Page 24 of Of Magic and Rum
These are expert moves that only come from years of practice.
Whoareyou, Anne?
We become a whirlpool of parries, thrusts, and slashes, circling each other and occasionally hopping on barrels or gaining extra momentum from dangling ropes. She’s matching me swing for swing, and dare I say, I’m beginning to lose my breath. She’s across from me now, her chest heaving, and the next swing she throws, she uses her blade to launch spent gunpowder scattered on a nearby railing into my face.
How. Dirty.
Coughing and sputtering, I grin despite being temporarily blinded. I’ve been listening to her footsteps as she sneaks behind me. I swipe my arm over my eyes and predict her next move, a thrust at my side that I avoid by sliding. Grabbing her sword-carrying elbow, I yank her forward, turn her around, and push her back against the mast.
She’s fighting me, but I tower over her, and her petite wrists are within my much larger grasp. I shove her hands above her, but she refuses to drop the sword. Instead, she seethes at me, but it only encourages me, and I press into her, scraping my chest against hers.
“No hard feelings, dearest,” I whisper, still smiling.
Her eyes are unblinking, and I know she’s about to try something. But whereas most women would try to knee me in the balls when in a similar situation, she surprises me by slamming her boot into the top of mine. When I grunt, my grip loosening on her hands, she knees me in theribs. I let out a growling wince, and she drops to her knees, sliding across the deck on them only to swivel on her heel and face me again with her blade pointing in my face.
More lust. More fury. More fucking confusion over this woman.
We started as a man and a woman cast together on the same path. We’re now two carnal beings out to prove something to each other. The crew cheers and whoops around us, but the noise becomes a distant hum in my ears. My only focus is on those jade eyes glaring at me between crossing blades. My colors, the white skull and crossed swords on black, flaps in the breeze above us, our blades mimicking the very symbol I sail beneath.
I misjudge a step I think she’ll take and pay for it, her sword grazing my arm. Hissing, I snap my gaze to the wound, satisfied to see only a minor scratch and a thin line of crimson. “Don’t get cocky now, Anne.”
“Believe me—” Anne snarls and swings her sword once, twice, and the third time wielding it with more effort and stronger impact “—you have enough cock for the both of us.”
“Why, thank you.” I spin behind her, and her sword blocks mine with lightning speed. Sliding my blade with hers, I make the tips of our noses almost touch. “And you haven’t had the pleasure of its company yet.”
“Yet?” Anne growls, pushing away from me. She’s at me again, but the swings are more labored now.
And mine aren’t much better. Every muscle from my right shoulder into my back is on fire, and my bicep is twitching. She takes an overhead swing, and I smack it once with my blade, stopping her forearm from coming down any further with my other hand. And with one swift kick behind her calves, she’s on her back on the wood with a loudthudthat echoes across the deck, her cutlass clattering several paces away.
I’m straddling her a breath later, putting enough weight on her to keep her from squirming but not enough to keep her from breathing. I shove the blade at her throat, and when our gazes lock, it’s not a reaction I could’ve predicted. Not from her or me. One of us should be furious, or disappointed, or Christ, evenconcerned perhaps? But she’s peering up at me as if she sees me for the first time. And in her, I sense a journey to be explored—achallenge.
“I’m about tokillyou, Anne. I’m the enemy.” I press the blade closer to her neck, just enough to not pierce her skin. “And after I’m done with you? I’m going to kill Mary next. And then Squid and Glog.Whatare you going to do about it?” I’m roaring now, hoping Anne will do what she needs to because I don’t know if I can turn her away after this.
Anne’s body is shivering, her teeth chattering. But it’s not from the cold. It’s fromfury. A small blade pushes against my throat, and a thin bead of warm liquid rolls over my chest—the dagger. I hadn’t felt her move for it, hadn’theardher reaching for it.
If I didn’t think she’d stop me, I’d say to hell with the crew and have her right here on this fucking deck.
Lightly wrapping a hand over hers clutching the dagger to my throat, I pull it away, and she lets me. “You ready to swear yourself to this crew, Anne? To this ship?”
“Aye, Captain,” she whispers, bewilderment still in her eyes.
I grind my hips against her stomach, watching her bite her lip, before crawling off and holding my hand out to her. She ignores it, not surprisingly, and pushes to her feet.
Mary tackles Anne’s side, pulling on her hat’s brim. “Who thefuckare you, darling? Really? That was bloody amazing.”
“I’m just Anne,” she replies.
We stare at one another as I backpedal through cheering men, making my way to the helm and beckoning her with a “come-hither” finger. She soon follows as if in a trance, offering warm smiles to those congratulating her, but her gaze never falters from me.
I hold up my palm and instruct her to do the same. Anne Bonny swears to The Revenge and its crew on this day, blessedby blue skies and sun. She swears to the right to vote in affairs, not steal from her fellow crewmates, always be battle-ready, never desert the captain or crew, and that all disputes will be handled on land and never on the ship. She swears her undying loyalty to her captain and to a life of piracy for as long as she sees fit to remain in our crew.
And on this day, I can swear the sun shines brighter because of it.
I’m a pirate. I’ve taken the oath, sworn my loyalty, and I’m lying straight to their faces. What would my father say if he knew? He’d probably be disappointed but not surprised. I smile at this because I miss Dad and my older brother. But a woman can do far worse for a found family.
I’ve climbed the stairs leading to the deck just as the sun sets after a nap in preparation for keeping watch on the night shift. Squid’s legs dangle from the crow’s nest, his feet bouncing to the beat of a man playing the flute below him. Mary is hanging new rope from the riggings, her hat resting on a barrel, a rare sight only when the sun’s no longer a burden. Ragnar stands near Jack at the helm, and the sight of him makes my stomach clench.
Jack Rackham. What am I to do with you?
