Only Rage (A Sadie Price FBI Suspense Thriller—Book 2)

CHAPTER ONE “Let’s see what we’ve got here, then,” Raul muttered to himself as he approached the hold. He could hear the scuttling and rustling of the crabs underneath. He had seen some beasts out there this season, with legs as long as a child’s and pincers that you wouldn’t want to mess with. Almost prehistoric looking. The fisherman opened the hatch that led down into his hold, a half-smile on his face. So far this winter, the catches had been good. Making a living as a crab fisherman wasn’t always easy, but something out there had been smiling on Raul recently and the ocean just kept on giving. It would be a good Christmas. He might even be able to afford a few days off, which would make his wife happy. Fishermen kept long hours that could stretch into days or even weeks, and she often accused him of loving the sea and his boat more than he did her. In a funny sort of way, he wasn’t so sure that she was wrong. In spite of the cold and the dark and the inherent, ever-present danger – one crab fisherman a week died during some seasons – crab fishing was in his blood; and in the summer, he missed it. But he wasn’t getting any younger and the cold was starting to seep into his bones and linger in a way that hadn’t happened when he was a younger man. They said it took its toll on you eventually. The ocean claimed you one way or another; you couldn’t cheat it forever. But maybe he could be the exception. Maybe, with enough catches like this one, he would be able to retire early. Move away from the icy grip of Alaska to somewhere down south, somewhere hot. Then his wife would smile at him again like she did when they were younger and want him in her bed if he didn’t smell of crab all the time. He was kidding himself maybe, but it was a pleasant enough fantasy. He whistled to himself as he sorted through the crabs, pleased to see a few good-size red king crabs, or Kamchatkas as the natives called them: big, almost dangerous looking creatures that could achieve a leg span of nearly three feet. Nightmare looking pincers on them that could do a lot of damage if you weren’t careful. As well as the red kings there was a good stash of golden and blue, which weren’t as heavily prized as the reds but still commercially viable. There were a few of the smaller scarlet crabs as well, which he would take home to his wife to be frozen for the coming months. Raul was still whistling when he spotted something unusual. Something that made the tune die in his throat. It was sticking up through the mass of crabs. It was pale, brown, and fleshy looking, far too soft and the wrong color for a crab leg. As he hauled it closer, he saw the raw, b****y stump at the end and the myriad network of bites going up it. Even before the rest of it surfaced, he felt a growing horror and a scream rising up in his chest. It was a body. If you could even call it that, it was so badly eaten away. The crabs’ last meal had been an extravagant one. As the long dark hair came into view, the only part that Raul could see that the crabs had left untouched, a long, guttural moan came from between his dry lips. His hands were clammy, and he could feel himself breaking into a cold sweat that covered every inch of his skin. He should put it back, he told himself, and call the police. Let them lift it out. This was too much for him. Yet he continued to haul the body towards him even as the dread of what he was about to see bubbled up in him. Don’t look at the face; don’t look at the face. But as the body came closer, it turned of its own accord, and almost against his will he found that his gaze was drawn to what was once the woman’s face, now only a mess of tissue and bone. Finally, he screamed.