Ultimate Battleship

Chapter 9

"Ah!" The third brother’s cry was a jagged blade slicing through the night, muffled by the ship’s rotting hull but sharp enough to jolt the leader from his vigil. He’d been leaning against a palm tree, the salt wind tangling his hair, when the sound hit—half yelp, half gurgle. His hand snapped to the pistol at his waist, a worn Browning that had seen more blood than sunlight.

For ten heartbeats, he stood motionless, listening. The ocean’s roar was a constant, but now there was something else: a metallic clatter, like chains dragging over rusted steel. His gaze locked onto the derelict trawler anchored a hundred yards up the beach. Its silhouette was a broken tooth against the starless sky, its rigging creaking like a dying man’s breath.

"What the hell was that?" The second brother stumbled from the treeline, arms overflowing with damp driftwood. Kindling spilled from his grasp, landing with soft thuds on the sand. His eyes were wide, pupils dilated in the moonlight—more rat than man in that moment.

"Trouble." The leader’s voice was a growl, low in his throat. He thumbed the pistol’s safety off, the click loud in the silence. "Stay here. Guard the girl. If she so much as sneezes, I’ll gut you." He didn’t wait for a response, already moving toward the wreck. The flashlight in his other hand cast a wavering cone over the sand, illuminating crabs scuttling for cover.

The second brother watched him go, the beam shrinking to a pinpoint before vanishing behind the trawler’s hull. For a long moment, he stood there, listening to the leader’s boots crunch over shells. Then a smile spread across his face, slow and serpentine. He turned toward the military tent, its green fabric a dark blotch against the beach.

A minute passed—long enough for the leader to disappear into the ship’s hold. The second brother rubbed his palms together, the calluses from years of thievery rough against his skin. He’d always hated taking orders, especially from the leader. This job was supposed to be their ticket out, but why split ten million three ways when two could live like kings?

He ducked into the tent, the nylon flap hissing closed behind him.

Inside, Chu Xiaoxiao was a shadow curled in the corner. The only light came from a sliver under the flap, enough to reveal her trembling shoulders. She’d been a prodigy since age seven, decoding financial reports while other girls played with dolls. By fifteen, she’d orchestrated the Chu Corporation’s acquisition of three rival firms, her mother’s golden child. Now, her silk dress was torn at the hem, and her hair was matted with saltwater.

She’d always felt untouchable, a princess in a glass castle. Now, the castle was a tent, and the glass had shattered.

If only she’d ignored the letter. If only she hadn’t visited her father’s grave on that misty morning, hadn’t seen the men in black sedans idling at the cemetery gates.

The tent flap tore open, flooding the space with moonlight. The second brother stood in the entrance, his features grotesque in the half-light. His eyes were hungry, roaming over her like hands. She saw her lost sandal beside his boot, the pearl buckle she’d chosen last week now caked in mud.

"Missed me, princess?" His voice was a leer. He took a step forward, and she scrambled back until her spine hit the tent wall. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. The fabric smelled of mildew and something else—something rank, like rotting fish.

His gaze dropped to her bare foot, the pale arch of her instep. "Such pretty toes," he murmured, grinning wider. "Bet they’ve never touched dirt before. Let’s see if we can change that."

"Don’t—!" The word was a sob, torn from her throat. She hugged her knees tighter, the thin cotton of her dress doing little to shield her. Images flashed through her mind: her mother’s stern face, the boardroom filled with nodding executives, the yacht where she’d celebrated her sixteenth birthday. None of it mattered now.

Rrrrip.

The sound of tearing fabric was deafening. Her scream followed, high-pitched and raw. She felt cold air on her thigh, saw the second brother’s hand pulling at the remains of her dress. His breath was hot on her neck, reeking of tobacco and cheap whiskey.

"Rich girls," he whispered, his fingers digging into her skin, "always so soft—"

"Move, and your brains will decorate this tent."

The voice was ice, cutting through the darkness. The second brother froze, his hand still gripping her dress. Something hard pressed against the back of his skull—metal, unforgiving.

Xiaoxiao blinked through tears, her vision blurry. A figure stood in the entrance, backlit by the moon. She couldn’t make out a face, but there was something familiar in the voice… a hint of the dockworker’s drawl she’d heard yesterday, when she’d gone to see Nie Yun.

"Hands up. Step back. Slowly." The voice was calm, too calm. There was no shake, no hesitation—just a promise.

The second brother’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He’d faced down cops, rival gangs, even a knife-wielding drunk in Macau. But this… this was different. The tone wasn’t bravado; it was the quiet before a storm. He raised his hands, fingers trembling, and took a step back.

"Further."

They shuffled out of the tent, the stranger following close behind. Xiaoxiao crawled to the flap, peering through the gap. The stranger was a boy—barely more than a teenager—wearing a grease-stained shirt and cargo pants. His hair was shaggy, saltwater drying in strands, but his grip on the pistol was steady as a rock.

And that gun… she recognized it. The third brother had been cleaning it earlier, bragging about its accuracy.

"That’s Third Brother’s piece!" the second brother hissed, panic edging his voice. "You killed him?!"

"Keep moving." The boy didn’t answer, just nudged the pistol forward.

They walked toward the treeline, the boy’s shadow stretching long behind them. Xiaoxiao could see the second brother’s legs shaking, his hands still raised. The boy stopped them at the tree line, where the sand gave way to mossy rocks.

"Right there. Stop."

"Listen, kid," the second brother tried, his voice wheedling, "that girl’s worth ten million. We can split it—"

"Oh, I heard." The boy chuckled, a dark sound that made Xiaoxiao shiver. "Funny thing: I’ve never seen ten thousand in my life. Can you imagine that? Ten million." He paused, the silence stretching. "Perfect. Don’t flinch."

Bang.

The gunshot was a thunderclap, echoing off the water. Xiaoxiao flinched, her vision whiting out. Her ears rang, a high-pitched whine that drowned out all other sound. She saw the second brother’s body jerk, then crumple to the ground like a marionette with cut strings.

Thud.

For a long moment, there was only the ringing in her ears and the distant crash of waves. Then the boy was at the tent flap, his face illuminated by the moonlight.

It was him.

Nie Yun.

The boy she’d gone to see yesterday, the one who lived on that strange ship. Of all the people—police, soldiers, even the kidnappers’ rivals—he was the last person she’d expected.

"Hey there, m’lady." He flashed a grin, holding up a flashlight that he’d somehow produced. He held it under his chin, casting wild shadows across his face, making him look like a mischievous ghost. "Fancy meeting you in hell, huh?"

Xiaoxiao opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out. The ringing in her ears was finally fading, replaced by the pounding of her heart. She looked past him, at the second brother’s motionless body, then back at Nie Yun.

Who was he? Really?

And how had he known she was here?

The questions swirled in her mind, but she couldn’t voice them. Instead, she just stared, her breath coming in short gasps, as the boy with the gun and the flashlight grinned down at her from the threshold of the tent. The night wind picked up, carrying the scent of salt and something else—something metallic, like blood—on its wings.