Page 84 of Wounded King

Luciano grunts and leaves his glass on the table.

Outside, it's just as miserable as I thought it would be. Out on the open waters, the wind is brutally whipping about. The sea angrily slaps against the hull and the two men tied to it. Both of them are white as marble and soaked from head to toe, but the violent shivering of their bodies announces there's still plenty of life left in them.

"Hoist that one up a few inches," I point at the man whose shoulder is not dislocated. "Start chumming."

It doesn't take long for the fins to come into view, racing through the dark water. The man hanging lower sees them first and begins to scream. The head of a blue shark pops up by the man's feet, and he screams and struggles, pulling up his legs.

"Where are you from?" I call, leaning over the railing.

"Fuck you," he yells up, kicking his legs against the nose of another blue shark, who dives back down.

Luciano leans over and slices the man's chest. Blood wells and drops into the water, which is now churning with white foam as more sharks arrive. A large group of less aggressive sandbar sharks arrives, creating more waves. Suddenly, a great white dives up from the deep, going for one of the sandbar sharks. The water turns red, and a feeding frenzy ensues, set to the music of the man's screams as he tries to keep his feet above water.

It doesn't take long before he runs out of steam; his legs begin to shake and drop. The great white does a swim by and his rough skin brushes against the screaming man, pushing him into his companion and causing the other to howl as well.

"Is that Bruce?" Luciano asks, pointing at the great white shark.

"Shine your light," I order one of my men. The beam of a flashlight highlights the shark's missing left eye. "Yep, that's Bruce alright."

"Bruce as inFinding Nemo?" Marco asks.

"Las Vegas. We're from Las Vegas," the second man yells.

Luciano and I exchange a look of confusion. Why would men from Las Vegas come after me? My men searched them, but none of the attackers carried an identifying tattoo, mark, or anything.

"Who do you work for?"

My questions are drowned out by the first man's howls of pain as one of the blue sharks latches onto his foot, thrashing him left and right against the ship's hull before managing to rip the foot clear off at the ankle.

More blood pours into the water, serving to increase their feeding frenzy.

"Oh God, oh God, make it stop," the man howls, just as Bruce resurfaces, taking a large bite from the man's leg, severing his artery and further fueling the sharks' crazed fury.

"Who do you work for?" I repeat myself.

"Fuck. Fuck this!" The so far untouched man yells as his friend's screams ebb, and the body goes limp after bleeding out.

"Cut him loose."

Marco cuts the rope holding the lifeless body, and the surviving prisoner watches as his friend is torn to pieces. Bloody seafoam builds as the writhing bodies of sharks fight one another for a bite of their meal.

"Take his hand," I command.

Marco pulls out a hatchet. With practiced moves, he first ties a tourniquet to the man's lower arm—we don't want him to bleed out—then he severs the hand. Anticipating what I want, he throws it into the churning waters.

A beast of a tiger shark appears, this one even larger than the great white, and devours his treat, while the man fights against his bindings, kicking and screaming.

"Last time I'll ask, then we'll cut you loose," I warn him.

"Shit, fuck, no! Fuck. Il Macellaio. We work for Il Macellaio."

"The Butcher?" Incredulously, I turn to Luciano. Why in the fuck would the Las Vegas family come after me? I've never had any dealings with them. I lean over the railing to get a better look at the man, "Why would Il Macellaio want me dead?"

"You?" The man barks out in hysterical laughter. His posturing ends in a wince as one of the sharks pushes out of the water and against his leg. "I don't even know who you are, man!" he yells.

Luciano snorts, and I send a quick glare at him.

"If you're not after me, why are you after Violet?"