Chapter 2 Ashwiyaa
Chapter two
Ashwiyaa
“Justice isn’t always clean or kind. Sometimes, it’s served in the harshest ways—swift, unforgiving, and without mercy.”
Imake a conscious effort to breathe through my mouth, trying to block out the nauseating stench permeating the air.
The foul smell of cat urine, mingled with the rotting garbage that lines these filthy alleys, assaults my senses with every step.
It’s an acrid, pungent odor that clings to everything, seeping into my clothes and skin, refusing to let go.
This is just one of the many reasons I despise coming to New York, a city that never fails to bombard me with its overwhelming and relentless presence.
My head is already filled with so much chaos that any additional time in New York is surely to push me over the edge into insanity.
I lean back against the coarse texture of the brick wall as I wait.
Sighing deeply, I toss my dagger skyward, staring at its graceful rotations before catching it and repeating the motion.
The silver blade catches the light from a nearby streetlamp, creating a momentary silvery flash, and a flicker of an image bursts in my mind before disappearing as quickly as it appeared.
There is no use trying to hunt it out; the image will show itself when it is time.
I learned that lesson in my teen years, after giving myself several bloody noses and migraines from trying to recall flashing images of other memories and thoughts.
The sound of a rodent scurrying by snaps me out of my musings, and I glance at my phone.
The time on the screen reads 8:55 p.m. My target, Joe Cino, is due to leave his accounting firm around 9 p.m. Of course, “accounting firm” is a laughable cover for the real operation—smuggling contraband into the city.
Drugs, weapons, and sometimes, tragically, women.
My attention drifts down the shadowed alley.
Any minute now.
A muffled cry draws my attention, sharpening my senses like a blade.
I spot a man, just the one I was waiting for, dragging a young woman from a back door, his hand clamped tightly over her mouth.
With a rough shove, he throws her to the ground, the dirty pavement scraping her skin.
She struggles, her eyes wide with terror, but he leans over her, muttering something I can’t quite make out.
A familiar tension coils in my muscles, my body instinctively readying itself for action.
This isn’t part of the plan, I remind myself, but the thought barely registers.
I’ve seen enough. He doesn’t deserve the chance to walk away unscathed, and she doesn’t deserve to suffer one more second at his hands.
I slip my phone into my pocket, my movements silent as I step out of the shadows. The night is my ally, and I use it well. The man is too absorbed in his cruelty to notice me, too confident in the isolation of the alley to anticipate what’s coming.
His mistake.
“You embarrassed me tonight!” Big Joe yells, his voice echoing off the walls of the empty alley.
The woman whimpers as she cowers on the ground. Neither are aware they have company. Big Joe spits at her in disdain, instantly making my temper flare. I watch as he raises his foot and brings it back, ready to kick her.
Like fuck.
With a swift flick of my wrist, I send my dagger sailing through the air, its sleek blade glinting momentarily in the dim light before it finds its mark. The sharp point embeds itself deep into the man’s thigh.
A scream of shock and pain tears from his mouth, raw and desperate, as he staggers back, clutching at his leg. His eyes widen in disbelief, the arrogance he displayed moments ago now replaced with terror. The young woman scrambles away, her body trembling, eyes darting between him and me.
I can’t help the small smile that tugs at the corners of my lips as the sound of his agony reaches my ears.
It’s a sound I’ve grown accustomed to—a scream that signals the start of justice, the beginning of the end for those who prey on the innocent.
He tries to pull the dagger out, his fingers slipping on the hilt as blood seeps from the wound, staining the ground beneath him.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” I say, raising an eyebrow.
“Fuck!” he yells, his desperate eyes scanning the alley until they land on me. “Who the fuck are you?”
“Tsk. Tsk. You really should treat people better,” I chastise. “You never know who might stab you.”
“You. You fucking stabbed me.”
“And I’ll do worse,” I respond, another dagger appearing in my hand.
I smirk, and with a flick of my wrist, it sails through the air, this time hitting him in the shoulder. Big Joe lets out another piercing howl, but he remains standing.
Good effort, dickhead.
I come to a stop beside the woman huddled on the ground and glance down at her with a blank expression.
She’s trembling, her body curled in on itself, and the bruise on her cheek is hard to miss—a dark mark against her pale skin, contrasting with the streaks of mascara running down her face.
She doesn’t meet my gaze, too shaken to lift her head.
I gently pry into her head and see flashes of memories, an older woman in a hospital bed calling her name.
I step closer to her, making her attention lift to me.
“You can leave, Maria,” I say, my voice low but firm. She gasps in surprise, and I can tell she’s shocked that I know her name. “And I suggest you steer clear of this asshole and all his associates.”
She flinches slightly at my words, but I press on, keeping my tone steady, hoping she’ll hear the urgency beneath the surface. “Find somewhere safe. Or better yet, get out of the city altogether.”
Her eyes finally flicker upward, a glimmer of hope fighting through the fear. I take a step back, giving her room, silently praying she’ll take the chance.
The woman blinks in confusion before scrambling to her feet. “Thank you,” she whispers, staggering on her heels before quickly making her way down the alley without looking back.
“You fucking bitch. Who do you think you are?!” Big Joe shouts, spittle flying everywhere.
I shrug, tossing some of my long midnight-black hair over my shoulder. “Your worst nightmare, probably.”
“Do you have any idea who I am?” The veins in his forehead are visibly pulsing. Gross. “Do you?” he snarls.
I let out a heavy sigh and motion for him to tell me. I’ll let him get this off his chest because if he doesn’t give me what I came here for, he’s as good as dead.
“I’m Joe Cino. Of the Ramada house. And I will have your head for this.”
“Ahh, yes. The notorious Ramada drug cartel,” I reply, flipping another dagger in my hand, the blade deftly twirling around.
“W-w-what was that? H-how?” he stammers, his beady eyes focusing on the dagger.
“Look, I haven’t got all night. There’s a wedding reception I’m already late for.”
I move with the speed and grace of the wind, my steps barely making a sound as I close the distance between us.
In one fluid motion, I position myself behind him, aiming a precise kick at the backs of his knees.
His legs buckle under the force, and he crumples to the ground with a heavy, resounding thud.
The impact sends a shiver through the air, leaving him stunned and vulnerable at my feet.
Leaning over him, I grip his hair tightly, forcing his head back, then place my dagger against his throat. “Now tell me, where is the shipment that came over the border last night?”
“How . . . do you know about that?” he blurts, and I love the terror lining the edge of his words.
“I have my ways. Now where is it?”
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 facade 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 think they sent 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?”
I sigh. “It’s done. The shipment is on his boat, Seabound. Marina in South Port.”
“I’ll send the men.”
The line goes dead, and I look down at my screen. “Thanks, Ash. I appreciate all your hard work. Grumpy-ass dragons,” I grumble to myself.
My phone buzzes in my hand, and I quickly glance at the screen to see a message from Kai.
You almost here, beautiful?
A giddy sensation wells up in my chest, spreading warmth as I break into a wide grin.
Memories of last year flood back—Kai and I had hooked up a few times, and things seemed promising until the truth came out.
When he found out I’m a powerful dark witch—one who has lived for two centuries, no less—he completely freaked out.
I remember the way his eyes widened in shock, and how he started avoiding me like the plague, unable to reconcile the person he thought he knew with the reality of who I truly am.
It hurt more than I expected, watching him pull away.
But I reluctantly gave him the space he wanted, even though it felt like a knife twisting in my chest. I resigned myself to the idea that he would never accept me—not the real me.
But then, everything shifted when I helped rescue his sister two months ago.
It was a turning point, a moment where I saw a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, he could see beyond the surface and accept the darkness and complexity that comes with loving someone like me.
I text back:
Be there soon.