Vengeance (The Prince's Games Book 1) Rebecca Grey (first e reader txt) 📖

more traditional Human name? Elizabeth? Or maybe Anne? Such feminine names as those would look wrong on my muscular frame.

Marcello stands, stretching his arms up over his head. The hem of his leather vest lifts up over the top of his jeans, revealing chiseled muscles that veer... down. I keep my gaze from lowering. He smacks his lips, giving Juilliard a quick nod.

"Ah, the man of the hour!" Marcello moves around me and I allow the compulsion to watch him take me over. His attention is fixed across the deck and I turn, following the point of his eyes.

The Elfish crew parts enough to reveal Captain Balander. His deep brown dreadlocks that usually hang around his face are pulled back in a loose ponytail at his nape. The tanned skin of his face is shadowed by a large hat without any gaudy decorations on top of it, like many of the other pirate captains like to do. He raises a fist, shouting orders, and his maroon jacket, that peplums at the hips, wrinkles with the motion.

I thought this was Marcello's ship? I squint, as if it will change who I'm looking at and suddenly this will all make sense.

The space between the two men quickly closes as Marcello darts in front of him. His hand moves with such speed it's only a blur in my vision. But I know exactly what he is doing. The point of a sharpened sword, Balander's sword to be exact, meets the flesh under the Captain's chin.

"What is the meaning of this?" Balander bellows, raising his hands in surrender. His green eyes search for help from the crew, still moving busily around us. His throat bobs as the blade grazes, but does not yet pierce his flesh.

Many of the pirate’s steps stutter while they do their work, with one eye pointed at the dramatics of this scene. None of them rush to help or even drop their tasks.

I tug my hood a little tighter to my face and step around the trunk and Juilliard to stand in the only bit of shade the top deck can offer. I have enough marks on my record, this doesn't need to be one of them. Juilliard lounges with his elbows propped on his knees, watching with a blank face. How much of Marcello's plan does he know? He’s certainly not surprised by his friend’s blatant act of disrespect.

"Oh," Marcello laughs, "sorry, I thought you understood what was happening. It's a mutiny." Cheers rise up from the Elves, all in support of Marcello.

So he truly is that charming then... Or lucky? Luck isn't a Saint that often blesses me. Yet it is clear that it was something that Marcello is just chock full of. First he was able to escape death at my hands. Now this? Swaying an entire crew of men sworn under the leadership of the renowned Captain Balander.

“Sorry, Captain, doesn’t look like you have a whole lot of friends on this ship,” he adds with a mocking pout. Marcello stands tall and proud, with no quiver of nervousness in his weapon and outstretched arm.

Balander opens his mouth to protest or to say whatever words he thinks might be fitting as his last, but he never gets them out. With a simple flick of Marcello’s wrist, the sword, his own fucking blade, slashes over Balander’s neck. A line of deep crimson starts to show and the more he opens and closes his mouth, like a fish out of water, the more blood wells up as the cut then begins to drip. Red rivers run down the tendons in his neck, staining the collar of his shirt

Balander is a good guy. As good as a thieving, pirating, Elf could be. Still, I don't have room in my heart for sympathy. He deserves this. They all deserve an ending such as this. His knees crack loudly as he falls. The smallest of smiles edges of my lips. Something I'm just not able to contain.

This had been what, one or two minutes upon this grand ship? One or two minutes of Marcello seizing something that is not his? I register the death quicker than I had in my younger years. I’m too used to the end of life for my mind to bother processing what I’ve witnessed.

One hand rises to Balander’s throat. He touches the wound gingerly, pulling his hand away to stare at the blood coating his calloused fingertips. Seeing it is the beginning of the end. It's enough for him to accept his fate, and his eyelids flutter before he collapses on the floor.

I'm surprised. Actually surprised. Dare I say... impressed that Marcello is able to pull such a thing off.

None of the crew move to their previous captain’s side, too busy with their tasks that need completing so they can make their departure time. Many of them watch out the corner of their eyes, with healthy smiles on their faces. Perhaps Balander taking a break to get a drink and send letters inside of Geno's Bar had been too much for them. Assuming the man wasn't often helpful with loading and unloading all of the supplies.

I can't help but shake my head as I emerge from my hiding spot. Marcello nudges the body with his boot. His smile only falters when his boot comes away with the slightest bit of blood, which he precedes to wipe on Balander's pants.

“I thought you said there was already a mutiny. Not that we were going to be a part of one.” I stare down at the growing puddle of blood.

“Yeah, guess I left that bit out.” Marcello smirks.

“You lied to me.”

Heavy footfalls sound behind me. I've already tagged the weight and the repetition of the movement as Juilliard in the back of my brain. He appears next to me, his tongue running over his teeth as he thinks.