Page 174 of Unhinged Omega

In one fluid motion, I draw my knife and press it against his throat. He freezes, a whimper escaping his lips as the sharp blade breaks skin.

"I understand perfectly," I say softly. "And you have a choice to make. Either you take your chances and keep moving... or you die here and now, by my hand." I apply slightly more pressure, drawing a thin line of blood. "Choose."

The fisherman swallows hard, his scruffy throat bobbing against my blade. "I... I'll keep going."

"Wise decision."

I maintain my position, knife steady against his throat as he steers with shaking hands. The old military outpost is visible now, a dark shape against the starlit sky.

Movement catches my eye. A flash of white through the darkness. I narrow my eyes, focusing on the approaching shape. Another vessel cutting through the waves with surprising speed.

"Maintain course," I order the fisherman, finally withdrawing my blade. He sags in relief, but I barely notice as I stride out of the wheelhouse and onto the deck.

A white sail appears like a ghost through the darkness, stark against the moonlit waters. Even at this distance, I can make out two figures aboard. One at the helm, the other a looming shadow near the bow—a massive behemoth of an alpha.

The Ghosts' infamous attack dog.

Wraith.

"Keep her steady," I order the fisherman, my voice carrying easily over the engine's rumble despite the wind. His only response is a terrified whimper.

I move to the rail, watching the approaching vessel with practiced detachment. It cuts through the waves with surprising speed, angling on an intercept course that will bring them alongside us within minutes.

This is no chance encounter.

They're hunting.

A harsh laugh curls across the water, followed by what sounds like Vrissian cursing. I narrow my eyes, focusing on the figure at the helm. Even in the darkness, that bone-white hair is unmistakable.

Valek.

The psychopath my brother's pack keeps on a leash.

"You don't understand what you're getting into," the fisherman calls from the wheelhouse, his voice cracking with fear. "That'sthem. The Ghosts. We need to turn back!"

I ignore his protests, my mind already analyzing the trajectory of the ship. The sailboat is faster, more maneuverable. But their approach vector gives away their intentions.

They mean to ram us.

A low, inhuman growl echoes across the water—a sound that would freeze the blood of lesser men. Wraith stands at the bow of their vessel like some ancient figurehead of death, one massive hand gripping the mast for balance. Even at this distance, I can see the moonlight glinting off the scars visible above the Surhiiran scarf covering his lower face.

"Evening, brother-in-law!" Valek's mocking voice carries across the waves. "Lovely night for a swim, isn't it?"

I don't bother responding. Instead, I draw my gun and brace myself against the rail, counting down the seconds.

Three...

Two...

One...

The impact nearly throws me off my feet. Wood splinters and metal screams as the sailboat's reinforced bow crashes into our port side. The fisherman hollers and curses in fear, but the sound is cut short as he's thrown against the wheel.

I maintain my footing through years of practice, already moving as Wraith launches himself at me and my first bulletmisses him by an inch. I meet his charge head-on, ducking under his first wild swing and driving my fist into his solar plexus. It's like punching a brick wall.

His fist whistles past my ear again as I pivot, the sheer force of his swing creating a rush of air. His fighting style is pure brutality. No finesse, just raw power and animalistic fury. Each blow would shatter bone if he can land one.

I weave under another wild swing. My counter-strike catches him in the throat, a blow that would crush a normal man's windpipe. Wraith barely grunts.

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