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“Been making them all my life,” I grunt, not about to let him see any doubt. If there is any.
Vance smirks, a glint of challenge in his eyes. “But have you ever had to make a sacrifice that goes against your own desires, Gunnar? Have you ever had to choose between what you want and what is necessary for the greater good?”
I narrow my eyes at him, feeling the weight of his words. “What are you getting at, Vance?”
He leans back slightly, crossing his arms over his chest as he sways with the movement of the boat. “I’m saying that being a leader means putting the needs of the group above your own personal wishes. Are you prepared to do that when the time comes?”
I scoff, shaking my head. “You act like I haven’t already sacrificed enough for this so-called family of ours.”
“Is that what you think?” Vance’s tone is incredulous, almost mocking. “You’ve sacrificed, yes, but have you truly put the Angels above all else? Above yourself?”
Before I can respond, Rook appears at my side, his presence a welcome interruption to the tense conversation. “What’s going on here, boys? Planning to overthrow the Archangel while we’re out at sea?”
Vance chuckles darkly, shooting me a knowing look. “Just having a little heart-to-heart about leadership and sacrifice, Rook. Nothing too dramatic.”
Rook raises an eyebrow, studying us both with a keen gaze. “Sounds like a grand time, boys…but we should probably get to our posts. Only a few more miles.”
I nod in agreement, grateful for Rook’s timely intervention. “Yeah, we’ll see whose actions speak loudest when the time comes.”
Vance’s smirk fades slightly as he turns away from us, gazing out at the churning sea. The tension between us lingers in the air, unresolved but simmering beneath the surface.
As the boat continues its journey through the stormy night, I can’t help but wonder if Vance’s words hold more truth than I care to admit. The weight of leadership presses down on my shoulders, mingling with the salt-scented wind and the distant rumble of thunder.
But one thing is certain – no matter what sacrifices lie ahead, I will do whatever it takes to protect those I care about and ensure that the Angels survive whatever challenges come our way.
A flare of orange splits the sky ahead; dawn’s breaking, painting the world in shades of blood and gold. New Eden looms out of the darkness, a silhouette against the lightening sky. Oberon is on the other side of the boat, and he points toward the island.
“They know we’re coming!” he shouts. “Enemy boats ahead!”
Before I can take another breath, the water around us churns with enemy speedboats, cutting through the waves, gunning for us.
“Contact!” Oberon’s bellow cuts through the chaos.
“Time to dance,” Rook says with more glee than I think is really right for the moment. I glance over my shoulder to find him climbing up into a gunner’s mount on top of the cockpit of the boat, hauling a rocket launcher onto his shoulder.
Fucking psycho.
“Let’s show ’em how the Angels go to war!” Vance hollers, pulling a semi-automatic from his holster as if it’s an extension of his own arm.
The clash of metal against metal echoes over the storm-tossed waves as Rook’s rocket launcher roars to life. The enemy speedboats veer off, skirting the edge of destruction in a dance of danger and death. Vance’s shots ring out like cracks of thunder, each bullet finding its mark with deadly precision.
“Nice aim, Vance!” I shout over the chaos, reloading my own weapon with practiced ease. I didn’t want him here, but I’m glad he is; my half-brother is a good guy to have on your side in a gunfight.
Vance grins, adrenaline fueling his movements. “Just getting warmed up, Gunnar! Let’s give ’em hell!”
Oberon’s deep voice booms across the deck as he wrestles an enemy fighter to the ground after he leaps onboard our boat, his massive frame a whirlwind of calculated violence. The tang of metal and blood fills the air, mixing with the saltwater spray that lashes against our skin like a thousand tiny needles.
“We’ve got more incoming!” Oberon calls out, his words drowned out by another explosion as an enemy boat erupts in flames.
Rook laughs, the sound wild and untamed. “Now this is what I call a party! Who’s next?”
I duck behind a storage crate as bullets whiz past me, the staccato rhythm of gunfire forming a deadly backdrop to our desperate struggle. The taste of salt and fear lingers on my tongue, mingling with the metallic tang of blood spilled in defiance.
“You’re not getting away that easily!” Vance’s voice cuts through the chaos, his determination unwavering as he takes down another opponent with ruthless efficiency.
A sudden jolt rocks the boat as an enemy vessel rams into us, sending shockwaves through our makeshift battleground. We stumble and fight to regain our footing, every movement a dance on the knife-edge of survival.
“Time to show them what we’re made of!” I growl, pushing forward with renewed resolve.
