Page 27 of Crossbones
“Yay!” She lets go of my hand and races away, babbling excitedly about where she’s going tohide.
The memory fades but I can’t bear to open my eyes. I’m holding the book in my lap—on the same page as that day—and I swear the smell of spring wraps around me for an instant before it’s gone. Just like her.
Who did you fail?
The first of many. The one my nightmares take me back to. My little shadow, my baby sister.
I promised to protect her—
But monsters don’t live under the bed, they wear the faces of men.
And when they came, I couldn’t stop them, I couldn’t save her—
I couldn’t even hold her hand.
JAMES
I stop outside my cabin, preparing for anything—I don’t know if Fox will try something, and God knows there are plenty of weapons in my cabin—a fact I didn’t even think to fix before I left him alone. With a hand on my dagger, I push open the door. I’m met with…silence. The gentle creak of the wood is the only sound besides the soft breathing of Fox. He’s right where I left him, sprawled out on the bench cushions near the window.
He’d opened it to allow for the sea breeze to float in, filling the room with the comforting tang of salt and the relaxing sound of the waves against the hull. I stand staring at him for a long moment, the subdued light of the lanterns casting his face in shadows that are softened by sleep. He looks more boyish now, the laugh lines from his continuous smirking and roguish ways are nearly gone, making him appear much younger.
I notice the book I tossed to him earlier is open on my desk. I wander over to it. His quip about the classics wasn’t true. I’m a fan of the darker authors who take taboo things like death and dying and make it into art. They see the sea as violent and morbid, carrying in her arms monsters instead of dreamers. It’s the side of the paradox few ever choose to acknowledge—the darkness that the light bleeds into. I’m about to shut it when I notice the page it’s on. My every thought stalls as my fingers trace the words.
the world never asked if he could be gentle
it only ever demanded that he endure—with fists, with fire
with a name that echoes in the mouths of the dead
he watches the stars as if they are something he once held—and lost
My hand presses down on the page as the words settle and my gaze flickers over to a still sleeping Fox. When I’d entered the other room earlier and saw Gibson holding Fox at knifepoint—about to kill him—a possessive rage surged through me. Thinking back, I want to say it’s because the De’Vero House is mine to kill, but that doesn’t feel quite right, especially because I’m not one hundred percent certain he’s a De’Vero.
But when I think about his throat being slit, all that comes to mind is how empty those eyes would look. In my mind, as blood spills out across the floor, his smirk fades and with it those damn dimples and before I can stop myself, I’m thinking what a shame that would be.
I scowl and slam the book closed. I reach for the rum. It’s the only thing that seems to make sense right now. That man certainly doesn’t. Thank god we’re about to reach Carmine. Even with the storm damage, we should reach port in less than twenty-four hours. Then I can get word to De’Vero and hopefully be rid of him within the week—whether that means I kill him or hand him over, I don’t know. And the fact that I still haven’t made the decision yet concerns me.
I sink down in my chair and put my boots up on the worn wood, scowling at Fox as I pour myself a glass. He’s a good-looking man—objectively of course—in fact, it shouldn’t be legal for someone to look as good as he does. Noble and pirate—he wields both expertly. If I’m being honest though, his looks aren’t what keeps pulling me in—it’s his complete disregard for who I am and the situation he finds himself in. He just doesn’t give a fuck—or he’s pretending really damn well. It’s refreshing. I want to provoke and push him because for so long people have simply just folded for me.
I’m lost in thought when Harrison barges in, startling Fox awake. He immediately shakes the sleep off and his lips twist into a smirk. He leans back against the cushions of the bench and gives Harrison a provoking scan, blatantly sizing him up.
“Look who it is,” he says. “Haven’t seen you in a minute, Blondie.”
I nearly choke on the rum at his audacity as I watch Harrison freeze, anger seeping across his face. The balls on this man—
Harrison takes a step towardsFox. “You motherfucker—” I bring my boots down off the desk, drawing his attention as they slam on the floor. He’s grinding his teeth so hard I’m surprised I can’t hear them crumbling from here. I lean over my glass, fixing him with a look.
“What is it, Harrison?”
His jaw tightens and I can tell his awareness is still focused on Fox, even though he’s looking at me. There’s murder in his eyes and I know I’m pushing things by keeping him in line.
“Thirty minutes till we make port,” he growls. “What do you want to do?”
“Send word to De’Vero.”
“And we’re still planning on the doublecross, yes?” Harrison asks.
I’m very conscious of Fox’s attention on me as I consider Harrison’s question which I’m not prepared to answer yet. I down the rum and sit back.
