Page 21 of Player

Finn

“Antonio.”

I stop short when the captain calls me name from across the deck. The man’s got an ego the size of a bull’s balls and needs to be handled accordingly, which means me alter-ego is proving harder to kill off.

“Cap?” I turn, a smirk on my face. The man has a raging hard-on for me and he’s taken it upon himself to “right God’s wrong”—his words, not mine.

He comes to a halt a few inches away, invading me space while gesturing at his watch. “It’s captain, motherfucker. And you’re late.”

I pause dramatically and consider his accusation. “Don’t think I am.”

“Listen to me, you pigeon ass. Ten minutes ago, all crew members were expected on the stern. You missed roll call so I’m docking you two days wages including missed time due to all your idling about.”

“That’s hardly legitimate.”

His ears turn scarlet. “You think my being subjected to a goddamn idiot who can’t keep his food down is legitimate? That you’re getting paid to pussy about instead of manning up is legitimate? Hands down, you’re the laziest excuse of a human being I’ve ever met.”

“Aw, Cap. Don’t be like that. A few cups of tea should settle me stomach. Then I’ll be back on deck.”

“Tea!” he shouts.

Ol’ Cap has a reason for being in a temper after the “unfortunate” incident outside his cabin. Two mornings ago, he stepped out the door and smack into the contents of my stomach, which I’d vomited right outside. The incident put a bit of a spring into his walk whenever he sets eyes on me. Displeased. Disgusted. Determined to make my life miserable.

The incident achieved the desired effect. Barely a day onboard, and I was banished to the engine room with two other useless pigeon arses. Tucked away from the hustle and bustle on deck. Assigned the arduous task of watching gears crank and pistons pulse. Out of sight, out of mind, and free to do as I will.

“Name one goddamn thing you’ve done to contribute to this voyage.”

“Entertainment,” I mumble loud enough to catch his ear.

“What was that?”

“I said I offer you and the lads entertainment. Nothing beats a good gaf, eh?”

“Entertainment?” he shrieks, then presses a finger into my chest. “Listen, pigeon shit, I don’t care who your daddy is, everyone who works for me pulls their weight.”

“Granda.”

“What?”

“My granda was with the British Navy for fifty-odd years. He put in a word.”

The credentials Hayden produced say I’m an OS, an Ordinary Seaman, which is more of an apprentice position rather than an AB, Able Bodied Seaman. It became apparent after the first twenty-four hours I wouldn’t be pulling the wool over anyone’s eyes. Something had to be done or every crewman onboard would sense things were a wee bit off.

I figured the captain wouldn’t want me on deck. Working anywhere in accommodations, a four-level structure toward the stern of the boat that houses everything from a galley and recreation room on the first level, crew quarters in the middle bits, and the bridge on top that includes the captain’s quarters, would have seemed more a reward than a banishment. The engine room was the captain’s obvious choice.

Below deck, in the belly of hell, I have nothing but time to drop weight and turn this body into a fighting machine. The twenty-two-member crew rotate schedules, working twelve hour shifts with three one-hour breaks. I’m alone for the better part of the day,alone to do as I wish. So, I train, curse the heat, and plan my next step in fueling the captain’s hatred of me.

“I’ll see to it that you’re permanently blacklisted from joining another crew.”

“Permanently is a long arse time, sir.”

He steps into me and pokes me again.

I stagger back like the force of his wee finger is too much for me. “Careful, captain, or I’ll report you for harassment.”

The man goes into total Mad Titan-mode, his face as red as a well-slapped backside. “Harassment? You threatening me, you do-nothing, worthless piece of shit?” He comes at me, raging with his fist clenched.

I see it coming a mile away. Do I have time to deflect it? Hell, yeah. Have I had me eyes blackened a time or two before? You bet. Did they pay the consequences? Always—I pride myself on that fact.