Page 48 of Hexed
Her eyes widen, and her voice is clearer than it’s been all night. “Don’t you ever say that again out loud.”
“Ma…”
“You promise me right now you won’t ever, ever go againstyour father. He’s dangerous, and he’s your family. You hear me? You don’t step out of line, and you don’t give him any reason to hurt you.”
Her words settle in my gut like a boulder.
“Promise me,” she repeats, her words slurring again.
“Okay, Ma. I promise.”
That was the last promise I ever made her because the next morning she was dead. Swallowed a bottle of pills and ended her own misery.
A fresh drink is placed on the table and snaps me out of the memory, even though I didn’t order one, and I glance up at the server who set it down, nodding my thanks. She smiles, a cute little sprite of a thing, most likely an attempt to keep me distracted from the fact Venesa is nowhere to be found.
But clearly, I can’t forget Venesa, no matter how much I wish I could. I’dloveto get her out of my goddamn brain for a single second.
“This place is nicer than it looks from the outside,” Scotty notes, sipping from his club soda and bobbing his head to the live singer. “Good jams too.”
I hum my agreement, although I’m not a big music guy—so what would I know about if it sounds good?—but I keep my eyes on the stage, where some dude with a guitar croons anyway.
Where the fuck is Venesa?
I should never have let her disappear, but it didn’t cross my mind she might ditch me.
She should know there’s no place she can hide, especially since she told me there’s virtually no security keeping people away from where she worksandwhere she lives.
Although maybe she was lying about that. I’m still not sure what her game is.
I sip my drink, focusing on the burn as it sears down my throat instead of the anxiety scraping at my insides. She’s got about five more minutes before I tear the place down to find her.
“So this is Venesa’s, or is it a Kingston spot?” Scotty asks, looking around the room.
“Kingston, I think.”
My eyes ghost over the patrons again. It’s about half-full, which isn’t that surprising since it’s a Wednesday night, but you’d think Trent, being the actual owner of the joint, would try harder to bring in more business.
“You know, all Betty talks about is how much she hates that motherfucker,” Scotty says.
I huff out a breath and lean back in the booth, glancing around for Venesa again.
“Fascinating,” I intone.
“Iknow.” Scotty’s eyes light up, thinking I actually want to hear about it. “Never shuts up about him and how all he does is bring in those ‘New Jersey Italians’ to the area.”
My head snaps to him.
He lets out a chortle. “Says it right to my face. Can you believe that? Like she doesn’t realizeI’mItalian. And I tell her, ‘Hey, lady, you gotta watch your mouth around me,’ you know? I’m getting offended.”
“What do you mean, ‘New Jersey Italians’?”
I’m curious because the De Lucas, a New Jersey family, are under our control, but I’ve never heard a single peep about any of them coming down here or dealing with Trent Kingston.
Scotty shrugs. “Just what I said, I guess. I didn’t ask, because once Betty yaps, you can never shut her up. And you know what else? She’s always shoving food down my throat. Every time I walk in the front door of the fucking place, she’s trying to feed me.”
I smirk. “You could use some meat on your bones, kid.”
Scotty puffs out his chest. “I work out.”
