Hexed (Never After #6)

7. Venesa

SEVEN

VENESA

Steam billows around me as I exit the bathroom. Rubbing a towel on my soaked hair, I make my way into the main area of my studio apartment before glancing at my ends, hoping I didn’t leave the purple shampoo in for too long.

Icy white . Perfect.

I look over to the left and smirk when I see Athena, one of my regular hookups, lounging in my bed with her delicious body on full display, the thin cream sheet barely covering her tits.

Sighing, I continue into the room. “You’re still here.”

Athena smiles, her bright white teeth sparkling, and my gaze traverses her smooth, dark brown skin. She stretches her arms above her head, and her grin grows when she notices my lingering perusal. “Don’t sound so excited.”

I blink, shaking myself out of my stupor. “You can go now.”

She sits up farther, the sheet slipping down her body, and a shot of arousal hits me because damn if she isn’t gorgeous.

Fantastic at eating pussy too.

But I’m really not in the mood for this, especially after waking up to the text from Uncle T telling me to meet Enzo at the boardwalk in an hour.

There’s nothing I want less than to be around Enzo Marino. Just like the first time I saw him, when he was unconscious and on the shore of the Hudson, there’s this connection there. One that has me wanting to tell him things. True things, things he can’t know.

Athena saunters over to me and tugs at the corner of my towel until it drops off my body.

“God, you’re so fucking hot,” she mewls, her dainty hands gripping my hips and pulling me into her.

Well, maybe a quickie. I’m already calculating whether I actually have the time, though, which means the mood is severely lacking.

When she leans in toward my lips, I turn my head.

She sighs into my ear before dropping her face against mine. “You’re so irritating sometimes, Venesa.”

“Sorry, honey, but you know the rules.” I push her back, and she releases me without a fight.

She huffs, ambling to where her clothes are in a pile on the floor, right next to the edge of the bed, where I stripped them off her last night. “You and your stupid rules. Kissing someone on the lips isn’t going to kill you, V. It’s called intimacy.”

I blink at her.

She laughs quietly, tugging on her pants. “But why would you know anything about that?”

My thumb rubs against the nail on my ring finger. “Listen, this was fun, but I’ve?—”

“Let me guess,” she interrupts, buttoning up her shirt. “You’ve got things to do?”

“And people say you don’t pay attention.” I wink. “Yet you know me so well.”

“We could know each other better.” She moves back toward me.

“Any better and we’d end up killing each other. Now out.” I point toward the door leading to the Lair downstairs.

It’s early, so it’s not open yet, but if she waits any longer, the staff will have arrived, and I’d rather they not see her sneaking from my apartment. I’m gossiped about enough around here.

She walks to the door, pausing with her hand on the knob. “You know, you could take a chance and give us a real shot.”

“I could,” I say carefully as I trek to my makeshift closet and run my fingers along the rack of clothes I have against the far wall. “I just don’t want to, darlin’.”

She mutters something in reply, but I ignore her, keeping my eyes on my garments, cocking my head like picking an outfit needs intense concentration.

Finally, I hear the door click shut as she leaves, and my shoulders drop, the knot in my stomach untangling as I blow out a deep breath.

I walk from the rack and to my bedside table before opening the drawer and grabbing my gratitude journal and the meditation pillow underneath, and then I make my way to the center of the room. Manifestation is something I’ve believed in since I was struggling in high school and started writing down that Uncle T had let me drop out and come work for him instead. Two months later, those words became reality.

At that point, I had already delved into the world of witchcraft—although in the beginning, it was more curiosity and less spiritual devotion—so manifestation fell in line with raising my frequency and manipulating energy to my benefit, and even though Fisher makes fun of me for the practice, I know it works. There are too many things the universe has opened for me, too many ways my life has changed for the better since starting.

Mentally, I make a note to do a cord-breaking ritual for Athena the next time the sun is in Aquarius, and then I wipe the thought entirely from my head and focus on my breathing.

Thirty minutes later, I’m back at my clothing rack, grabbing an off-the-shoulder top I picked up from Goodwill and my favorite shorts before tossing them to the side, scrunching up my nose at the lack of options.

I miss designer clothes and the walk-in closet I had at the mansion. But that was a long time ago, when Uncle T was legally responsible for providing for me. The day I turned eighteen, Aunt Elle wasted no time kicking me to the curb, and my “loving” uncle stood beside her, watching silently as I packed my bags.

Bitterness fills my throat, making the back of my mouth turn sour.

I’m glad she’s dead now, at least.

My phone rings, Uncle T’s name flashing on the screen.

“Morning,” I answer, putting a bit of extra pep in my tone to cover the guilt from what I was just feeling.

“Hey, little one,” he replies in a soft voice. “You got my message earlier?”

“About meeting E? Of course.” I nod to myself as I continue picking out an outfit for the day. I hold up an option and walk to my floor-length mirror, which sits kitty-corner to my bed, before tossing it to the side and going to grab another one. “I don’t know. This is all just a little ridiculous. The vibes are off.”

Uncle T chuckles. “If we ran the world based on your vibes, everything would burn to the ground.”

“Well…” I toss another shirt on the bed. “Sometimes you’ve gotta burn things so you can start fresh.”

“I want that Marino hotel I was promised years ago, and he’s going to give it to me whether he wants to or not.”

Putting my phone between my shoulder and ear, I hold it there while I take a deep purple shirt off the hanger and lay it out on the bed. “So that’s the angle, manipulate him into doing what we want?”

“If that’s what it takes.”

“And you’re so sure he can be manipulated? Because I’m not. And this is?—”

“He’s marrying my damn daughter, so if I want to make sure he’s under my thumb, even just a little, then that’s what I’ll do.”

“He’s about to be family,” I retort.

“Sometimes family fucks you over.”

Well, he’s got me there.

“Want me to cast a spell?” I joke, knowing he avoids anything to do with my practice. Uncle T is a Protestant through and through. Not a very good one, but who am I to judge?

“Don’t even speak about that devil worship, girl.”

I roll my eyes because that’s not what it is, but I don’t argue with him. I learned a long time ago that it’s easier to gain his affection if he can pretend I fit into his narrow-minded box, so I let him believe what he wants to believe.

But sometimes, when I focus on the way he doesn’t accept me for who I am, resentment drizzles on my insides like an acid, slowly eating away at my resolve, and I can’t help but let the little barbs fly.

“Can’t we just have Aria show him around?” I ask. “This feels an awful lot like I’m on babysitting duty.”

“Just do it, Venesa.”

Click.

I stick out my tongue at the phone like a child and then text Bas.

Heads up, boss man is being extra today. Put on your big girl panties before you see him.

I toss the phone on my bed and finish getting ready, completing my look with my favorite bloodred lipstick and an obsidian necklace.

There’s nothing a good red lip and a protection stone can’t cure.

Heading out of my apartment and down the spiral staircase that leads into the back hallway of the Lair, the first person I’m looking for is Fisher.

I’m satisfied with the few employees prancing around the place, setting everything up for the lunch rush. We aren’t known for our food, and we don’t get truly busy until the sun sets, but there are always a few stragglers who make their way to the south side of Atlantic Cove during the day, desperate to escape their miserable existences and drown themselves enough to forget their woes.

Our liquor sales keep us in business, and it makes me sick if I think about it for too long.

But who am I to judge someone else and their life choices? Who cares if they come and spend all their money here, then go home to ruin their child’s life?

My stomach churns, and I push the thought away.

Not everyone has a problem with alcohol, Venesa. You’re projecting.

Gothic-style windows line the far-right wall, arched and iced out so no one can see in. The walls themselves are a dark mossy green, and low purple and blue lights line the perimeter, creating a dark and intimate atmosphere. Saltwater fish tanks are interspersed throughout the decor, filled with polyps that sway from the soft wake of the swimming angelfish and eels.

A dozen round tables with mismatched chairs are dotted around the room, facing a stage at the front. It’s made from old wood, worn with age, and deep-purple velvet curtains frame it.

The bar runs along the left side wall, open to the tables, and Fisher is currently behind it, cutting fresh limes for the day shift. The citrusy scent slams into me as I walk up to him and run my fingers along the copper bar top.

Fisher grins and pulls out a coffee from our favorite place down the street.

“My hero,” I drawl, grabbing the cup from his hand and taking a sip. The bitter notes of the coffee complement my mood perfectly, and I immediately start drooling like Pavlov’s dog when he hears a bell.

“Long night?” he questions with an arched brow.

I lift a shoulder and take another sip.

“Which one of your lackeys was it? Jason or Athena?”

“They’re not my lackeys .” I laugh.

“Way to avoid the question.”

I tilt my head, watching as he places a lime in the metal cutter and pushes down, slicing the fruit into several perfect pieces.

“Does it really matter?”

He shrugs, moving the wedges into a clear plastic bin. “Just gauging your mood for the day.”

“And you can do that based on who I fucked the night before?”

“Definitely.” He nods and then waggles his eyebrows. “Athena actually makes you come, which makes you a much nicer person to be around.”

He’s not wrong. She’s definitely the better lover, but I scoff anyway.

“Your hair looks ridiculous,” I say, pointing at his freshly dyed blue tips that he’s styled into a spiky mohawk.

“So do your tits.”

I glance down at my cleavage, offended.

He laughs. “Are you here for the day, or busy again being your uncle’s bitch?”

“Don’t call me a bitch, bitch .” I set my coffee cup down.

He pulls Saran Wrap from its case and rips it. “If it walks like a duck and talks like a duck…”

“I’m headed to the boardwalk, actually.”

Fisher grimaces. “Yuck. What for?”

“Gotta show my new cousin-in-law the town.”

“Enzo Marino,” Fisher proclaims with an exaggerated Italian accent. “He’s hotter than I thought he’d be.”

“Leave him alone.” I point at him.

His eyes sparkle. “What did I do?”

“Nothing, and it needs to stay that way, you hear me? The last thing I need is to worry about you getting yourself into trouble with Aria’s man. I don’t have time to clean up one of your messes.”

He smirks. “So it was Jason, then.”

I glare at him, but the corners of my lips turn up. “Athena, actually. I’m leaving. Try not to burn the place down while I’m gone.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He waves me off.

“And, Fisher…stay away from Aria too, okay?”

The humor leaves his eyes, and he nods, swallowing heavily. “No worries on that front. I can promise you.”