Page 4 of Drowned By the Dreadnought

“It seems Ricky lost something,” I growl.

Tiny fists thrum against my lower back. I smack her ass again. She yelps and fists my shirt.

The two men glance at each other before darting away. I laugh and step out into the sunlight.

People scurry out of my way as I stomp toward the staircase for the upper decks. No one tries to stop me until I reach the doorway.

I sigh as dozens of males appear out of the woodwork and surround me.

Several grizzled older males step forward, their attempt to intimidate me so comical I chuckle and sigh again before shaking my head.

“I’m not here for you,” I say. “I’m here for Ricky.”

With his hair mussed and the stench of pain and sex wafting from him, Scowl, the male who founded this sorry batch of lowlifes, chuckles and plays with his knife.

“If you’re here for Ricky, then you’re here for all of us. We’re brothers, you see,” Scowl says.

Morwenna stiffens at the sound of his voice. She braces her forearms on my back and lifts her head and shoulders to scan the area. Her shaking worsens, and she stops fighting but doesn’t cling to me.

A skinny beta boy weaves his way through the crowd and stops several arms’ lengths away from the leader.

“Boss, Ricky’s dead,” he says.

Morwenna freezes before twisting her fists in my shirt and digging her knees into my chest.

“Who killed him?” I snarl.

He was mine. Mine to beat, torture, and maul for as long as I wanted, until I decided he’d suffered enough to die and go to hell. Whoever stole my revenge will suffer.

“Let me guess. You go by the name The Dreadnought now, yeah? Ricky knew you’d be coming for him, but it looks like you’re too late, Russt. Somebody else got to him first,” Scowl says with a smirk.

I roll my shoulders as my hatred extends to every male standing beside this scumbag.

“Fine, then. You’re a poor second, but I guess you’ll have to do for now,” I respond.

When he finally processes my words, his face and neck redden in anger.

“Why, you—”

He makes the biggest—and the last—mistake of his life and steps toward me. I bury my fist so deep into his face dozens of bones snap and blood spurts from his ears. He flies backward. His body slams into the men behind him. He doesn’t get back up.

Two alphas attack with pathetic battle cries. I brace one arm around the back of Morwenna’s thighs and duck low and to the side, accepting the first man’s punch in her place. Pain radiates through my side, adding more fuel to my rage. I plant my feet, swing from the hips, and clock the man under the chin, following through until he flies backward and takes out a group of idiots on his way down.

The next man isn’t much smarter. I block his punch with ease and shatter his shin with a kick. He falls with a scream.

Only a handful of men rush toward me. The rest scatter like cockroaches.

Using only my fists and feet, I kill every male willing to risk their lives for the monsters running this little shitshow. The last alpha lies on the deck clutching his broken leg and groaning. I cover him with my shadow. He squints up at me. The moment he recognizes me, I stomp his skull until the only noise coming from him is the squishing of his brain. His heels stop tapping on the deck.

Silence descends. Even the breeze stops as I survey the damage.

It isn’t enough. Rage still consumes my heart. I stomp toward the stairs, needing confirmation of Ricky’s death.

“No, stop. Russt, please,” Morwenna begs as she twists and fights my hold.

I slap her ass and start up to the second level.

“Say my name again and I’ll rut you on the stairs,” I snarl.

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