Chapter 417
She gave a dry laugh, empty of emotion. “Do you know why he’s dead?”
His mind snapped to that one shipment — the batch of weapons he dumped without anyone’s knowledge. He remembered how Black Tiger hijacked the wrong crate and paid the price for it. Hardly anyone knew the truth. So how did she?
Ronan’s face twisted. He didn’t speak. He just raised the gun, ready to pull the trigger.
“Wooooo—!” A horn suddenly split the silence, deep and brutal, like some sea creature roaring up from the depths. The blast was deafening. It shook the ship and made every bone on board tremble.
Then came a second. Then a third. Each one louder, faster, and fiercer than the last — like war knocking on the hull. The ship groaned under the pressure.
“What the hell was that?!”
“Where’s that sound coming from?!”
“Radar! Check the radar! Something’s out there!” Ronan’s crew broke formation. Fear spread fast. Their weapons swung off Rylie without thinking.
The shot missed. Rylie moved fast, dragging the thug in front of her just as the pellets fired. Blood sprayed across her face as the man’s head exploded. She blinked once, wiped her cheek with her sleeve, shoved the body aside, and rose. Ronan’s smirk vanished. He turned, eyes wide, scanning the fog. The color drained from his face. He rushed toward the edge of the ship, trying to see through the mist.
Then the fog ripped apart like someone had slashed it open. Right beside them, silent and massive, a black warship crept out of the gray, steel-plated. Towering. And armed to the teeth.
The enemy ship loomed huge beside Ronan’s, its sharp hull reflecting a harsh gleam under the dim sky. Near the bow, a black flag flapped like fury, showing two blood-soaked cutlasses beneath a snarling skull. The symbol formed a wicked X. Its eyes glowed like they’d been lit in the underworld.
Across the deck stood a swarm of savage-looking pirates. They were bare-chested, their skin stretched over muscle and inked with brutal tattoos. War paint smeared their faces. Their eyes gleamed like predators ready to kill. Metal weapons glinted in the fog — rifles, launchers, machine guns, every kind of death in their hands.
At the front, a naval cannon slowly shifted, its wide barrel turning until it pointed straight at Ronan’s ship.
Leading them stood a monster of a man — built like a bear, towering with thick shoulders and a neck like stone. One eye was hidden behind a leather patch. That was Tommy Nicolson, the pirate king himself. A minigun hung off his shoulder, its spinning barrels cold and vicious. He grabbed a megaphone and let out a roar that made the ship rattle.
“Miss VS! I’m late!” His voice cracked like thunder. “Who was the genius that pointed a gun at our meal ticket?!”
He stomped forward. “I’ll gut him and toss the pieces to the fish! Boys — board that ship! No one lives! Burn it to the bones! And don’t lay a finger on Miss VS!”
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