The Unrepentant (Skharr DeathEater #6) - Michael Anderle Page 0,76

someone who now appears to be a friend of the Scourge of the Waters," Graves answered with a chuckle. "That's a godsbedammed foolish decision—a lesson you would have to learn if you survive. Not that you will, of course."

The warrior smirked and thrust the ax blade into the mercenary’s stomach until blood ran freely from the wound and the muscles beneath no longer resisted. Once that was done, he drew the blade across and more blood gushed from the gaping hole. The man’s screams echoed across the water when his guts were exposed to the air, and after a few long seconds, they began to slide out.

Skharr took a step back and watched with grim satisfaction as the man tried to contain his innards, but they slid through his hands until their weight and the pain dragged him overboard. A second later, he splashed loudly into the ocean, although it was debatable how long he would be able to stay above water. If he was unlucky, he would be able to keep himself up until the sharks or one of the other sea monsters found him.

"Right!" Graves shouted and turned his attention to the remaining crew. "Get those godsbedammed coin-addled fucks off my ship to join Samor as fish food and clean this deck. And one of you lazy shits, find me the dwarf!"

Chapter Nineteen

Revenge was not something Skharr pursued often. He'd been on that path already in the past and had learned the hard way that there was always an empty feeling afterward. As the adrenaline faded, his fingers felt light and trembled somewhat as he drew a deep breath and focused on the disaster around him.

The crew had begun to clear the debris left by the storm. A few of the more skilled sailors focused on the repairs while others used wooden buckets to bail rain and seawater from the deck. They would have to do the same in the hold, of course, but anything above would ultimately seep through and they preferred to work from top to bottom.

It was a blessing that the storm had mostly cleared to leave them with a light drizzle rather than a deluge. Perhaps the monster had brought the storms and used them to shield itself when it attacked vessels on the surface.

The barbarian smirked. The fact that it was far from being the craziest thing he had ever seen was an interesting commentary on his life.

The crew appeared to give him something of a wide berth. While he was used to that kind of reaction when he was among the general populace, folks who were hardened fighters tended not to.

He had a feeling they might have heard of his reputation, which begged the question of which reputation they'd heard.

It wasn't long before shouts issued from the hold and a familiar voice berated any and all who came into his path.

"You rabid sea-swine shitheads had no issues with transporting me to my death, did you?"

"We did not know you were traveling with the Scourge."

That explained which reputation they knew him as, at least.

"Who gives a godsbedammed pile of stinking goblin turd who I was fucking traveling with?" Brahgen snapped. "Am I supposed to act like all is forgiven because you suddenly no longer plan to kill me?"

They emerged from the hold and the results of the argument were immediately apparent. The sailor clamped his hand over a wound on his shoulder, likely inflicted by the dagger Skharr had given his companion. The dwarf appeared to have been sick a few times while belowdecks and was in a foul mood as he approached his friend, who had begun to clean the monster and human blood that collected on him.

The youth paused and tried to not show any reaction at seeing him looking like he did before he shrugged, chuckled, and moved to where Skharr used a clean cloth to wipe his weapons.

"You look like you…uh…"

The barbarian nodded. "Like I climbed inside a monster's asshole and cut through to the front end. Yes, I've seen my reflection."

"I intended to say like shit, but I suppose yours might be a more colorful and accurate depiction, yes." Brahgen shook his head. "I have a question for you."

Once the weapons were clean, the warrior picked up the bucket of seawater he'd used and emptied it over his head. He spluttered as the cold liquid sluiced over his body to wash away most of the blood and grime that had collected on his skin. "Will you ask it