Page 60 of Where Sinners Repent

The ringleader sneers at him. “If you’re happy living off a measly penny when we have the chance at real money, then go run with your tail tucked between your legs.”

The younger guy tucks his hands into his pockets. “It’s a bit late now, aint it?”

“That’s the spirit,” one of the other men says, clapping him on the back. “Now let’s move the rest and get the fuck out of here.”

Finally, the start to spread out, returning to their work. Ringleader still mulls around, lighting another cigarette. But before he can finish his first inhale, I have my hand around his neck and his body pressed against the shipping container.

“What the fuck?” he sputters, eyes going wide when they land on me.

I might not recognise him, but he surely recognises me. I can see it in his pale face and the pulse hammering in his throat as he gulps beneath my grip. Ash is the Devil of Havenport Harbour. Us, me and Kai. We are the nightmares.

My eyes bore into him, hand squeezing harder around his throat. It holds none of the satisfaction compared to the way Roxanne struggled against my hold and stared at me with her fiery defiance. This sputtering coward of a man could never hold her courage.

Her defiance is terrifying. It shouldn’t belong.

“Real money, hey?” I murmur. “Is Ash offering you a raise?”

He tries to speak, but no words come out of his crushed throat. Easing my grip, I raise a brow, urging him to continue.

“It wasn’t anything! I was cracking a damn joke!” His spittle flies in my face, and it takes monumental strength not to end his puny existence right now.

“A joke?” I murmur, cocking my head at him.

He goes to speak again, but I’m not really in the mood for another lie. Squeezing my hand, the words die on his tongue.

“Names,” is all I say.

Short, sharp breaths fly through his flared nostrils as his feeble mind searches for a pathetic lie I might buy. One that will grant him another few more days on this wretched earth.

Spoiler, there isn’t any.

If any of the other workers see us, they don’t make themselves known. His eyes dart over my shoulder, searching for help that will not come. An escape that doesn’t exist.

“Please...” he rasps. “I’ll tell you everything.”

It’s almost amusing, the way men beg at the end. Promising things, bargaining for things they no longer own.

Mercy. Time. Their lives.

I possess all three.

“Start talking,” I whisper, breath fogging around us.

His knees threaten to buckle.

“I... I don’t know their...”

My spare hand reaches into my pocket to pull out my butterfly knife. The click of the blade carries through the darkness.

“Wrong answer.”

Sinking it into his gut is... less than satisfying.

I’m mad at myself for stooping so low. Ever since I used my favourite blade on the Black Cat, I refused to wash her blood from it. Now, I’ll have to scrub the metal raw. And somehow get more of her life source to stain it.

Not because I want her.

Because she’s become a distraction, I haven’t been able to carve out. Maybe I can carve it out on her skin. Just one last time.