Page 3 of Hexed
Honestly, this whole thing is getting a little tiresome for my taste, and I’m growing bored.
“Does it help to know that I wish I could? Save you, I mean. I’m trying to be better these days, you know? To help people instead of hurt them.”
It’s not the truth, not really. It’s just something I say sometimes because it makes me more palatable.
“You’re…hurt—hurtingme…cunt.”
My grin drops. “True. About the hurting you part anyway. The cunt part is debatable.”
I reach out and grip his chin in my hand, digging my nails into his flesh and leaving crescent-shaped moons behind. “Unfortunately, you made a bargain with someonebesidesme. And a deal’s a deal, darlin’, no matter who you make it with.” My face screws up as I look at how sallow his skin is turning, and I pat his cheek before shoving it away. “You understand.”
His neck jerks back, and his mouth opens on a wide, pained gasp.
I lunge, plunging the metal deep into his carotid artery.
Joey’s scream is loud but short, and he gurgles something through the liquid collecting in his throat. Truthfully, I can’t understand a thing.
In my experience, it’s better when men can’t talk anyway.
Adrenaline is pumping so hard in my veins, my eardrums pulse in time with my heart.
Joey’s twitches are strong enough that the chair wobbles, so I glide forward, hoping my added weight keeps it from toppling over. Blood continues to seep around the edges of the blade and down the crisp collar of his cream shirt, and I tighten my grip, blanching my knuckles a ghostly white.
I yank the knife out, jumping from his lap and backing away as red spurts from the wound like a fountain, not wanting to get any on my clothes. I wore black just in case—because I know myself—but it’s a new dress, one I couldn’t afford buthadto have, and I’m really hoping to wear it again.
The chairdoestopple over now, thumping against the floor, and I watch with sick fascination as Joey’s groans fade and he slumps lifelessly on the stained carpet.
Blowing out a steadying breath, I crouch until I can see his face. I cringe when I look at the mess.
Yeah, poison ismuchcleaner.
Joey’s eyes are open and glossy, unblinking and empty.
The silence is so thick, it makes my ears ring.
He never screamed, save for that one short burst at the start. Probably too proud to appear weak, even in his last moments. So many men of his stature are.
“Thanks for the warm welcome, Joey,” I say to his dead body, wiping off my blade with the corner of his shirt. “The Kingston family sends its regards.”
ONE
VENESA
TWO YEARS LATER
“What thehellare you doing here?” My cousin’s shrill voice pierces the air as I stand across from her on a secluded part of the Hudson River.
It’s dark tonight, the clouds masking even the glow of the moon, so it took her a long time to notice me. She’s lucky it’sjustme. Anyone could have found her, and she’s so obtuse to her surroundings, she’d be dead before she could even scream.
“Hi, Aria. Nice to see you too.” I grin sarcastically and scan her attire.
An emerald-green evening gown, her scarlet hair in a messy updo that’s definitely seen better days, and two red-bottom shoes dangling from her fingers, one of them with a broken heel.
Always the pampered princess, even when she looks like a dumpster fire.
“Out for a midnight run?” I ask.
She pushes a strand of hair off her smooth forehead before leveling me with a glare. “What I’m doing isnoneof your business. How did you even know where to find me? And why are you in New York?”
