Page 43 of Ash and Poison

“N-no. I don’t. He stopped. Please. I told you everything. Let-let me go.”

“If I let you go, you’ll come back to bite me in the ass, Hannigan,” I said.

I moved to his back and stuck the knife to the back of his neck, at the base of his skull, severing the spinal cord.

I waited until he was gone before untying him and packing everything in my bag.

“Sleep tight.”

I pulled off the gloves, stuffed them into my pocket, and walked right out.

11

CRIMSON SECRETS

DIYA

Iwas sipping my whiskey when I saw Asher climbing down the stairs, hands buried in his pockets.

The blonde wig made him look sleazy, and his eyes weren’t green anymore—they were shit brown. Still, he stood out from the rest of them. He looked like he was here to party, like he hadn’t just coming out after killing a man.

Quickly adjusting the masquerade mask—women were allowed to wear masks inside to keep their anonymity—I looked at the clueless man standing next to me, the one I used to get into the club.

“Excuse me. I need to use the ladies’ room,” I said, giving him a demure smile.

“Just go straight and turn left. You won’t miss it.”

I looked around, carefully memorizing the details of the club that would help me sneak in and out.

I wanted, needed to see what Asher did to the man, and then I had to get the fuck out. If the Sheriff found me here, I’d become a suspect again, and this time for a crime I hadn’t committed.

One time with a murdered man—coincidence. The second time? Fuck no.

I moved toward the restroom, scanning the winding staircase. It was too exposed. Anyone could see me, and despite the mask, they’d know it was me.

It took me five minutes to find the stairs behind the storage room. Making sure I was alone, I took two steps at a time. The fourth door had a metal nameplate that read Tomas Hannigan.

I pushed the door open and stumbled back, fingers trembling.

Oh hell.

I had seen blood, I had seen death, but this was… a montage of rage and violence. This was hell. Layne would have loved this.

His fingers were broken, his nails ripped off, and blood still slowly dripped from the wounds in his body. Drip, drip, like a leaking tap.

This wasn’t just theatrics—it was a warning to whoever he was going to kill next.

Asher wanted these men to fear him, to see this cruelty, and understand that he was coming for them.

I gave the room a quick once-over, hoping he hadn’t left behind any evidence.

Asher was a problem, but he was something I could deal with by myself. After he finished what he’d started.

Some sins could only be paid for with blood, some sins needed more than the garden-variety justice. Whatever these men had done to his friend, it must have been something monstrous. Bad enough to make him willing to burn the world down just to settle the score.

I didn’t know the details, but I wanted those men punished, tortured, killed. I understood Asher. Even admired the resolution.

Sometimes, even death wasn't the right punishment.