Page 7 of Broken By the Battleship

I punch the serrated blade into his belly button and use both hands to jerk it sideways. His entrails splatter over my side as I roll out of the way.

“What’s that about guts?” I ask as I bury my weapon in his shoulder.

His garbled scream feeds my rage. I yank the knife free, find my feet, and loom over him.

“It looks like you had more than enough guts for both of us,” I say from the far side of a tunnel.

With one arm limp at his side, he scoops his entrails off the floor and shoves them back into his gaping abdomen, but they fall back to the floor with squishy plops.

Bile climbs my throat, but memories rush through me as he turns pathetic eyes up to me.

My mother always begged him to stop. He never listened.

He opens his mouth to speak. I swing. A crimson smile replaces his lips. Blood gushes down his chin and throat. He falls back. His heels kick along the floor as he chokes on his own blood.

Massive boots frame his head. The Battleship squats, fists my father’s hair, and forces him to meet my eyes.

“You’re a failure, Gordon. You’re nothing. Killed by the daughter you could never tame,” he growls before twisting his grip and aiming my father’s face toward my brothers. “You’re pathetic, even in the eyes of your runts.”

As the light fades from my sire’s eyes, The Battleship twists his fingers and smirks down at him.

“And it’s all because of me. I hope you writhe in Hell knowing I’m enjoying the spoils of war. You couldn’t break them, but I will. They’re mine now. All mine. Bonded through your death.”

His words pierce through me.

Fear fills me. Deeper than the horror my father orchestrated throughout the years, the terror wells up from the inner recesses of my soul.

My father lashed out at those weaker than him because he felt it was his right.

The Battleship uses more than brute strength to get what he wants, making him far more dangerous than my father. In only a few minutes, he’s played mind games and used me in ways my father couldn’t in over two decades.

He made a promise with a dying man, and the cold ruthlessness in his gaze tells me he won’t break his promise. Ever.

He stated what he wants. Me and my brothers.

Claiming me makes sense, since I’m an omega. Alphas murder entire civilizations for omegas.

But he included my brothers in his promise.

Sticky blood drips from the blade in my hand and lands in the growing puddle at my feet.

I lunge forward, aiming the tip of the knife toward The Battleship’s jugular, but he moves faster than someone so large should be capable. He grabs my wrist and alters my trajectory. The blade sinks into my father’s chest. Thick fingers weave into my hair and hold my head down. I stare into my father’s empty gaze.

Vomit spews from my mouth without warning.

He peels my digits off the hilt and lifts me into the air.

Unmoored and filled with fresh horror as my mind replays the last few minutes, I fight the arms around me until two innocent faces blip through my vision. I freeze.

With my nails embedded in his forearms and my heels bopping against his shins, my captor stands a few feet away from my brothers.

“They were such good, obedient boys. Are you going to destroy their efforts, kitten?”

His deep rumble infects my chest.

“Don’t hurt them,” I plead.

I can’t manage saying more without damning myself. I long to sink my nails into his eyes and rip his wicked tongue from his mouth, but he holds my brothers’ fate in his massive hands.

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