Page 42 of Hexed
She inhales sharply, and I straighten, placing my hand in front of her to help her stand.
I lift her by the fingers, and her body twists until she’s facing me. She’s a tall woman, her head level with my shoulders, but she still has to crane her neck to look me in the eye.
When our gazes lock, my stomach drops out and my chest kicks.
Damn it.
She licks her lips. “Noted.”
Once we’re outside, I face her again, slipping my hands into my pockets because now that I’ve touched her, I’m finding it hard to think about doing anything else. “So, where to next?”
My original plan wasn’t to spend the entire day with her, if I’m being honest. I just wanted to know more about the mystery of Aria’s cousin. The woman who sits in on Trent Kingston’s business meetings and makes Aria so mad, she turns into a hissing, immature teenager.
But…I’m enjoying Venesa’s company. And I need to know if I can trust her or if this is all a ploy on her uncle’s orders.
Her face drops.
“What?” I step into her, and she throws her hands up, hovering above my chest.
“Seriously, what iswithyou and personal boundaries?”
“If you don’t like it, then push me away,” I challenge.
Her palms continue to hover, so close that I can feel the energy sparking off her fingers. But not close enough.
She drops them and sighs. “All right, just tell me where you want to go.”
I smile like I’m satisfied, but I can’t deny the disappointment settling inside me at her giving in so easily.
“Take me to the Lair.”
TEN
VENESA
In the Lair’s heyday,at the height of the Prohibition era, it was the hotspot of the Southside. People loved going there for the “music,” which really meant the hidden speakeasy in the basement.
When I saw it was up for sale, I knew it was perfect to pitch to Uncle T. I had been waiting for the moment for years, to be honest. Another arm to add to his arsenal, both for washing his money, and because the built-in speakeasy was perfect for an illegal gambling ring.
When you live the formative years of your life being the product of someone’s vices, you know how to extrapolate them. Liquor and gambling: my father’s downfall and my way of making Uncle T money.
I never told Uncle T I spent every weekend there as a kid while my momma waited tables, but I’m sure he knew, despite him not having talked to her since they were teenagers. Even at my granddaddy’s funeral, they ignored each other, probably because my uncle was too busy with the family office manager, handling how best he’d utilize taking over the Kingston fortune, since no one could find a trace of a will.
But then again, before Aria had become an enemy, I’d told her all about my momma and the Lair, so no doubt word got around.
Running it now gives me a sense of belonging; it ties me to my roots and allows me to claim some of Momma’s history as my own, as lackluster as that history may be.
It’s important to me.
Almostas important as that painting hanging in Uncle T’s office.
Apparently, Granddaddy used to preach to him and Momma about how whoever held the painting held the power, and I think Uncle T may have taken that phrase too literally.
Even though Momma chose my father over the family, that painting showed up on our doorstep, and I’ll never forget how serious she was when she told me it was her most prized possession. That if anything ever happened to her, she wanted me to have it. Made me pinky promise right then and there. It’s the only promise I ever made her, and it burns something fierce knowing I can’t keep it.
At the time, I didn’t understand why she hid it away behind a loose panel in the bedroom closet if she loved it so much, but after Uncle T swiped it before she was even buried in the dirt, I started to get the gist.
Enzo’s driver, Scotty, glances at us from the rearview mirror, his eyes eating me up when he thinks I’m not looking. I send him a wink, enjoying the way a blush rises to his angular cheeks.
