Page 38 of The Darkest Hour

Did we truly escape?

Wiping my mouth, I gazed in the boat’s direction and shouldn’t have. That large vessel continued to sink. Flames danced up the sides. Creaking blared as metal bent and cracked.

But it was far away, and I couldn’t even see the gunners behind it.

Surely, they assumed that their mission was complete.

Damn. I wish I’d gotten a good smell of them.

I closed my eyes and imagined tracking them all, each one of those bastards, by their distinct, fear-laden odor. It would have been just like old times, following the invisible trail, moving silently through the night.

I pictured myself standing in their bedrooms, the scent of their sweat thick in the air as they slept, unaware. I would have woke them up slowly and relished in the terror building in their eyes as they realized what was happening.

That their fucking nightmare stood right above them.

Fear was a sweet aroma.

Their wives would be there too, helpless and horrified. I would start with the husbands, making sure they felt every ounce of pain, their screams echoing through the night, maybe even waking up their children.

I always had the wives watch. There was this odd satisfaction in forcing them to see the destruction of their husbands.

Of course I would take my time, savoring each act of vengeance.

And of course, they would beg, cry, and plead, but it wouldn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was their suffering.

That was always a just retribution for what they had done.

In the end, their tortured deaths would be a tribute to my wrath as well as a brutal reminder to our world that I was not a man to be crossed.

And their wives?

Most of the time, I would let them live. They would carry the scars of that night forever. I tended to see them as living legacies of my vengeance.

Onyx’s voice yanked me out of my dark thoughts. “Are you okay?”

I opened my eyes. “Who is your boss?”

The raft bobbed in the turbulent waves.

She was about to speak, but then suddenly, something bumped into our raft.

Onyx gazed that way and stiffened in horror. “No. No. No.”

“What?”

“Sharks.”

Shit.

I put my view on the water and could barely make out the objects slicing through the water around us.

Three, four. . .no, five of them circled our little raft.

They must have been attracted by all the noise and commotion, hoping for an easy meal.

My blood ran cold at the sight of them, not out of fear but anger.

“Keep paddling.” I ordered. “Damn those sharks. We’re the most dangerous thing right now in this ocean. Remember that. Feel the strength of those words in your chest.”