Page 61 of Storm over the Caribbean (Storm and Silence Saga #8)

—and came face to face with Mr Rikkard Ambrose.

“Eaaaaah!”

Merde! Merde! Merde!

“Now,” the monster in every banker’s nightmares, began. “Let’s have a talk, shall we?”

“Nglwngl,” the Frenchman said. Right now, he was really regretting his life choices.

“Tell me…” Cocking his head, the towering, stone-faced mogul gave him a stare cold enough to freeze blood and bone. “What in the world made you think that going up against me was a good idea?”

The man of many names, who was currently fervently wishing that he had no names at all so he could stop existing and vanish into thin air, licked his dry lips. Desperately, he glanced around for a way out—and was faced by blank, dusty walls and nailed-shut windows. Merveilleux .

“P-please, Monsieur Ambrose, let me, um…let me assure you that, had I known I would be working in opposition to an esteemed personage such as yourself, I would never have—”

“Silence!” That single word was enough to convince him that maybe, shutting up was the best idea. Although it might also have had something to do with the way the stone-faced crétin suddenly had a hand around his throat, trying to strangle him.

“I do not have the patience to listen to the words of liars,” the accursed salaud informed him, his voice colder than the snowy peak of Mont Blanc in winter. “I saw your face earlier. You recognized me. You know who I am, don’t you? You knew from the beginning.”

Merde! The man’s eyes…how could eyes alone be this terrifying?

The man without a name swallowed. Somehow, an answer was dragged out of his throat against his will.

“Y-yes. Yes, I knew.”

“And do you know who I am?” an unfamiliar voice suddenly came from behind him. Then, a figure stalked into his field of vision. It was quite impressive how it could stalk while simultaneously waddling.

He blinked, staring at the odd newcomer.

“A…fat little man?”

The newcomer’s eyebrows twitched. He seemed annoyed for some reason.

Behind him, the nouveau riche Englishman took a few rather hasty steps back.

“Ah,” the business mogul stated, his voice neutral. “I see you do not know her. But you are soon going to.”

Wait a minute, her ? Who was the crétin talking abou—

Wham!

The Frenchman wheezed, trying to blink the stars out of his eyes. Where had the train that just hit him in the face come from?

When his sight cleared, the first thing he saw was the fat little man rubbing his knuckles and glaring at him. The man…

No.

Not the man. The woman .

The pissed-off pregnant woman.

Oh merde !

“So, how shall we do this?” the woman enquired. “Good cop and bad cop?”

The cutthroat business mogul cocked his head. “And who would be the good cop in that scenario?”

The woman cracked her knuckles. “You, obviously.”

Double merde . He was truly in for it now, wasn’t he?

“Now…” Stepping forward, the woman gave him a smile. Somehow, it did not reassure him very much. “Since you do not know me yet, let’s begin with introductions, shall we?”

He did not know why, but for some reason, those words made his anxiety skyrocket. Sudden alarm bells started ringing in his head.

“I,” the woman told him with a beatific smile, “am the mother of the soon-to-be born child that your employer tried to drown, along with myself and my husband.”

Triple merde . Triple merde with a crottin de cheval on top. 35

He was dead. He could see it in the woman’s eyes. He was dead. The only thing he could do now was pray that his employer would notice his absence and send someone to rescue him. But really, how likely was that?

He had just finished that thought when, in the distance, he heard the sound of a door crashing open.

***

I was halfway to the tied-up Frenchman when a sudden sound cut through the air.

Crash!

I froze. It took me a moment to realise what the noise had been. The door. Someone had kicked in the front door!

Thud! Thud! Thud!

And now they were entering the warehouse we’d picked as our temporary hideout. Coming towards us. Fast. I glanced sideways at Mr Ambrose, who had straightened and tensed, his revolver out and ready.

Heck! How had anybody found us? We had set up shop in an abandoned warehouse at the edge of town for a reason, dammit!

“Who the bloody hell is that?” I hissed. “Nobody should know we’re even here! Who—”

“No time to waste on thinking about it!” Kicking an empty crate across the room, Mr Ambrose took cover behind it, aiming his revolver at the door and motioning for me to do the same. “Prepare yourself!”

The distant footsteps stopped, and, for a moment, I hoped—only for the hope to be crushed by the sound of shouts and gunfire. Those, too, only lasted for a moment before the approaching footsteps started up again, this time much faster and louder.

Thud. Thud. Thud!

“Ha! Hahahaha!” Laughter exploded from behind us, and, glancing over my shoulder, I could see the bloody sod grinning maniacally. “See? That is what comes of meddling in my master’s affairs. I knew it! I knew he’d send someone to save me. You’re as good as dead, you salauds .” 36

“Can I shoot him?” I asked.

Mr Ambrose seemed to think about it for a moment—then reluctantly shook his head. “No.”

“Ha! Not so confident now that you’re afraid, are you?”

I turned to the bastard to shoot back a reply in lieu of a bullet—but before I could, the door to the room slammed open. My head whipped back around, and I watched as a gigantic, shadowy figure strode into the room, outlined against the light that fell in through the doorway.

“Finally!” A menacing growl issued from the massive man. “I’ve found you, you pirate scum!”