Page 22 of Crossbones
Sure enough, Harrison flicks his thumb over his own cheek. “You got a little something there, Captain.”
“Did you at least get him to talk?” Lan asks.
“No,” I grumble.
Harrison shakes his head, his jaw ticks in irritation. “The money better be good cause he’s trouble. I’ve seen you kill men for less—” He looks me up and down again. “—much,muchless.”
“He has lash marks on his back.”
Harrison’s face scrunches up in confusion. “So? Wait—but he’s a noble…”
“Punishment maybe?” Lan supplies.
I shake my head. “These were deliberate but erratic—the kind meant to break a man.”
“Is it just me or does he just get more and more confusing?” Lan grumbles. “Most nobles I know piss in their boots the moment the knife comes out.”
Yeah, that’s definitelynotwhat Fox did when the knife was pressed against his skin. My blood heats and I turn away, willing the sea breeze to cool me down. I’m thankfully distracted when my eyes catch on the ominous storm clouds on the horizon.
“Should be a wild one,” Lan remarks, seeing where my attention has gravitated.
I nod to Harrison. “Ready the ship.”
I push away from the railing and head down the quarterdeck steps, glad to have something else to focus on. Harrison is on my heels barking orders.
“Storm ahead, boys!” He bellows. “Strike the top gallants! Reef the sails! Double lash the guns!”
As I head down to my cabin, instead of foreboding at the oncoming storm, all I feel is relief because at least it will take my mind off the incessant thoughts of Fox.
CASPIAN
The slam of the hatch as Blackwell leaves traps the thick tension of things unsaid down in the hold. I stare at the stairs, exhaling slowly, attempting to get myself back under control. He caught me off guard and it won’t happen again. I flex my knuckles, blood smeared and sore from the few hits he let me land. Because there’s no doubt in my mind he’d been looking for a fight. I drag my shirt back up over my shoulder, hiding the evidence of my failure and the source of my nightmares.
Who did you fail?
Fuck him.I close my eyes and lean my head back against the bars. I take another deep breath, but it does nothing to the wound Blackwell reopened and crawled his way into—bringing with him the burn of salt, rage and something else. Something with edges just as sharp.
Who did you fail?
I should have laughed it off—deflected with a joke, a sarcastic remark and my usual smirk—but the precision of Blackwell’s observation had been staggering. The bastard had taken one look at my scars and without hesitation cut me down to the bone. To make it worse, I flinched—further opening the damn door for him. Yeah, I shouldn’t have gone after him, but maybe I’d needed the fight too. Except for one electrifying moment, when we were chest to chest, fists locked, breath colliding—it hadn’t felt like a fight.
The heat, the chaos—the volatile anger—while I can say I hate him, I can’t quite bring myself to say I hate whatever has been ripped open between us. I can’t deny this is the most alive I’ve ever felt, the closest to ruin I’ve ever come.His hate is a mirror to everything I am that I’m ashamed of—my name, my family, my failure. I want him to cut all the rot away with his violence until I rise from the bloody ruin as something new.
I run my hands through the damp strands of my hair and take another deep breath. This just got way more dangerous than only hiding a title. I slipped, lost control and let Blackwell see too much, learn too much—and now what…I’mattractedto him?
Fuck. I’m treading in deep water now because teasing and taunting to get a rise is one thing, it’s easy to redirect and hide behind my carefully constructed smokescreen—but actually being attracted to him is something else entirely.
Still, I have time to recover from this. Controlling the narrative is what I’m good at after all. I mastered the mask long ago and I just need to not let Blackwell catch me off guard again. He’ll only learn who I am if I want him to know. Next time he comes down here, he’ll find the same charming, nonchalant and enigmatic man he first met. He’ll wonder just like before what is real and what is fabricated. He’ll be left with more questions than answers so that when the time comes to ransom me or kill me, the decision won’t be an easy one.
All I need him to do is hesitate.
Confidence in myself restored, I realize the ship has started to pitch and rock violently which can only mean one thing: we’re about to sail into a storm. I settle in a corner and grip the bars to anchor myself, listening to the creaking and groaning of the ship around me. I’m not necessarily concerned about the sounds, but I’m absolutely concerned about the rising water level that is quickly becoming a noticeable problem.
Fear washes through me for the first time since being captured. If the hold fills with water, or if enough damage is done to the ship, I could be in real trouble. Things escalate at a rapid pace as storms tend to do and a particularly hard swell hits us broadside so hard I’m thrown forward into the bars. I hear a loud crack and several holes appear in the hull—spilling water into the hold.
The water level is rising fast now—it’s at my shins.
I hear the trap door open, the wind momentarily filling the space with a wild howl before one of the two men on the steps forces it closed. I don’t recognize these two as they spill down into the brig, carrying supplies to patch the holes. They barely spare me a glance before hurrying around the space, hammering blocks of wood and scraps of canvas into the leaks.
