Hexed (Never After #6)

28. Venesa

TWENTY-EIGHT

VENESA

I still can’t believe Bas didn’t come with me to the gun drop.

My chest aches from the realization that my uncle might not be who I thought he was. My father’s words ring in my ears, but I brush them off, because believing the words of my dad means upending everything I thought I knew about my uncle.

And what would be the reason? To collect on a debt? He’d kill his own sister to send a message?

I can’t just barge into his office and ask, because that won’t get me anywhere, and if it’s not based in any truth, then it will only damage our relationship more than it already is. He used to brush off my outbursts or when I’d do things my own way instead of how he wanted, but things are different now, and I don’t know why that feels like the straw that would break the camel’s back, but it does.

I’m at the southern docks, where the MC always meets us to do the drop. The Atlantis MC and the Kingstons have had a mutually beneficial relationship for decades, one hand washing the other. We supply the guns to them, and they sell them at a markup, giving us 60 percent. It’s been the deal with them since years before Johnston took over as president, when his dad was in charge.

But we all know who really runs the show here, and it isn’t them.

The Southside docks are owned by Uncle T, but they’re in a bad part of town and off the beaten path, which makes them the perfect place to meet. Other than some empty warehouses and my uncle’s freights, there’s nothing and nobody here at this time of night, and it’s far enough away from civilization that Johnston can test the guns with no one calling the cops when they hear the shots.

But I wish they’d hurry and get here. It’s thirty minutes past the time we’re supposed to meet, and every second makes me grow antsier, my brain running a mile a minute, my nerves making me feel like bugs are crawling underneath my skin.

Finally, there’s the distinct rumble of motorcycle engines, and my spine bristles at the sound, my hackles rising like a shield.

Showtime .

Five motorcycles pull up, and their engines go silent one by one, the men standing from their bikes. Their leather cuts are faded, and I’ve always wondered if that’s from their rides in the sun or if they’re made that way on purpose.

The guns themselves are already packaged into crates, and Johnston walks over with a scowl on his face, barely visible through the long, wiry black beard covering it.

Anxiety pricks at my back like needles.

“You,” he states, his voice a deep growl.

I cross my arms as I lean against one of the wooden crates. “Me.”

“Where’re the men?”

“Oh, I’m sure they’re out somewhere being a disappointment.”

His scowl deepens. “Trent sent you here unprotected?”

I bring my hand up, curling my fingers and looking at my nails like I’m unbothered. Even though my heart is pumping trepidation through every single piece of me.

“He seems to think it’s you who needs the protection.” I grin widely.

But seriously, fuck Uncle T for letting me come here alone.

He cocks his head to the side. “You do a lot of the grunt work for your uncle, don’t you?”

I know what he’s really asking: Was it you who fucked with my family?

“Sometimes,” I reply.

He watches me closely for a few seconds, taking out a cigarette and lighting the end before he blows the smoke in my face.

My eyes water, but I ignore it.

He smiles. “You’ve got fire, girl. I like that in a woman.”

I laugh, because what? “Honey, no offense, but you couldn’t handle a woman like me.”

His eyes look me up and down, and it feels sleazy, like he’s stripping me bare and leaving me exposed. It’s an odd moment to realize how much I like when Enzo does it, and how the feeling changes when the intent is different.

“You let me worry about what I can handle,” he says.

I tap the top of the crate. “All you need to handle is right here, Johnston.”

His smile widens, and it makes my stomach churn. Ugh, he’s so disgusting.

There’s a system to how these drops go down. They look in the crates, they can take them out and fire them if they wish, and then they load them up, and I leave.

Easy as pie in theory.

“Most of them are around back.” I gesture to the warehouse we’re standing in front of, and he puts his arm out like he wants me to lead the way.

So I do, hyperaware of him following me the entire time.

When we get to the bulk of the guns, Johnston walks up behind me, pulls out his own gun, and gestures toward the crate. “Open it,” he demands.

My palms are clammy, and the urge to wipe them down the front of my outfit is strong, but I resist because I don’t want to show any weakness.

“You need a lady to do your heavy lifting, John?” I ask. “What would the others think?”

He flicks his cigarette to the ground and moves quickly, pressing in close to my body, violence mingling with the stale scent of tobacco and whiskey. It smells like broken dreams and a man who isn’t actually man enough to deal with his issues.

He reaches down and brushes his hand against my ass, his sticky breath ghosting across the side of my neck, and I go on full alert.

“Give me some space,” I say, “or I’ll call up your ol’ lady and let her know you don’t know how to behave.”

He grips my ass harder and grunts. “She knows her place.”

A click of a gun sounds, and my body stiffens, thinking it’s him, but then Johnston goes ramrod straight, and a voice says, “I’d love to show you yours.”

Enzo.

“Take your hands off her. Now.”

Johnston does immediately, his hands in the air, palms facing outward, and his gun dangling from his thumb. I spin around and see Enzo holding his 9mm to the back of Johnston’s head, a fiery expression on his face.

What the hell is he doing here?

I’m equal parts annoyed to see him and relieved I’m not alone.

Johnston cuts me an accusing glare before looking at him. “Who the fuck are you?”

“I’m the guy who’s about to kill you if you touch her again.” Enzo’s voice is low and lethal, and it’s inappropriate timing, but heat flares between my legs. “In fact, don’t even look at her.”

Johnston chuckles but keeps his hands raised. “Buddy, I’ve got four of my guys right around the corner, and they’re not gonna like seeing this. I don’t think you know who you’re fucking with right now.”

Enzo’s face is all dark lines and menace, and he’s dangerous in a way I’ve never seen before. All traces of the fun and easygoing friend I’ve spent time with are gone, and in his place is E: the man the rumors are all about.

I’m not sure which version of him I’m more attracted to.

He grins, and a shiver races up my spine.

“Ask me if I give a fuck who you are.” He leans in. “Go on, ask me.”

Johnston stiffens his jaw, and Enzo brings back his gun and pistol-whips him in the head. The biker flies to the ground, his gun skittering across the gravel and into the grass a few feet away.

My eyes widen because what the hell is he doing ? But before I can even blink, Enzo’s shoe is on Johnston’s hand, and he’s grinding down with his body weight until Johnston yells out in pain.

There’s a thrill working its way through me, pumping adrenaline through my body like a drug at the violent display. One that’s happening because of me. Even better: for me.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Enzo says. “Does that hurt, sweetheart?”

“Fuck…you.” Johnston grunts and spits out a blood clot.

Enzo laughs. “Nah, fuck you .”

He releases Johnston’s hand from under his foot and then crouches, running the gun down the side of his face. “I want to make something crystal-clear: killing you right now would cause problems for her , and that’s the only reason I’m being generous and letting you live.” He pushes the gun into Johnston’s temple again. “But if I find out you tucked tail like a bitch and ran to anyone about what happened here, I’ll hunt you down like the dog you are, and I will strip every piece of skin from your body before I kill you. I’ll make it last all night long, professing my love for your death. That’s a promise.”

The way he’s speaking, it’s soft and low, like sex and candy mixed with a tinge of violence, and I wonder if this is why they call him Lover Boy. Because he whispers sweet nothings into their ears while he hurts them.

“You don’t know who you’re fucking with,” Johnston spits, his words muffled.

“I don’t need to know who you are,” Enzo continues. “I’m a Marino. If I want you dead, that’s the way it will be.”

Even in Johnston’s precarious position, his eyes widen with recognition.

“Now quit being a pussy, stand up like a man, and apologize.”

Johnston follows the direction, bringing his mangled hand to his chest immediately, his eyes whirling with anger and blood dripping down the side of his face.

And I feel…thankful. Nobody has ever stood up for me the way Enzo does. Repeatedly, he’s proven he cares. And I know Uncle T will be upset this happened, but when I’m with Enzo, it’s becoming difficult to care about what my uncle thinks.

Let this be a lesson to him. This is what happens when he doesn’t take care of his “best assets” properly.

Enzo presses the gun to Johnston’s head. “Did you not hear me? Apologize.”

Johnson clears his throat. “Sorry.”

I smile, cupping my ear like I’m trying to hear him better. “I couldn’t quite hear you, Johnston. Better speak up.”

“I said I’m sorry.”

“For?” I quirk a brow and cross my arms.

Enzo smirks.

“Say it.” Enzo pushes the barrel against the back of his dome. “Say, ‘I’m sorry, Venesa, for being a cunt .’”

Johnston grits his teeth and nods. “I’m sorry.” He wipes the blood dripping into his eye from where he was pistol-whipped. “For being a…”

I walk up close to him, fire dancing in my eyes, no longer afraid. “A cunt , Johnston.”

Johnston’s nostrils flare and his chin lifts, retribution burning in his gaze.

Enzo prods him with the barrel of his gun.

“I’m sorry for being a cunt, Venesa.”

Nodding, I place a hand over my heart. “Thank you, sugar. That really means a lot.”

Enzo chuckles and puts his gun down, like he’s not concerned in the slightest about retaliation. Like even though we’re surrounded by weapons and Johnston has four of his guys standing on the other side of the building, he knows he won’t be touched.

And most likely, he’s right. It would be a death sentence to touch the prince of the Italian Mafia.

Enzo looks at me. “You got everything you need? We’re leaving.”

Normally, I’d want to argue. But I’m so ready to get out of here that I nod and follow his direction, letting him lead me around the corner and to the front of the docks, past Johnson’s men.

Again, Enzo acts like he’s not concerned in the slightest.

And the way they’re all staring at him with disquiet makes me think something happened before he got to me.

It isn’t until we’re in the car, one without Scotty driving this time, and all the way back to the Lair, that he speaks.

“You good?” He jerks his chin at me.

I lick my lips and bob my head, and his gaze drops to follow the motion of my tongue.

“I can take care of myself,” I say, the same way I always do.

He reaches out to grip my chin, tilting my face up to meet his. “I know. But just because you can doesn’t mean you should have to.”

And those words, something about the way he says them, or maybe because he’s even saying them at all…they unlock something inside me, a sensation I’ve never felt but is so overwhelming, I can barely stand it.

I’ve always prided myself on being independent. On not needing anyone other than my uncle, whom until now I’ve trusted with the world. And I don’t know how Enzo knew where I was, why he was there, or why he came out and jumped to my defense, but right now, I’m so thankful, I could cry.

Hypothetically. The tears don’t ever actually come.

All I can do is look him in the eyes and say, “Okay.”

He releases my chin and skates his touch down my neck before resting his fingers loosely at the base of my throat. “Have you opened your present?” he asks softly.

Biting my lip, I shake my head. “Not yet.”

He nods and drops his hand, and I feel empty at the loss of his touch.

I lean over the console to brush my lips across his cheek. He turns at the last second, and I pull back quickly, but not before our mouths graze. Just like last night.

Just barely.

Just a hint.

A whisper.

But it tilts my world on its axis anyway.

He sucks in a sharp breath, his hands gripping his steering wheel so tightly, it might break.

“Thank you,” I murmur.

Then I open the car door and walk away, because if I don’t…I’m not sure I’ll survive the engagement party tomorrow night.

When I have to watch him with another woman, even though it feels like he should be mine.