Page 45

Outside the main entrance, two guards stand with makeshift wooden spears. We take all the necessary precautions for safety here, having made several weapons, so the door to my lounge is open, unlike the doors at Paradise Cove. No one dares approach us without risking an attack from my army, which is as it should be. You fuck with the bull and you get the horns, and at this point, we have no issues taking anyone out who gets in our way.

I walk through the space and look around at people in various stages of conversation. The mood is pretty light, but I’m about to fuck that all the way up. These people have been slacking and they need to know that. Everyone needs to pull their weight here or they can get the fuck out. It’s come to my attention that there’s been some dissention in the ranks, and I’m about to nip that shit right in the bud. My word is the only one that carries any weight here, and it’s been a while since they’ve had a reminder of that.

I make my way over to the center of the room where there’s a large marble table that I use as a makeshift stage. I hike myself up onto it then look around the room, scratching my chin. My beard has grown in scruffy and thick in the time I’ve been on the ship, and I know I look gruff as hell and intimidating as fuck, but it works for me.

I stomp my foot on the table, pulling out the butcher knife I keep on me as a weapon. “Everyone, listen up!” I wave the knife toward the ceiling.

Most of the people turn toward me but the room stays noisier than I’d like. No, this won’t do. I grab one of the empty liquor bottles on the table at my feet and slam it into the metal trash bin on the floor. The bottle clatters loudly in the bin, making a loud and obnoxious clang that reverberates in the room for a few seconds and gets everyone’s attention. Instantly, the rest of the room falls silent.

“When I speak, you shut the hell up. Focus. On. Me. Am. I. Clear?” I punctuate the last of my words with a jab of my knife.

A quick round of “yes, sirs!” rings throughout the room. Some might just be going along with the others, but I don’t give a shit if any of these people respect or even like me, I am the only person here that’s keeping them safe and alive, so they will shut the fuck up and listen when I speak.

A man in the back of the room continues speaking, laughing at something. The fuck? I lean forward to get a better look, and when he fully comes into view, I see it’s Jackson. He’s a young and cocky little bastard who’s been giving me shit for weeks now.

“Is something amusing to you? Did I say something funny?” I squint at him, daring him to speak. Jackson remains silent, staring back at me. I jump down from the table and stride toward him, and the crowd parts to give way. I stop right in front of Jackson, who’s risen from where he was sitting, standing so close that I can smell his nasty-ass breath.

“One more time: did I say something funny?” I point my knife directly at his nose. If I leaned forward just an inch, with a flick of my wrist, I could cut it right off his smug-ass face.

“No, sir, I... I'm sorry. It won't happen again. I promise.”

I stare him down and a gleam of something that looks like defiance flashes in his eyes. Oh, hell no. He lets out a breath that blows across my face and the smell of old coffee and rotten meat makes my stomach churn. I step back and take a breath, clearing my mind. I can’t let this stand. If I let these people think they can get away with anything, to continue to defy me and not have clear loyalty and allegiance to me, they’ll do everything they can to keep that shit up. Yes, I have all the power here, but my real strength is in keeping these people under my thumb. I have plans for this ship, I can’t…no. Focus, Logan.

I take a deep breath, then exhale and count to five. Jackson's shoulders drop, and he shifts away from me, clearly thinking our conversation is done. Then I strike, thrusting my butcher knife into his stomach, twisting the handle deeply. The ten-inch blade pierces his gut and Jackson’s eyes fly open wide. He looks at me, mouth open, as his gaze slowly drifts to my hand, still gripping the hilt of the blade.

“Why?” he chokes out, his voice garbled as blood spills from his mouth. The room is deadly silent, with nothing but the sounds of him coughing up the blood.

“You did this to yourself, Jackson.” I twist the handle again and slide the knife from Jackson’s torso, then swipe the blade against his shoulder, wiping the blood onto the fabric of his shirt. He drops to his knees, struggling to breathe. Gurgling continues to fill the silence, followed by a thud as his body slumps to the floor.

“Please…hel–” Jackson reaches out a hand and someone to his left makes like they want to help him and I look at them, glaring. Ah, Samuel. He’s a good kid, but Jackson needs to be made an example of, so I can’t let him help. Otherwise, these people will never learn.

I point my knife at Samuel. “No, Sam, I said he did this to himself. Leave him be. Anyone, and I mean anyone, who helps him will suffer the same fate. Is that what you want?” Samuel stills in his approach and just stares at Jackson, who’s still begging silently for help. I ignore them both and make my way back to the table. I hoist myself back onto it, then survey the faces of everyone.

“Anyone else got something to say or think something’s funny in here?” I look as many people in the eye as I can. I have no time for bullshit with these people. No one says anything, and I think I hear someone sniffling somewhere in the room. Good.

I think I still hear Jackson gurgling, and it pisses me off. That fucker’s still trying to take the focus off me. “Drag his ass onto the deck, I can’t hear myself think,” I growl, pointing to the double doors. Two guys scramble forward and grab Jackson by the arms, then the crowd parts to allow them to drag him outside. A thick bloodstain smears across the floor behind them, and I can barely hold back a smile looking at it. I couldn’t have planned this any better. The blood might stain the floors, but it’ll be the perfect reminder for them: keep fucking with me and suffer the consequences.

As the guys return, I take a moment to gather my thoughts before addressing the crowd again. They all seem to stay clear of the blood smear, and that’s fine with me. Might as well keep it on display.

“Tomorrow night, we’ll go to the Cove and get their water.” I pause, my gaze sweeping around the crowd.

“But how? It’s not like they’re just gonna give it to us,” Sam says, and a quiet murmur rumbles around the room. No one is flat-out disagreeing with me, because they better fucking not, but I don’t like Sam giving them a reason to doubt my plan.

My jaw clenches, and I feel a bit of irritation rolling through me as I grip the handle of my knife tighter. I’m going to have to keep an eye on that one. Questioning my plans is damn near as bad as disagreeing with them. “I didn’t say we were gonna knock on the door and ask for it like a cup of fucking sugar, Sam. We’re taking it.”

The majority of the crowd erupts in a roar of raucous sound, with some stomping their feet and others banging on the tables. Some sit silently, likely terrified at what they’ve seen, but I don’t give a fuck about them. Just so long as they stay in line, I won’t have any problems with them. I take a quick mental note of who they are to store that information for later, then focus on the energy of everyone else in the room. It’s palpable and just what I’ve been craving. Many of us are like-minded and want order, craving complete obedience on this ship. And we will do everything we can to get it. These are my people. I feel a surge of confidence fill my chest and I stand a bit taller, grinning.

“Everyone, get your weapons together. Whatever you can find, grab it and get it ready,” I say, and the boisterous crowd gets even more rowdy. I raise my knife in the air, joining in, and happen to catch a look at my hand, still covered in Jackson’s blood. It’s almost surreal, seeing his blood smeared on the back of my hand, almost like I’m watching all this through someone else’s eyes. Like a dream. I feel a smile spread across my face, and my heart starts beating fast, the adrenaline flooding my system. It feels so damn good. I’m. Fucking. Invincible.

I look to the deck where Jackson’s body lies motionless. I don’t know if he’s dead yet, but he’s probably close to it, with all that blood pooling beneath him. It seems to flow slowly, like a red river, like it’s making its way to the center of the room, like it’s coming directly to me. I walk over to where Jackson is and crouch down next to him. He’s breathing shallowly, and his eyes are closed. He won’t be alive much longer. The blood pool underneath him is huge. Behind me, I hear everyone still moving around, still preparing themselves, and a buzzing in my ears drowns out the noise. I touch my fingertips to the pool of blood, then rub my fingertips together, feeling the sticky smoothness of the cooling liquid. I run my fingers up the side of Jackson’s shirt, then dip them directly into the stab wound. I dig around a little, and Jackson lets out a weak groan, shuddering a bit.

I lean forward, putting my lips almost to his ear. “You wanted my place here, didn’t you, Jackie-boy?” I dig my index and middle fingers into the wound a bit deeper, and he groans again, barely moving this time. When I pull my hand back, I smear some of the warm blood down the side of my cheek, then position myself in front of his face, where his eyes are now wide open from the pain. He blinks slowly as he stares at me.

“You could never be me, and you sure as shit can’t beat me,” I say as I watch the light in his eyes start to go dim. “And now, you’ll forever be part of the reason why everyone here will stay fucking terrified of me. So, thank you for that.”

Jackson gazes at me silently, and I see one last bubble of bloody spit burst on his lower lip before he lets out his final breath. I dip my fingers in the pool of blood and mark a bloody cross on his forehead, then I drag him over to the side railing of the deck, and heft him up and over, tossing his body into the dark abyss. I stand to my full height and take a deep breath of the cool night air.

“Hello… sir?” I spin around, my hand instinctively flying to my knife as I’m startled by a voice behind me. “Is…is everything okay?” A young man– Alex, Andrew, I think? – blinks when he sees the blood on my face. Everyone else is still bustling around the room behind him. Most of them are now breaking chair and table legs and such to make weapons.