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Lords of the Archipelago: Blood-Feud: Archipelago, #1
Lords of the Archipelago: Blood-Feud: Archipelago, #1
Lords of the Archipelago: Blood-Feud: Archipelago, #1
Ebook217 pages2 hoursArchipelago

Lords of the Archipelago: Blood-Feud: Archipelago, #1

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A brutal, modern-day-pirate syndicate.
A young man torn between family honor and the woman he loves.
Deadly secrets. Cold-blooded killers.
Welcome to the Archipelago.


The Tavingtons are the PIRATE LORDS OF THE ARCHIPELAGO—the most powerful family in a high-seas, 21st-century pirate syndicate—and Caleb Tavington is the heir to the throne.

Unknown to the syndicate, Caleb wants out. He's in love with Emma Wallace, and in the Archipelago that's a death sentence, because the Wallaces and the Tavingtons are locked in a deadly blood-feud, with decades of hatred and violence between them.

Caleb knows that, to survive, he and Emma have to disappear, and he has an exit plan...but then everything falls apart.

To make it out alive, this modern-day Romeo and Juliet must walk a deadly tightrope of betrayal, blood-feud and war, and Caleb will have to remind an ocean full of stone-cold killers why he is the most feared pirate in the syndicate—and still a Lord of the Archipelago.

Readers call this explosive action-thriller 'RIVETING', 'BEAUTIFULLY CRAFTED' & 'ACTION-PACKED'!

LanguageEnglish
PublisherD.B. Motu
Release dateAug 2, 2021
ISBN9798223660231
Lords of the Archipelago: Blood-Feud: Archipelago, #1
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Author

D.B. Motu

D.B. Motu is a recovering screenwriter, often found drowning in coffee shops. He was born on an island you've never heard of and grew up under martial law in Southeast Asia. He insists he's directly descended from Samoan and British royalty, and counts among his ancestors a South Seas pirate. He's a board-gaming poet and aspiring liar. Pull up a chair.   

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    Lords of the Archipelago - D.B. Motu

    CHAPTER ONE

    Radder scanned the ocean in front of him, following the line of shimmering sun all the way to the blue horizon. Pretty, he thought, like Minecraft snow. The Archipelago stretched as far as the eye could see, a seemingly unending maze of islands, mostly uncharted and uninhabited, surrounded by a million square kilometers of wild blue water. It was absolutely breathtaking, incomparable in scope and raw natural beauty, a wilderness straddling the nautical borders of half a dozen countries—all of whom claimed it and none of whom controlled it.

    From what he had heard, the Archipelago was the wild, wild west, complete with legends and monsters, villains and heroes.

    Radder could barely take it all in.

    Standing next to him at the wheel of the high-end yacht, Radder’s best friend, Jack, snapped his fingers to Jimmy Buffett on the radio. They were two versions of one person, really, Radder and Jack, soft software-millionaire nerds, carbon copies of the same bad Ralph Lauren advertisement.

    Lounging on the deck behind them, their girlfriends nodded in time to Margaritaville, swaying slightly in the ocean breeze. They, too, were basically identical—country-club casual, drop-dead gorgeous and dripping diamonds to make Liz Taylor proud.

    The upscale yacht barely rippled the water as it cruised around a tiny elevated coral island ringed by magnificent cliffs. Seabirds took to the air all around, their squawks echoing off the vertical rock and endless ocean.

    Jack tipped his head back, stared into the almost-too-blue sky. So I said to him, ‘Hey, man, if you’re looking for trouble, you came to the right place.’

    He paused.

    And I introduced him to...

    He held up a pudgy fist.

    The convincer. And...

    Held up the other, somehow pudgier, fist.

    The convincer’s helper.

    Radder giggled like a schoolgirl in appreciation of the lie. Jack checked the Bond girls for their reaction, but they were occupied watching the sunlight flash through their jewelry.

    Jack shook his head. He gave Radder an appreciative nod. Jeez, broheem, you weren’t kiddin’ about this place.

    Radder dug his arm into a nearby mini-fridge and pulled out a wine cooler, a Christmas-morning smile on his already sunburned face. Like a freakin’ National Geographic special, huh? he asked. Beautiful. Nothing like it anywhere.

    Jack laughed. Pretty as a hundred-dollar bill...but kinda quiet, you know...spooky quiet.

    Radder hummed the theme from The Twilight Zone. Yeah, ’cause we’re the only people within a million miles.

    As if in direct answer to Radder’s claim, his yacht rounded a rock outcropping and was suddenly, terrifyingly, bow to bow with another, larger yacht.

    Shit, Radder screamed. He jammed the boat into reverse and frantically spun the wheel. The trophy girlfriends toppled like tenpins, their cocktail glasses smashing on the deck in an elegant chiming crash.

    On the bow of the larger yacht stood a ferocious-looking man, shirtless and completely bald, large gold hoops dangling from both ears. Every inch of his heavily muscled upper body was covered in wild, colorful tattoos. Mr. Clean in a mosh pit.

    Jack coughed out a frightened, What the hell is that?

    Radder slammed the boat into forward gear and full-throttled toward open sea.

    Jack’s attention locked on the juggernaut behind them. I-I think they’re comin’ after us, he said—a shaky whisper that sounded more like a prayer.

    Radder looked for all the world as if he might pass out. He gripped the wheel to keep his hands from shaking. Shitshitshitshit, he mumbled, then stopped suddenly. His eyes widened. He looked over at Jack. In the cabin, first drawer by the toilet, there’s a pistol. Get it.

    Jack did his best open-mouthed mannequin impersonation. A-a pistol? he stammered. Like, a gun? What are you doing with—?

    Just get it! Radder screamed.

    Jack disappeared down the stairs at a heavy run.

    The large ship glided smoothly up beside them, powerful engines closing the gap as if the smaller boat was standing still.

    In the center of the deck, Tattooed Man stood tall, an apparition in Technicolor, menacing and wild, with a maniacal smile on his face that chilled Radder to the bone, even in the heat of the Archipelago sun. Tattooed Man was surrounded by a dozen other men, all carrying automatic weapons—AK-47 assault rifles and special-forces-issue MK 23 pistols. Heavily armed wolves.

    The two now-disheveled pretty young things scrambled back down-boat to Radder.

    Tattooed Man gave a signal, and four tubes mounted on the side of his yacht shot grappling hooks and lines onto the deck of the vacationers’ yacht. Within seconds, the grappling lines were tight and the two vessels were winched together, side by side. Tattooed Man and the wolf pack hurdled both rails, and Radder found himself within spitting distance of the most frightening group of men he had ever seen.

    The women crouched behind Radder, breath heaving as if their credit cards had just been declined at Saks.

    Tattooed Man strode forward and stopped, a devilish look on his face. Cut your engines, he said, his voice deep and raspy, with a thick British accent.

    In a trance, Radder cut the engines.

    The man gave a slow nod. Thank you kindly.

    Radder tried to raise a trembling hand. Please, he managed, voice barely audible, we—

    Tattooed Man lifted his hand, silencing Radder. He put his index finger to his lips. Shhhhh, he said. Speak again, and I’ll kill you. Then...I’ll hurt your feelings. Tattooed Man looked around slowly, playing the silence for maximum effect.

    The door to the cabin suddenly burst open with an echoing crash. Radder and the women jumped, all three emitting frightened shrieks. Jack bounded out of the entryway, brandishing an automatic pistol. He waved the pistol back and forth, hands trembling, covering all of the pirates, most of the ocean and a few clouds in the sky.

    Tattooed Man and the wolves didn’t even turn their heads. It was as if Jack was invisible.

    Tattooed Man gave a slight flourish. My name is Kanna, he said in a grandiose carnival-barker voice. Or Lord Kanna, if you please.

    He lifted his hands high to the horizon.

    I own this ocean.

    As Kanna spoke, he moved casually toward Jack, until he was standing directly in front of him. The convincer and the convincer’s helper were shaking so badly at this point that the pistol looked like a maestro’s baton.

    Kanna shook his head in dramatic sadness. Careful with that, Your Highness, he offered. Somebody could get hurt.

    Without giving any sign that he was worried at all about the gun pointed at his head, Kanna reached out and casually disarmed Jack. He then grabbed the trembling software millionaire by the shirt collar and gently but firmly dragged him to where the other three were standing.

    As he released Jack, Kanna straightened the man’s Coke-bottle eyeglasses, then winked at one of the women and blew her a kiss.

    He directed his attention to his men. Go to work, he shouted.

    The wolf pack leaped into action, tossing the boat thoroughly and quickly. This was obviously something they had plenty of experience with.

    As his enthusiastic crew applied themselves to their craft, Kanna focused on the frightened foursome.

    We’re pleased that you’ve chosen to spend your vacation with us, he said in a friendly tone. You seem like fine, fine people.

    He paused and gave a slight chuckle. We require a small payment, he continued. A toll, if you will. A pittance, really, when you consider the skyrocketing costs of piracy nowadays. Cash, jewelry...

    As he spoke, Kanna walked among the vacationers, gently relieving the women of their heavy burden of jewelry. He smiled at them in what he obviously thought was a debonair manner, sparkling white teeth splitting a hideous mask of tattoos. The women appeared to be on the verge of fainting.

    Kanna paused, surveying his men’s work. We will not take your food or water...and your credit cards are really of no use to us. He shrugged. We’re strictly cash and carry. Besides, we want you to have some way of immediately replacing the pretty little trinkets we are liberating today.

    One of the pirates gave Kanna a signal. Within seconds, all but one of them were back on their own deck, full bags of plunder in hand. The remaining pirate walked up and stood beside Kanna, holding a small plastic-wrapped bundle.

    In exchange for your generous contribution, Kanna said, we provide you with our unconditional protection.

    The last pirate stepped forward and handed the bundle to Radder. Radder accepted it, hands shaking.

    In ancient times, Kanna went on, warming to his speech, a Roman citizen could walk the length of the emperor’s world without fear of attack. Such was the power of Caesar.

    He indicated the bundle.

    This is my flag, he said. If you fly this flag in these waters, you will be completely safe. No one will bother you. No one. Such is my power. So you see, there’s really no reason to cut your vacation short.

    He spread his arms wide, flexing his rainbow-colored biceps for emphasis. Enjoy my ocean. It’s for the beautiful people...like you and me.

    With that, Kanna spun on his heel and strode away. The last of his men followed him. The grappling lines went slack.

    Kanna turned and pointed at one of the women. Do you want to come with me, darlin’? he asked. I saw you watchin’ me...

    The woman gasped and shrank back. Jack reflexively, almost accidentally, put his arms around her.

    Kanna stared, completely deadpan, at his remaining man for a second or two, then they both burst out laughing and leaped to their own deck.

    Kanna turned back to the vacationers. Fly the flag, he shouted.

    The pirate engines roared to life. The larger yacht churned the waters, pulling away quickly and disappearing around the curve of the island.

    On Radder’s yacht, the four vacationers stood like zombies—deflated, disheveled country-club zombies.

    Radder took the plastic-wrapped flag and hurled it into the cabin. Both women broke down crying and slumped to the deck.

    Sons of bitches, Radder said in a dull monotone. Sons of bitches.

    Jack stared down into the cabin. He started to speak but could only manage a croak the first time. He took a deep breath, cleared his throat and tried again. H-he said we should...fly the flag. Maybe we should, you know, fly the flag.

    Saying this reminded him of where they were. He looked frantically all around, scanning the horizon for more tattooed bogeymen.

    Radder shook his head. Hell with what he said. Sons of bitches.

    Jack simply nodded, too numb to argue about the flag. Let’s just get out of here, he said.

    Radder started the engines. He balled his shaking hand into a fist, shut his eyes hard. As the shock overwhelmed him, he stumbled back into the captain’s chair and sat down heavily, eyes staring blankly forward.

    Sons of bitches, he mumbled, mostly to himself. Sons of bitches.

    CHAPTER TWO

    Caleb Tavington breathed in slowly, held the breath for a count of three, and then exhaled into the conditioned air. He allowed himself to relax, taking a slight edge off the vigilance he had maintained for as long as he could remember.

    His eyes scanned the room in a slow circle, taking in his surroundings—a luxury hotel suite, filled with expensive antique furniture. In a wall mirror, he caught sight of himself, lounging in the king-sized Victorian bed. Average height and build, clean-cut hair, now tousled. Dark eyes. Long-sleeve silk pajamas, with the hotel monogram prominently displayed on the chest pocket.

    A magnificent floor-to-ceiling aquarium filled the entire far wall of the suite. Caleb’s eyes settled on a dazzling array of tropical fish drifting along in the artificial current. Every now and then, an errant wanderer would break free from the routine and swim to the front glass, facing outward toward the mahogany in-room bar. Caleb followed these adventurers with interest, but after a few moments of freedom, each one eventually returned to the safety of his group.

    The French doors to the balcony opened and Emma Wallace entered, beautiful in the morning sunlight. She moved to the bed and sat down without a word. Her hand reached over, caressed Caleb’s face. He smiled in response.

    It’s so beautiful here, she said. We could stay...couldn’t we? Just for a little while longer?

    Caleb laughed, but there was a soft tone of regret in the laugh. We could, he answered in a voice that carried a slight English accent. But it would rain, Emma. Eventually it would rain... and we’d get wet.

    Emma gave a sad smile, stared down at the bed for a few moments. I love you, Caleb Tavington, she said, and there was a weight to her voice that dragged on the words. I’ve loved you since I was fifteen years old.

    She ran her hand through his hair and added, mimicking a man’s deep Scottish brogue, Caleb Tavington is Sean Connery. He’s Steve Goddamn McQueen...and you’re not.

    Caleb raised an eyebrow. Who said that?

    Father. To Michael.

    God’s blood, Caleb said, shaking his head. Michael.

    Emma cupped Caleb’s face in her hands. How could anyone, she asked, hate this beautiful face so much?

    Emma, I made a promise to you and I—

    You are who you are...and I would be a fool to think that it will be as simple as keeping a promise.

    Caleb sat up and drew Emma toward him until their foreheads were touching. The sleeve on his arm slipped back, revealing tattoos on his wrist.

    Emma closed her eyes. I’m afraid, Caleb, she said, her voice breaking.

    It’s alright, Caleb said. Of monsters...people should be afraid.

    The sea that binds us..., Emma whispered.

    Caleb gave a quick shake of his head. No. Not this time. I promise.

    Emma opened her eyes,

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