Game over.
“Shut up, Sean. Shut up before you make it worse.”
But it’s too late for them to hide behind excuses or bargains. Their pleas mean nothing. In this life, there is only loyalty and betrayal, and betrayal must be punished with blood.
“Bring it out,” I order.
Two of my men step forward, carrying buckets filled with what looks like raw scraps of meat. They spill the contents over the railing, and the water churns below as the dark shapes of sharks appear, slicing through the waves with terrifying grace. Fins break the surface, circling, faster and faster, drawn by the scent of blood. The sea itself becomes a grave waiting to be filled.