Dante Harris was running. Running from an abusive past. Running from a messy break up. Running from the life he left in the small city of Round Rock Texas. Somehow this small town boy has found himself in the busy streets of New York City, and in the arms of one Samuel Deminico (not intentionally of course). Sammy's managed to survive in the Big Apple all his life. The city has brought him major once in a lifetime opportunities, such as opening up his dream boxing gym. He never thought he'd need to use his self defense moves outside of the ring... but one particular crackhead proved him wrong the night of April 15th. That was when Sammy met Dante. •• "You ever get punched in the face by a crackhead?" "No, I can't say that I have." "Then don't speak on it like you've been punched in the face by a crackhead." *this book is unedited

When Alistair Melek gave his life to the sea, a various degree of things changed. For starters, his love for bloodshed was exemplified. Bolder. He was drawn to the clash of a sword, blood spiling below to floorboards, like a moth drawn to a flame. And this love was damned to spread through his crew as some treacherous disease, claiming any and all who joined. But he knew this was the price he'd pay. The price for the sea itself. So when his crew completes another standard loot and pillage from a merchant ship, he allows his men a bit of fun. He liked to give them an audience, rounding up those who didn't fall victim to the blade during battle, and forcing them to beg for their lives. To prove how much they really wanted to live. Alistair had ruled the sea for some years now. Killed thousands, maybe tens of thousands. Destroyed hundreds, maybe thousands of vessels. And yet, each feeble human was all the same. There was not one man he threatened that didn't beg for their lives with all they had in them when faced with the wrong end of the sword. Each feeble human was always the same. Or so he thought. And yet, he also thought that this would be one standard job. A treat for his men after a night of good work. But this particular survivor, the one with long white hair and dead looking eyes... He wasn't a merchant. He couldn't have been. More important, there was no hesitancy when Alistair asked the fairly built man whether he wanted to live, and the man replied with a simple no.