as usual, with his hands in his pockets. His brows are scrunched, and his head is tilted while he listens to something a large man with dark brown hair and a gun strapped to his shoulder is saying in his ear.
I push my way through the bodies, attempting to get closer to Enzo, but I don’t walk all the way over yet. I hang back, watching him in his element.
He’s more at ease, maybe. More in control. There’s a sophistication to his posture, and it’s clear everyone defers to him, leaving space like they know better than to get too close.
Suddenly, his head snaps in my direction, and his eyes glance around.
Is it silly to think that maybe he canfeelme here?
Men are surrounding him—real bodyguards, I can tell immediately. And this version of Enzo Marino ismuchdifferent from the vacation version I saw of him in South Carolina.
