Page 70 of Stealing the Merman

Not Anne Doyle. She stepped out of her parlor and into the main hall, her step quick and sure, like it wasn’t the early morning, like she hadn’t been drinking all night. Perhaps she was sober. Finn regarded her through the balusters, and it caught Conall’s attention. His eyes followed Finn’s gaze. The moment they landed on Captain Anne Doyle, everything changed.

Chapter Nineteen

Conall

There was no air. Conall tried to suck in a breath, but there was no air. His mind emptied as fear doused him from head to toe. He wanted to move but couldn’t, paralyzed as if he was trapped in a nightmare.

Anne was staring right at him, holding his gaze with her dead, cold eyes. Sweat broke out on his brow, and a tremor so violent raced through him that everyone in the parlor noticed. Darin said something, but Conall’s heart thundered so loud in his ears, it droned out everything. The cards tumbled from his hand, scattering on the floor.

There was no air. His lungs burned, his vision narrowed. Excruciating pain tore his chest to shreds as the world closed in on him.

Death, death, death. There was nothing but death in Anne’s eyes. Conall was going to die. His mind screamed, screamed until something popped and agony cut into his body and soul. He was going to die a slow and painful death. He was going to die alone. A small part of him knew he was in no imminent danger, but it was buried by layers upon layers of white-hot panic that kept piling onto him, pulling him down, down, down.

There was no air. Conall bolted. He tore away from Anne’s stare and fled the room. He had to get away. His mind raced. Anne and her crew were downstairs. They could block all exits. Window. He needed a window.

Blind with panic, he stumbled into the hallway. His hand dragged along the ornate wallpaper, rough under his fingertips as he pushed forward. He burst through one of the many doors along the hall. Behind it he found a small, dark chamber filled to the brim with odds and ends, cleaning supplies and a stack of wood. Conall slammed the door shut, twisting the key in the lock. He flew toward the window and yanked it open. A strip of grass lay three or four yards beneath him. No bushes to break his fall. His mind searched for a way out, analyzing the distance to the next window over, the expected hardness of the ground and his chances of getting out if he took the stairs.

He’d break his bones if he jumped. He wouldn’t get out of this chamber except through the door. Conall tumbled to his knees. It was dark, so dark. He was going to die.

Rationality slammed into him at the same time as he took his first breath in a minute, his panicked body forcing the air into his grated lungs. His heart raced, and he wheezed, once, twice and then faster and faster. He grew dizzy, his sight darkening with every sobbing breath. Conall fought his body, tried to slow his rampant breathing, but it greedily pumped air into his aching lungs. His hands went numb and cold, and a tingling sensation buzzed in his fingertips, then it traveled up his digits, into his hands and arms.

It took him a long time to calm, though he couldn’t tell how long. It could’ve been minutes, it could’ve been hours. The waves of panic subsided—he was being irrational, no one was going to kill him. Anne had gotten what she wanted. If she killed him now, after she failed the first time, it would end his suffering, and she was too cruel for that.

But she was unpredictable. Anne did whatever she felt like at any given moment. Impossible to know what she had up her sleeve.

He hadn’t expected her in Vieques. The Bahamas were her turf, and perhaps she hadn’t known he was alive. A long chase after a particularly appetizing merchant ship could’ve brought her south, and then, while she was in the area, roughing up the Brethren of the Coast was her idea of entertainment.

The pain of betrayal cut through Conall as sharply as it had the first time. He hadn’t seen the treachery coming. It blindsided him like a stray bullet to the heart. His eyes bled hot tears. How had Anne been able to do this to him? Conall was a rough pirate, unafraid to cut off heads in the heat of battle. And yet he wouldn’t do to his worst enemy what she had subjected him to. He’d been her lover. He’d thought her his soulmate. And all she’d wanted…

Conall considered his options. He wouldn’t jump out of the damn window. The most reasonable course of action was to end the night, go downstairs, pass through the drinking hall with blinders on and retire to his chamber in the town hall. Or he could—

Oh no. Darin and Finn. In his stupid fit of panic, he’d left them behind with a handful of drunk pirates he didn’t trust as far as he could throw them. Dammit.

He rose to his feet, his dizzy mind forcing him to go slow lest he fell. Once upright, he stumbled through the clutter dispersed on the chamber’s floor but avoided tripping over any of the scattered objects. Had he done this when he bolted into the room?

It didn’t matter. He had to get back to the parlor, fast. He couldn’t believe he’d been in such a deranged state that he’d left his boys without protection.

Conall rose to his full height, flicked the key and ripped the door open. He blinked at the bright light of the lamps, his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the chamber. No time to waste. He strode toward the parlor. But as he rounded the corner, a sight worse than Anne staring him down greeted him.

Anne stood in the parlor. And she was talking to Finn and Darin, having a calm conversation.

No. Conall grabbed the door frame as his knees buckled. No, no, no.

Darin and Finn were in league with Anne. He’d been right—it was impossible to know what she had up her sleeve. But whatever it was, she’d set out to drive the knife deeper.

Had she hired them to—what? Seduce him? Ensure he fell for them? Because—and the terror of it struck him—against his resolution to never love again, he’d fallen for Finn and Darin. He saw it with agonizing clarity. Their beauty, their kindness, their submission, their friendship, their love. They’d wrapped him right around their little fingers. For Anne.

She’d made Finn save him from that sandbank, after two days of agony. She’d asked Darin to work on Conall’s new ship, knowing damn well he was his type. They were working with Anne, they were out to ruin him for good, take the rest of his gold, his ship, his dignity.

Bile rose. Darin and Finn’s betrayal cut deeper than Anne’s. Anne had gotten cold and hard soon, but they’d always been warm and kind. He’d fought his blossoming affection for them with all he had and failed. They’d snuck into his heart, only to rip it out and tear it to pieces.

Chapter Twenty

Darin

Conall fled the room so fast, Darin didn’t know what hit him. Conall had seen something or someone in the hall, and within the blink of an eye, he was out the door. Where had he gone? Downstairs?

The air in the parlor was heavy, and an uncomfortable feeling crept up Darin’s spine. The eyes of four tall, brawny pirate captains rested on him and Finn, undressing them with their gaze. Darin fidgeted, hands itching for the pistols on his belt, but he didn’t know if he’d be fast enough in case he had to draw them.

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