Hexed (Never After #6)

17. Enzo

SEVENTEEN

ENZO

Fisher’s Chevelle isn’t really the kind of car that blends in, and I knew they were following me the second it pulled behind us on the interstate. I should have known better than to use Trent as an excuse in front of Venesa, but part of me wanted to see what she would do because I couldn’t figure out whether she was there of her own volition or if she’s been spending time around me for other reasons—orders passed down to her from Trent.

After our conversation just now, I’m confident it’s not truly because she’s desperate to be here.

I size her up again. Is she lying to me? Hiding something?

The thought of her trying to deceive me makes my chest pinch.

Truth is, I’m tired of being on edge all the goddamn time, and she’s one of the few people whose company I actually enjoy. Though, apparently, I’m an idiot who spouts off things without thought because what the fuck was I thinking telling her all those things like they could ever happen?

She’s right—I’m not a cheat.

It’s just…when I’m around Venesa, it’s hard to remember any of that. She makes me forget who I am, who I’m supposed to be, and makes me feel like all I want to be is hers.

I slip my hands in my pockets again and glance around the pier, the orangey hue of the setting sun a gorgeous backdrop as Venesa spins around and smiles at me. She’s let down her hair, and the white-blond strands whip in the wind, as wild and untamable as her.

“I saw you watching that family earlier,” she says.

My chest twinges.

I was watching them, green with envy over a fucking kid and the way his life seemed so simple and carefree. I hadn’t realized I was being so obvious, though.

“You want to talk about it?” She stares up at me from under her lashes. “You know, friend to friend?”

Shrugging, I walk down to the shore, and she follows. “Just wondering what it would feel like, I guess.”

“Having a kid?”

“Being one.”

Venesa pins me with a heavy stare, her footsteps halting. “Take off your shoes,” she demands.

I look at her incredulously and then to the water that’s lapping dangerously close to our feet. “No.”

She tilts her head, her eyes scanning me from head to toe, like she’s trying to strip away every single shield I’ve built up over the years to uncover the little boy underneath. The one who was smothered too soon because of the weight of expectation and the reality of what it means to be in a Mafia family.

She reaches into her cleavage, and my eyes follow the movement, wishing I could be those hands. Touch her skin. Cup her tits and feel the weight of them in my palm.

“It wasn’t a request.” She pulls out a knife, and my stomach somersaults.

“What else do you keep in there?” I peer down with a lascivious grin.

When she steps into me and puts the blade up to my jugular, a laugh pours out of my throat.

She’s fucking wild. And I’m not 100 percent sure she won’t actually kill me.

“Take off your shoes, or I’ll slit your throat,” she threatens in a joking tone.

I press into the metal, adrenaline suddenly pumping through me like a wildfire. “Do it.”

Usually, I can anticipate people’s actions, but with Venesa…I have no idea what she’s capable of or what she’s going to do, and it’s attractive as fuck.

Her breasts brush my torso as she looks up at me, pushing the knife harder against my neck. Her gorgeous red lips part, and visions of me sucking the bottom one into my mouth fill my mind.

“Come on, Lover Boy. Live a little. I promise I won’t tell.”

I swallow harshly, because fuck —I want to kiss her so badly. But I know I can’t. I’ve already made an ass of myself enough tonight, so I give a curt nod and playfully shove her back before leaning down and removing my shoes and then my socks. I roll up the bottom of my pants for good measure too.

“There, you happy now?” I throw my arms out to the sides.

I don’t tell her how awful the sand feels on my bare feet. Or how I’m dreading the feel of the water against my skin. Or how I’m like a kid in a candy store just at the thought of spending more time with her.

She grins widely at me and slips off her shoes too.

A splash of icy water hits my toes and makes me suck in a sharp breath. I grit my teeth to keep from jumping. The water is shockingly cold for how warm it is outside.

Venesa must see my reaction because she throws her head back, a loud sultry laugh booming from her chest. The way her neck is elongated, her hair flowing down her back, and the sun setting behind her makes her look like an actual siren come to shore, tempting even the most loyal of men.

I’m fucking gone while I watch her.

The world could light itself on fire behind us, and I don’t think I’d care.

Suddenly, she doubles over, her arm covering her stomach and her face contorting. Panic permeates through me, and I rush closer.

“Are you okay?”

Her hand drops into the water, and then she stands up and throws it at me.

The salty liquid hits my cheeks, and my lungs constrict. I run a hand down my face and point a finger at her. “Now you’ve fucked up.”

“Oh, yeah?” She spins around like a twirling ballerina. “Story of my life.”

I shake my head, droplets of water dripping from the strands of my hair. “You shouldn’t want to fuck up with me.”

“Well.” She pauses. “That’s okay because you’re gonna have to catch me first.”

She doesn’t give me a chance to reply before she takes off, running down the shore like I’m chasing her.

There’s a single moment where I consider how ridiculous this is, how juvenile, but it’s gone in the next second, because if she’s giving me a chance to grab her, to hold her in my arms for even a moment, I’m not going to let that opportunity pass me by.

So I do.

Chase her, I mean.

I reach her quickly, because she’s not really a fast runner, or maybe she’s going slow on purpose, and the thought of that— of her wanting me to catch her—pumps adrenaline through me faster. And then my hands are out and gripping her hips, my body buzzing like a thousand firecrackers are exploding beneath my skin.

My palms anchor her to me, and then I’m picking her up and throwing her over my shoulder, her screams making me laugh as I lock my arm around the backs of her thighs to hold her in place.

I march us down to the ocean, my chest feeling light and my mind feeling high as her fists bang against my back and her delectable body squirms against me.

“Let me down, you giant asshole !” she yells, but she’s giggling in between each word, and it makes my chest feel fucking weird. Lighter, maybe.

“If you insist.”

I toss her into the water, my cheeks aching from my smile splitting them in two.

When she emerges, my laughter fades.

She’s a goddess, her wet clothes clinging to her curves, her shirt so thin that it’s almost see-through. If I look hard enough, I swear I can see the shadows of her nipples through the drenched fabric. Pieces of her hair stick to her face, and her eyes are wild like a hurricane as she saunters toward me.

My mouth drops open, because fuck .

When she reaches me, she shoves me in the chest, and I fall back onto the sand, another chuckle breaking free. My stomach cramps like I just did a hundred sit-ups, and I can’t remember the last time I’ve had this much fun or the last time I’ve felt so airy, I could float away.

I don’t know if I’ve ever felt like this.

“You prick.” She huffs, twisting different parts of her outfit and squeezing out the water.

I lean back and rest on my elbows, watching her.

She plops down next to me and lets out a sigh, peeking over at me with a grin and nudging my shoulder with hers.

This feels nice, this… friendly thing, and I think maybe we can do it. I just have to ignore the way she makes my body light up, the same way I ignore every other problem in my life I can’t correct.

The sun drops completely beneath the horizon, and we sit in silence and watch the moon wake up, rising to take its place, thousands of stars dotting the inky sky.

“When I was little, before my momma died, I used to be so jealous of the other kids I went to school with,” she says after a while. “When we were sitting in a classroom together, it was easy to pretend we were the same, you know? But as soon as we’d pile on the bus, it was harder to fake it. They were all friends, making spitballs and passing notes. And I was just…me.”

“You didn’t have friends?”

“Not really. I got invited to birthday parties sometimes, but my momma never really cared enough to take me, so why waste the paper? The invitations stopped showing up.”

“That’s fucked up,” I say.

She picks up a small shell from the sand beside her, running her thumb over the ridges. “Yeah. It is fucked up, isn’t it? She was usually too busy working or trying to keep my dad happy to care much about making sure I had an actual childhood worth remembering, though.”

I don’t really know what to say or if she even wants me to say anything, so I just sit still and listen.

This is what I wanted anyway.

To know her. And it feels like she’s giving me a piece of her soul as she talks. It’s selfish because I’m not giving much back, but like the greedy man I am, I take it anyway.

She sighs, throwing the shell toward the water. “I just…I get it. Why you watched that family, I mean.”

Pressure builds in my throat, and I swallow around the ache. “I’m sorry you get it.”

She gives me a sad smile. “Don’t be.”

Two people, older than both of us, walk by hand in hand, and I wait until they’ve passed us to reply. “It wasn’t that I never got to be a kid. It’s just…that boy earlier? He was so happy . So fucking free . I have no concept of what that feels like. All I can remember is how badly I wanted my pops’s approval. How I wanted to be just like him. How I spent my formative years trying to act so grown, and then by the time I was and I realized what I had missed out on…it was too late. And this life, it’s…” I shake my head, bending my legs and propping my elbows on my knees. “I love my life. I won’t sit here and pretend I don’t. But my ma didn’t cope, started popping pills and chasing them down with vodka when I was fifteen, and the love of her life mistreated her.” My chest throbs from the giant hole that’s pulsing in the center: the space where my mother’s love used to sit. “Your view on the world changes when you have to parent your parents.”

She nods. “My dad was an alcoholic.”

Relief washes over me that she’s bringing it up, and maybe that makes me an asshole, but I just said the most vulnerable thing I’ve ever said to anyone, and she isn’t judging me because she gets it, just like I thought she would. “That why you don’t drink?”

She gives me a look. “Who says I don’t?”

I shrug. “I’m observant.”

Venesa nods. “He loved his aquavit, but it’s hard to find in South Carolina, so he’d usually just pour anything he could get his hands on down his throat. His true love, though, was gambling. He’d go on benders and disappear for days at a time, and when he’d come home, broke and hungover, he’d never take the blame himself.”

She scoffs and shakes her head, disgust clear on her face.

“Who’d he blame?” I ask, although I fear I already know the answer.

“Momma, usually. Sometimes me.”

“Did he hurt you?” I try to keep my voice steady, but the thought of her being touched, of her being injured , makes fury pour through my body like lava.

She glances at me, and her hands twitch, her thumb moving to touch the nail of her ring finger as she fidgets. “Depends on your definition of the word, I guess.”

“Aria said he killed your mom.”

I hold my breath, waiting to see her reaction because fuck , maybe I shouldn’t have said that.

She nods and stares up at the black sky and dark waters. “And got away with it. Can you believe that bullshit ? Nobody even looked for him. No one seemed to care.”

The urge to tell her I’ll hunt him down is strong, but I don’t say it because maybe she doesn’t want that.

I would, though. Find him for her.

“My momma was a lot of things,” Venesa goes on. “She worked all day and was lost in a man who didn’t know how to love anyone but himself long before she ever had me. But she was still my momma, you know? And she did the best she could with the life she chose. I may not have ever been her first choice, but she was always mine.”

“ No offense to your mom, but that’s really no excuse.”

She breathes out a sardonic laugh. “Yeah, I guess it’s not.”

“Do you always let the people you love off the hook so easily for treating you like shit?”

It’s really a rhetorical question, because even in the short time I’ve known her, I can tell she does. Everyone in her life treats her as an afterthought.

She shrugs and then leans back on her elbows, her hair dusting against the sand as she looks up at the stars. “Maybe I do.”

I mimic her, lying back the same way. “Seems like it from where I’m standing.”

“You know I can’t cry?” she blurts.

“Like…you don’t want to?”

“No, like I physically can’t. Not for years now.”

“No shit?” My brows shoot to my hairline because I’ve never heard of someone not being able to cry before.

“Another thing I can thank my sperm donor for.” She chuckles softly again, but it’s not a joyful noise. “He used to hate it when I’d cry. He’d leave the room and drag in Momma, and then he’d beat her in front of me until she was black and blue. He wouldn’t let up until I stopped crying.” She glances at me. “It’s amazing how fast you learn to shutter emotions when you’re protecting someone you love.”

I feel fucking sick, but I don’t know what to say. I have nothing I can tell her to take away the memories or to wipe away that haunted look on her face, but goddamn, I wish I did.

“Anyway.” She sits back up and brushes the sand from her arms. “I don’t know why I told you all that. I’ve never told anyone that, so if you open your mouth, I’ll have to murder you for real.”

She’s trying to joke, to make some of the heaviness drop away, and I get it. Sometimes when you open up old wounds, the weight of them makes you feel you’re sinking in quicksand. The humor is a way to drag yourself back out, to find a little hope when everything around you feels like it’s pushing you down.

“Hey, thanks for this.” I lean into her, bumping her shoulder with mine, the same way she did earlier. “It was fun being a kid, just for a bit.”

She beams at me, and the sight steals the fucking breath straight from my lungs. “Anytime. Friends, right?”

My heart spasms at the word, wanting to reject it before it can even take root, but I know what I want isn’t actually possible.

Not when I’ve already made commitments.

When I’m tethered to the will of my father and the debt of Aria saving my life.

It’s either marry her like my pops demands or die. Plain and simple, no point in sugarcoating it.

“Right,” I intone. “Friends.” The word tastes wrong. “I’ve never really had many of those,” I admit.

Venesa doesn’t reply at first, just brings her knees up to her chest and wraps her arms around them, staring out at the water. “Me neither.”

She jumps up and tries to brush the sand off her, but she’s so wet from the ocean still, it clings to every crease and crevice of her clothes, sticking to her skin like glue.

I follow suit and then crack a grin. “You look like a drowned rat.”

She narrows her eyes and stomps off, and she’s so fucking cute, my stomach flips.

“At least let me buy you some dry clothes,” I say, jogging after her.

She bends down when she reaches the spot we left our shoes, and my eyes memorize the curve of her hip, the arch of her back, the gleam of her skin.

“You bet your ass you’re buying me new clothes. It’s the least you can do.”

I smile.

“Don’t look at me like that.” She wipes some sand from her shin and stands up straight after getting her shoes back on.

“Like what?”

“Like you don’t care that I’m mad at you.”

“Is this you mad?” My brows rise. “ Terrifying .”

“You’re a real prick, you know?” she says. But she’s grinning at me.

“I do care, piccola sirena. Forgive me, please .” My hands come together in prayer. “I don’t know how I’ll go on if you don’t.”

She looks me in the eye like she’s trying to gauge whether she can trust me.

And maybe, just this once, I’m lying to her.

Because the truth is, she could be mad at me for the rest of her life if it meant she’d stick around.

She makes me… feel . And maybe it’s nonsensical, but it is what it is.

Friends.