Page 7 of Hexed
“Ammonia-soaked cotton. It’ll wake him up.” I jerk my head toward the guy on the ground, my right arm still draped over his body while my hand keeps pressure on his side.
“God, you’re weird. You just…carry that around?”
I lift a shoulder because yeah, I do.
She hesitates but eventually walks over and takes it from me.
“You’ll have to keep pressure on his wound until someone gets here to help. Otherwise, he might bleed out.”
“Ew, that’s disgusting. I’ll get his blood all over me.” Her nose scrunches. “You know what? No. I’ve already had a shitty night, so fuck this guy, and fuck you too.”
She spins and walks away.
Annoyed, I look between her and the guy on the ground.
For whatever reason, my left hand brushes over his midnight-black hair. “What did they do to you?”
And then, although I’ll never be able to explainwhy, I lean down and whisper in his ear, “Don’t die. Don’t let them win.”
His body jerks and his eyes flutter open, bright ocean blues locking on to mine.
Panic spreads through my body, and I jump to my feet, backing away as quickly as I can.
Stupid, Venesa.
If he’s some guy who’s supposed to be dead and Uncle T finds out I interfered inNew Yorkbusiness?
I might as well just kill myself.
The man closes his eyes again, passing out, and I’m gone, jogging all the way to the tree line and hiding behind it. I glance down at my blood-soaked hands. My teeth sink into my lower lip as I debate what to do, my thumbnail picking at the cuticle of my ring finger—but then, surprisingly, Aria’s there again on the shoreline, so I watch her instead.
“Urch,” she whisper-yells, glancing around.
I suck on my teeth to stay quiet.
She tries again. “Venesa!”
The man on the ground groans, and it draws her attention.
Aria moves closer to the stranger, dropping to his side and picking up my abandoned sweater, grimacing as she crouches over him. “You better be front-page worthy, you hear me?”
She releases the fabric for a moment, just long enough to uncork the vial I gave her and put it beneath his nose. She glances around one more time, presumably searching for me.
A large gasp, and the man is awake, his eyes flying open and his gaze tangling with hers.
And that’s when Aria stops looking for me completely.
Instead, she runs her hand through his river-soaked hair, her other fingers pressingmysweater against his wound, and she starts to hum.
TWO
ENZO (EHN-ZO)
ONE YEAR LATER
TWENTY-NINE YEARS OLD
Everyone expects me to marry.
