Page 93 of Hexed
VENESA
Uncle T boughta yacht when I was thirteen years old and named it theAquata,and about once a month when I was growing up, he’d load the family into the back of his fancy cars and bring them out onto the open sea for dinner. It almost always involved others; usually it was about him showing off to someone he deemed important, parading his women around like rare jewels from a sunken treasure.
I never got the invitation, I guess because I’ve never been worthy of being shown off like a prized possession—a little too rough around the edges to sparkle the way Aria does—and I always accepted it as the way things were. Even though I primed, waxed, and sculpted myself into a perfect figure, hoping I was good enough to be shown off to the world, I never quite managed it.
And each time I was left behind, it would chip away a bit more at my damaged spirit, proving it didn’t matter whom I lived with or who called me family.
It was all just another version of the same thing.
I was always a burden. An obligation.
In fact, it wasn’t until I was firmly under the umbrella of “employee,” if not on paper then by actual trade, that I was invited on board, and in my twenty-five years on this earth, fifteen of those having been with my uncle, he’s neveroncethrown me a birthday dinner.
So it’s easy to imagine why I’m suspicious now.
And desperate to leave.
I’m sitting on the front deck of the yacht with Bastien, the cushioned back of the booth I’m lounged in supporting me like a cocoon. The South Carolina heat beats down on my pale skin like I’m baking in an oven, and I’m a little concerned about getting a burn even though I’m slathered with sunscreen from head to toe. Bastien is reading a novel across from me, a rectangular table between us, both of us waiting for Uncle T to actually show up.
He said to be here at three, but it’s half past, and he’s still nowhere to be found.
“You coming with me tomorrow to meet the Atlantis MC for the drop?” I ask.
“Mmm.” He nods and flips a page in his novel. “Shouldn’t be an issue.”
“Good.” I pause. “You think Johnston has any idea it was me?”
I don’t elaborate because we both know I’m talking about the fact I put his brother-in-law in the hospital. Last I heard, he’s still alive, but barely.
Bastien glances at me. “If he did, I don’t think your uncle would send you into the fire.”
“True,” I reply, even though it doesn’t feel like it lately, which is a whole different can of worms. I chew my lip, wanting to spill everything to Bastien, just to see how he reacts, if maybehe’sbeen feeling the difference with Uncle T too or if it’s just me who’s suddenly off-kilter like my world’s been turned upside down.
“While we’re waiting, why don’t you tell me what you ended up doing with that Sean guy?” I ask instead.
Bas flips another page. “It’s been handled.”
I nod and tap my nails on the table. “You planning to elaborate?”
Now he does give me his attention, his amber eyes meeting mine over the lip of his book. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Don’t you tell me not to worry about it, Bas.” I point my finger at him. “Iamworried about it. He came into my place and messed with my money.”
I don’t add in the fact he spilled he was here following Enzo, maybe because part of me is hoping Bastien knows and is going to admit it tomeinstead.
“Technically, it’s your uncle’s money,” he deadpans.
My eyes narrow. “You know what I mean.”
He sighs, glancing at me again. “And you know whatImean when I say it’s been handled.”
“I know it means you’re being an asshole.”
He smirks.
I stare at him for a few seconds, but he doesn’t say anything else. “You’re really not gonna tell me?”
His brow lifts. “He isn’t important, V. He wasn’t anyone worth a damn. Just some idiot who thought he could worm his way into our business because of hearing the rumor mill. I killed him; he’s gone.”
