I carefully shift the dagger, causing a small crimson line to form on his skin. The blood draws my attention as it traces a path down his neck in a slow, steady trickle. Big Joe’s reaction is commendable; he snarls with a hint of defiance, a rare display of courage in the face of torment. It amuses me, and a burst of laughter escapes me.
There’s something exhilarating about witnessing their brave and macho façade crumbling under my dominance. After regaining composure, I forcefully push him down, driving the dagger deeper into his thigh, the pressure against the ground intensifying the pain.
He cries out in clear agony, his breathing coming out in short, sharp hisses. I lift him slightly, bringing my mouth to his ear.
“Now do you want to tell me?”
“At my house, in the trunk of my spare car,” he chokes out.
I grit my teeth, pressing my dagger harder against his throat, drawing more than a thin line of blood this time. “Big Joe, are you lying to me?”
His wild eyes frantically dart around. “No!”
His heartbeat says otherwise.
I pull his head back even more as I lean over him. “Well, you see, I’m a walking, talking lie detector. Why do you thinktheysent me?”
His eyes widen in fear, the pupils dilating completely. “The product is on my boat,” he rushes out.
“What boat?” I know this man has several and I’m not wasting time searching every harbor.
“Not the one I usually use. It’s in the marina at South Port.”
“The name?”
Big Joe’s lips press together, and I can feel his anger beginning to overtake the fear. I sigh, leaning over more so my lips brush against his ear.
“You’ve surely heard rumors about me, yeah? The whispers? Nightmare witch. I can be your nightmare, Big Joe.”
His body trembles beneath me, muscles taut with fear and the effort to remain still. He opens his mouth, as if to say something, but quickly snaps it shut, his jaw clenching. I don’t need his words—I already know what’s running through his mind. Slipping into his thoughts is effortless, like stepping into a familiar room. The moment I do, I’m flooded with his fear, visions of snakes coiling and writhing through his consciousness.
A grin curls my lips, dark and menacing, as I lean closer to him. My tongue flicks out, mimicking the snakes in his mind, and I hiss softly in his ear, enjoying the way he stiffens in terror. His fear feeds me, fuels me.
“Is that what you’re afraid of?” I whisper, my voice dripping with mockery. “Snakes slithering in the dark . . . wrapping around you, suffocating you . . . squeezing the life from you.”
His shallow breaths come quicker, and I can feel his pulse racing.
“The boat’s called Seabound!”
“There, was that so hard?” I reply, my dagger vanishing into thin air. I shift my snake tongue back to normal and pat him on the cheek before releasing my grip on his hair and standing.
Without another word, I begin walking down the alley, my footsteps as silent as the shadows that swirl around me. Behind me, I hear Big Joe grunt, struggling to push himself to his feet, his breathing labored. The sharp click of his gun echoes in the narrow space, the safety coming off. I don’t turn around. Instead, I stop walking and tilt my head to the sky, counting to three.
The gunshot rings out, but I’m already moving. He never stood a chance. In an instant, I’m behind him, my hands gripping either side of his head. Before he can even register what’s happening, I twist sharply, the motion swift and brutal.
The snap of his neck is quiet, almost anticlimactic. Poor guy didn’t even get the chance to see me move. I release my grip and step back, watching as his lifeless body crumples to the ground in a heap. The gun slips from his fingers, clattering against the pavement, but the sound barely registers in the silence that follows.
I glance down at him, not a shred of remorse in my chest—just cold detachment.
“Asshole,” I mutter, stepping over his body.
I pull my phone from my back pocket and hit redial.
“Is it done?” a deep, gruff voice growls out.
“Well hello to you too.”
“Is it done?”
