Hexed (Never After #6)

16. Venesa

SIXTEEN

VENESA

I can’t decide if Enzo’s leaving because he’s doing something he doesn’t want any of us to know or if he was lying just to get out of party planning.

But I highly doubt he’s meeting with Uncle T.

Either way, his leaving really puts a wrench in my plans because the whole reason I’m here is to keep an eye on him. The way I’ve been told to. And now I’m stuck with Fisher and Aria, which is what I imagine the seventh circle of hell feels like.

When I look over at Fisher, I see him gazing after Aria as she walks to the front counter with a wistful look in his eyes.

I pick up a pen that’s lying on the table and chuck it at him.

It hits him in the chest, and he jolts out of his daze, shooting me a glare. “Jesus. What? ”

“You look like a lovesick puppy.”

He scoffs. “I do not.”

Leaning in, I lift a brow. “Do you need to not be part of this?”

His face drops, confusion screwing it up. “You usually like it when I go places with you.”

“For moral support, not so you can torture yourself by being around someone who clearly still has you messed up in the head.”

“I’m fine.”

I laugh. “Yeah, okay. Sell it to someone who’s buying it, Gup, because your feelings are plain as day.”

“They are not ,” he hisses, but his eyes trail back to her. “Our past is just…complicated.”

I stare at him for a few moments, but when he says nothing else, I decide to let it go.

Who am I to talk, honestly? All I can focus on is trying to keep myself off Enzo’s dick.

“Whatever you say.” I lift my hands in surrender. “Listen, this is boring, and clearly Aria doesn’t need us. Want to do something fun instead?”

Fisher grins and nods, the front legs of his chair smacking on the linoleum flooring. “I’ll go start the car. You can say bye to the wench.”

He flicks his head toward Aria, making sure to not focus his attention on her.

It’s a little too obvious how hard he’s trying to seem unaffected now that he realizes I’ve noticed.

Aria’s deep in what seems like a very important debate with Jenny, and I don’t feel like talking to her anymore, so I shake my head and follow Fisher out instead.

He grins at me as we walk toward the door, but right before we leave, he glances back.

Protectiveness courses through me, because clearly Fisher can’t control himself around her.

All these years later, and I still don’t know exactly what went down between them. Not all of it anyway. Our friendship was always separate from whatever the two of them had going on, but I know they used to fuck around, and I know that when she left, he was never the same.

I think he loved her, even. Although I’m not sure how it’s possible when she’s so fucking awful.

But I’m not a prier, and if Fisher doesn’t feel like it’s something I should know, then I respect that about him. It’s not like I’m sitting here sharing all my feelings about Enzo. I can barely admit them to myself. And they’re ridiculous anyway. Who has feelings after a week of knowing someone? It’s absurd.

Fisher grins at me as he opens the passenger door to his ’72 Chevelle, and I pat his cheek before slipping into the bucket seat and putting on my seat belt as he slides in on his side and revs the engine.

“Where to, Short Stack?”

I strain my eyes, looking for the Maybach, and luckily I see it not too far ahead, about three stoplights up. “I want you to follow him.”

Fisher’s brows draw in. “Define ‘him.’”

“Enzo, who else would I be talking about?”

Fisher nods and pulls onto the main street, letting enough cars stay in between us so they won’t be able to tell they have a tail.

“So,” he says, “it wasn’t ever really about helping Aria, was it?”

I kick my legs up on the dash, grinning at Fisher when he glares at my feet. “What’s wrong with checking up on someone you don’t trust? Besides, it’s on the boss’s orders. You know how it is.”

Fisher shakes his head. “Why’s he got you chasing around after Aria’s fiancé anyway?”

Irritation nags like a gnat, and I pick at my fingers, not wanting to admit out loud that I don’t have a reason for a lot of things Uncle T is doing these days, because he isn’t telling me. A melancholy sensation fills me at the thought that things are changing with us, and I’m not sure how to revert them. “Beats me.”

Fisher taps his fingers on the steering wheel. “I just want you to be careful, Short Stack. You’re good at what you do, but sometimes you get in over your head and don’t pay attention to what’s right in front of you.”

I blink at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He runs a hand over his chin and then looks at me and winks. “What, a best friend can’t look out for his number one girl?”

Enzo ends up at the boardwalk, which is an interesting turn of events.

I sent Fisher home because I don’t want to be seen and two people are easier to spot than one, especially when one of those people has a bright blue mohawk and sticks out like a sore thumb.

Enzo and Scotty are walking down the pier, Enzo’s hands in his pockets while they chat. My stomach clenches tight when he laughs at something, throwing his head back, his tattoos peeking out from his shirt collar.

Since he and Scotty seem to be taking their time out for a stroll, I definitely think he was just trying to get out of the party planning.

But why use my uncle as an excuse?

I hang back for a few more minutes, until Scotty pats Enzo on the shoulder and they split. Enzo ventures off on his own, down onto the beach and farther along, until he’s at a hidden spot beneath a bridge and away from the tourists.

It’s that time of day when the rays don’t burn as bright and the ocean breeze cools, just before the sun sets. The sky is a beautiful orangey pink, and Enzo leans against one of the wooden posts, staring out at the water.

The urge to go interrupt him right away is strong, but I stay back and watch.

A small family plays down at the shore, and Enzo’s focus is lasered onto them, watching as a little boy squeals when his mom chases after him and spins him around, the water splashing at their feet.

My gaze volleys between the family and Enzo.

He seems fascinated by them. And he has this look on his face, an innocence that makes me feel like it isn’t E, the underboss and ultrahigh–net worth businessman watching the scene, but Enzo the boy.

There’s a longing, one I can spot a mile away because it’s the kind I feel in my soul. Do I look like that too?

It seems like a vulnerable moment, one I almost feel guilty about witnessing, but not guilty enough to keep myself from walking toward him. It’s a tugging sensation right in the pit of my stomach, a hook reeling me into him like a fish on the line.

“Pretty,” I say, walking up next to him and adopting a casual stance.

“Hmm,” he murmurs, staring out at the ocean.

“You don’t seem surprised to see me.”

A small grin tilts his mouth. “I saw you the second you started tailing us.”

I scoff and look over at him fully. “No, you didn’t.”

He finally takes his eyes away from the happy family to stare at me. “I always see you.”

My chest draws tight, a heavy breath sticking in my throat, because what do I say to that ?

His gaze tracks me slowly, starting at my toes and dragging up my legs, over my knees, tickling my inner thighs and sending a shot of arousal through my core, up my middle, over my collarbone, until it hits my face again.

He licks his lips. “In fact, I can’t see anything but you, and it’s fucking infuriating.”

My hand shoots up to rub at my neck, and my teeth sink into my lower lip, trying to offset the sudden flare of heat sucking me in like a vacuum.

Pleasure from his words cascades down my shoulders and wraps around me like a blanket, and I grasp it because it feels good. Even if it’s wrong. Dangerous , even.

“You can’t say things like that,” I force out.

His sleeves are rolled up just past his elbow and the muscles on his forearms flex, making the ink on his skin move like it’s dancing. “There you go again, telling me what to do.”

“I’m not—” I stop myself, because I am, actually. “You don’t even know me.”

“Yeah.” He leans against the wooden beam. “Well, that’s the problem, isn’t it? I want to know you.”

I swallow around the words stuck in my throat— I want to know you too— my thumb picking at my finger.

“That can’t happen,” I say with an undertone.

He purses his lips and nods. “I know.”

We’re quiet for a few moments, and I try to think about all the reasons why it can’t happen. Uncle T would disown me or worse. Enzo’s father would probably kill him. Or Aria. Or blame Uncle T. The possibilities are endless, and none of them are good.

Another hit of resentment slams into my chest at Uncle T for putting me in this situation to begin with: forcing me to spend time with a man I shouldn’t be near for several reasons, including the secrets I can never speak out loud.

“And why are you following me?” Enzo’s brow rises as he asks me.

I lift a shoulder. “Who said I’m following you? Maybe this was a coincidence.”

He chuckles. “I know bullshit when I hear it. You following me because you don’t trust me? Or because your uncle doesn’t?”

“Should I? Trust you, I mean.”

He looks out over the water, and again, I’m hit with the melancholy vibe as he watches the family pack up their belongings and leave.

“Does it matter?” he challenges. “Maybe I don’t trust you either.”

“That’s probably smart. Trust should be earned, don’t you think?”

He straightens and turns so fast that I stumble until it’s my back pressing against the wooden post.

A sharp breath escapes me when he steps into my personal space. Again. Because that’s all he ever does.

“I watched you torture a man and then cleaned you of his blood. I think that provides a certain level of intimacy, of trust , don’t you?” he says.

I brush off the statement and turn my head to the side because I don’t want him to see how much he’s affecting me, because he can’t affect me this way. Not when he’s saying the things he is and standing so close. I can’t breathe with him so close.

His hand moves toward me, and my eyes snap to the movement, anticipation making my heart kick against my ribs. He grips my chin between his forefinger and thumb, lifting my face until we lock eyes.

My stomach flips.

“I already told you,” he utters. “I see you. Even when you look away.”

My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth, and I try to think of something—anything—to say. But my mind is blank. So I just continue to stare at him, my legs clenching together to stem the heat flaring between them.

“Your eyes are so familiar,” he murmurs, releasing my chin and moving to ghost a gentle touch beneath my lashes. “Why is that?”

A flash of a memory hits me, his blood damp on my hands and his gaze locked on mine, the Hudson River lapping at his side.

Panic makes my lungs squeeze tight.

“What are you doing down here anyway?” I ask, turning away again and looking at the water. “I thought you were meeting Uncle T.”

An exasperated chuckle escapes him, and he shakes his head, releasing me and stepping back. “Christ, you don’t break, do you? Maybe I should just kill you and be done with it. One less person to drive me fucking mad.”

“You could try.”

He laughs again, his thumb chafing at the slight scruff on his chin.

“I didn’t realize murder was on the table, if I’m honest.” I lift my shoulders, trying to lighten the moment.

Because he’s right. I don’t break. I can’t. Not for him. Not for anyone who makes me feel the way he makes me feel. My momma did that once, and look how it turned out for her.

I refuse to be my momma.

“It would certainly make things easier for me.” He cocks his head. “Aria would probably be happy too.”

Her name sends a sick type of envy swirling through my middle. “You could give my corpse to her as a wedding gift.”

He gives me a look. “At least you can admit I’d succeed.”

“A man’s confidence is often his downfall. Maybe I’ll kill you first.”

He grins now, and the air shifts, some of the heaviness evaporating. “You could try,” he says, repeating my earlier sentiment.

“And who could blame me? What with your threats of murder and all?”

“If I shouldn’t kill you…” He looks at me from the corner of his eye before staring back out at the water. “Then what should I do with you?”

A warning siren blares in my head, screaming, Danger! Danger! Do not answer!

I ignore it.

“Whatever you want,” I reply.

His gaze snaps to mine, and that light feeling in the air pulls taut, wrapping around my chest and squeezing. Heat blasts up my neck and into the apples of my cheeks, and I place the back of my hand against them, attempting to cool off.

“Whatever I want,” he repeats slowly, his eyes tracing along every single contour of my body, stripping me bare. “That’s a dangerous thing to say to a man like me, piccola sirena.”

A gust of wind blows by us, the smell of sea salt and sunscreen whipping across my senses, and a strand of my hair, loose from the bun, blows into my face.

He reaches out and tucks it behind my ear, the brush of his fingers lingering as it lazily drags down my jaw and then farther until his palm is resting at the front of my throat.

My breathing grows choppy, arousal winding through my center and dripping into my core. My hand moves up and covers his. “In a different life, I’d ask you to touch me.”

His eyes blaze, his fingers twitching on my neck.

I close my eyes because I want to move him down my body until he dips under my clothes and makes me scream. But I pry his fingers off instead and move to the side so I can stand far away. “And in this life, I’m a lot of things, Enzo. But I’m not a cheat. And I don’t think you are either.”

He watches me for a minute, a storm waging war in his eyes, and then he nods. “You know, in my twenty-nine years, I’ve never once gotten to do whatever I want. Not really.”

“Well…” I look around us. “What’s something you want to do right now?”

His nostrils flare.

My stomach flips, and I put up a hand like I can stop him from doing whatever it is that just crossed his mind. “ Not that. Something…friendly.”

His mouth pops open, and he licks his bottom lip. God , every time he does that, I want to feel his tongue everywhere.

“Friendly,” he repeats.

I bob my head, even though my body is buzzing with how badly I want to take back what I just said.

If the situation were reversed and it were Aria standing here, I know she wouldn’t give me the same regard. But this isn’t about her. Not really.

It’s about being no one’s choice.

I could let him fuck me, and it would probably be incredible. But afterward, he’d go back to her. And based on the way he makes me feel, I know it would hurt. He’d flaunt her around, and I’d be stuck in the corner. An afterthought, left with nothing but pretty words and a quick one-night stand.

And if that didn’t happen? If he decided he wanted more? Well…I can’t give him that either. I’ll never let myself fall prey to the whims of another person. Especially one who makes me want to please him.

I’m afraid I’ll lose myself and never come back.

“Actually, there is something I want to do,” he says.

I shake the longing off and paste a smile onto my face. “Oh? What’s that?”

“Well, we’re at the boardwalk.” He looks around. “Let’s make a memory.”