Page 74 of Stealing the Merman

They kissed through the gap between bars, the space wide enough for their lips to meet but too tight for them to deepen the kiss.

“We’ll get Conall back,” Finn said.

Chapter Twenty-One

Conall

There was no air. Waves closed over Conall’s head as he sank. His mind screamed at him to move, to fight, but there was no fight left in his exhausted muscles. The sea engulfed him, pulling him into its deadly embrace. At least it’d be over, and he’d suffer no more. His head pounded; his parched throat screamed for freshwater.

The pressure on his lungs increased with every second he stayed underwater. He commanded his limbs to move, but he’d spent his strength. With every passing moment, the urge to suck in air escalated. But there was no air, only seawater that would burn his lungs. If he could hold his breath and pass out before he inhaled, he’d spare himself the pain. But the urge to breathe made him twist and spasm, and he curled in on himself as he battled his instincts. His vision narrowed and darkened. His heart thundered in his chest. Then the reflex won, and Conall sucked in water through his nose.

Pain struck his lungs and life surged into his limbs. He beat them, gunning for the surface. It was so far away. Then, after endless moments, he pushed through it, coughing water, his lungs seizing in agony. Conall had lost count of how many times this had happened. Every last muscle stung with the effort of keeping him afloat for hours. He knew he’d used up his last reserves, and the next time his body wouldn’t find the strength to resurface.

But soon after, his toes brushed the sand, and Conall let out a sob. The tide was moving out, draining from the sandbank. Several more hours of pain and thirst awaited him, during which the sun would mercilessly chafe the skin off his back. Then the sea would return and drown him after another two or three hours in death throes.

Why had Anne done this to him? Every bit of her affection and love had been a lie. He’d thought them the perfect team. Two pirates conquering the seas, raiding ships and hoarding riches for a life in luxury once they stopped pirating. But he’d miscalculated. Anne didn’t share his dreams. She had her own, and they didn’t include him. He’d been a means to an end. She’d seized his fleet, his crew, his wealth, his dignity, his soul and his life. She had everything that had been his, and he was hours away from salvation by death.

A sharp pain bore into Conall’s heart, and he awoke with a shout. He was drenched in sweat, and for a moment, he didn’t know where he was. Reality seeped into his consciousness. He was aboardThe Pillaging Seas, where he’d been for a day and a half, running from Vieques, from his past.

He groaned as he turned in bed, blinking at the bright light streaming through the tall windows of his cabin. It was the first sleep he’d gotten since he left the island, and it’d been fitful. He hadn’t suffered this nightmare in weeks. The nightmares had stayed away since he’d made the trip to southern Vieques to build his tavern.

Better not to think about that. The work of a month would go to waste—Conall had no intention of returning to Vieques. Anne had caught him off guard, and seeing her with Darin and Finn had twisted the knife. He should’ve known better than to trust them. Was it likely that they were collaborating with her? No. But it was possible. The chance alone gave Conall reason to run. He’d risked too much. He should’ve listened to his own advice and stayed away from Darin and Finn. But they’d lulled him in, probably with no ill intentions whatsoever, though he couldn’t know for sure.

He wouldn’t forget them. He couldn’t. The memory of his erratic state when he’d dismissed Darin after Shroud Cay and couldn’t find Finn was fresh in his mind. He’d tried to forget them, move on, and hadn’t been able to, not even after a year had passed. It would be worse now that the three of them had spent over a month together.

After Conall’s experience on the sandbank, he should’ve feared the sea, but water had no will, it was neither good nor evil. The elements didn’t volunteer to participate in Anne’s torment of him. It was love that did him in. Love was the enemy. He’d fallen for Anne, his cunning, fiery quartermaster. There was nothing in the early days indicating they didn’t want the same thing. They were ambitious, ruthless, and bold. The perfect team. But his feelings blinded him to her true nature—her eyes never smiled, she was callous and inconsiderate. Causing pain delighted her. Conall ignored it all and dreamed of a future with her, of settling down in years to come and leading a calmer life.

Her disposition to cause as much damage as possible was staggering. Before she’d left him on that sandbank to die, she’d ordered his crew to tear his shirt off him, ensuring the unforgiving tropical sun burned him to the bone. Ever since, he’d resisted undressing around his lovers. Taking off his shirt and breeches meant shedding protection, and for a long time, he hadn’t been ready. The sunburn scars on his shoulders, patches of skin that were lighter than the rest, reminded him to this day to be careful. To trust no one.

He trailed a hand over the scarred area and accidentally brushed the cowrie shell necklace. His fingers curled around it, and he had half a mind to rip it off. But he couldn’t, the idea making his eyes sting. The necklace symbolized the bond between him and his boys. Deep down, he believed in their innocence, and he couldn’t rid himself of the only reminder he had of their time together. The thought alone was too painful.

A knock on his cabin door pulled him out of his thoughts. Conall sat up in bed and dragged a hand through his hair, annoyed. He’d told the crew to stay away and was in no mood to speak to anyone. But the men were the dregs of pirating, and what could he expect? Conall had hired them after running from the tavern to the harbor. He’d roared and yelled at the docks until he’d dragged enough pirates from their sleep to man a ship and sail away.

He answered the door, and his heart skipped a beat. It was Finn. Conall stared at him, every human emotion swirling through him, unsure which one to adopt. He was shocked to see him, relieved and angry.

Finn had wrapped himself in a ratty cloth, covering him from his torso to mid-thigh. His wet hair dripped onto his shoulders, and his blue eyes widened as he took in Conall’s unkempt state.

“Please don’t kill me,” Finn said, and although it had to be meant as a joke, the edge of fear laced his voice. Conall hated that he scared Finn when he should protect him.

“What are you doing here?” Conall growled, keeping his tone sharp when his body screamed for him to take Finn into his arms, bury his face in that golden neck and hold him close.

“I’ve been looking for you. When I saw the merman figurehead on the bow, I knew I had the right ship. I let the crew haul me on board and took the potion.” Finn’s eyes darted to the cabin in Conall’s back, who fought the urge to ask him in.

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“We need you.”

“You don’t need me,” Conall said. “The two of you will be happy together. Leave me out of it.” It didn’t matter whether they worked with Anne or not. Conall had received a painful reminder that he better keep far from those who snuck into his heart.

Finn let out a deep breath. “Darin’s in trouble.”

Those words made Conall step into the cabin, opening space for Finn to enter. He followed the unspoken invitation.

Conall paced. “What does that mean, ‘trouble?’ What have you gotten up to?”

“You misinterpreted our conversation with Anne, and I think you know we have nothing to do with her. She came to us to gloat.” Finn pronounced the last word with distaste.

“So you learned what happened,” Conall said. It wasn’t a question, and he didn’t want an answer. Nevertheless, he hated how his boys knew he’d been weak because of Anne, close to dying. It had been Finn who saved him.

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