Page 40 of Of Magic and Rum
“Come again?” I check that my flintlock is ready while pretending to only half pay attention to her despite the urge to undress her with my eyes.
“Wouldn’t it have been just as easy to catch them off guard and raid the ship?”
I swear this woman is after my heart, balls, and anything else she can get her gorgeous hands on.
“Sure. But why risk injury or the lives of my crew when ninety-five percent of these merchants value their lives and families over something as trivial as material possessions that don’t belong to them?” I’m watching the crew lay out the firstplank from our ship to theirs, and anxious jitters have me flicking my belt.
She moves closer, brushing our jacket sleeves. “Youdorun a different outfit here, don’t you?”
“Someone said to me once—” Without hesitation, nor shame, I wrap a hand over her hip and lower my lips to ear. “—ruthless when I have to be, never simply because Icanbe.”
The sound of her swallowing air,gulpingit down, pulls a wicked grin to my lips. And when the last plank falls with a gratifyingthwack, the smile turns villainous.
I pat Anne’s waist and step back. “Shall we plunder graciously?”
A certain glint I haven’t seen in her gaze sparks before she bites her lip. At Mary’s side, the two pirate women are among the first to walk across the planks to the awaiting merchant ship. I follow behind them with an extra swagger in my gait.
Once my boots thud against the deck, I tip my hat to the disgruntled captain. “We greatly appreciate your hospitality on this fine day, Captain.”
The captain refuses to make eye contact with me and snarls when he sees my crew hurrying past him with crates and sacks cradled in their arms. “There’s no need to talk, scallywag. Just get the fuck off my ship.”
Wagging my finger at him like scolding a dog, I meander through the crowd of nervous merchants. “Now, now. There’s no need for such hostility. I used to be one of you, you know? Such a lonely existence it becomes—and a poor one at that.”
“You? A merchant?” The captain scoffs and spits tobacco. “You’re a disgrace to the profession.”
My jaw tightens, heat flushing my neck, and I’m ten seconds from retorting when Anne pauses near me, a crate of rum bottles in her grasp. Her ears perk, and she slowly pivots on her heel. “Jack, something isn’t right.”
A knot carves into my gut, and I hear it the moment she speaks—the hammer of a flintlock pulling back. In unison, Anne and I turn toward the sound, our pistols removed from their holsters and aimed. The crate of liquor falls to the deck, the bottles clanging together but, fortunately, not breaking.
“Itisn’tright,” a younger blonde man shouts, the arm holding the pistol shaking uncontrollably.
With our weapons raised, I sidestep to one side while Anne covers the other.
“What the shit are you doing, boy? I ordered you all to stand down,” the captain shouts, keeping his hands poised in the air.
“What—what happened to us all voting?” the blonde man asks, switching his aim between me and Anne. And I sure as hell wish he’d keep it onmebecause every moment it turns on her, I want to tear his eyeballs from their sockets.
“What do you think this is? A fucking democracy?” The captain stomps his foot. “Stand. Down.”
The boy’s gaze flares with rage. He’s not going to listen. “No. It isn’t fair. We go back without delivering the supplies, and we don’t get paid while these—these fucking pirates get to take it all by force. It isn’t—” He points the pistol at Anne, his finger moving for the trigger, and I blow a hole in the side of his head before he even entertains thethought.
This had to be the day of theotherfive percent. And now—we do things the hard way.
If a man’s blood sprayed on her cheek and shirt bothers Anne, she doesn’t show it. The deck quickly becomes a tidal wave of clashing cutlasses and pistol fire. Anne drops to her knees, avoiding a slashing sword aimed for her neck, and still crouching, circles to the other side of her attacker, plunging the blade into his back. Anne doesn’t pause or react. She pulls her sword free, swings it, and lunges toward the next enemy.
I’m the one standing dumbfounded, and I may have blocked a blade or two, may have even stabbed several men trying to catch me off guard, but my focus remains onher—Anne. Just as she had made socializing with my crew look effortless, so too is her prowess with a sword. It’s dawning on me—she’s a mythical being. These moves and these instincts can very well be ancient. The thought makes my pulse race. Anyone can run me through where I stand, and I won’t care because I can’t tear my gaze away.
Mary’s voice shouting my name snaps me back to reality—but only partially. I’m cutting through merchants to get them out of my way. Their foolishness keeps me from the majestic sea nymph currently defending meandmy crew with every thrust and sway of her cutlass.
I break long enough to snatch my leather gunpowder pouch from my belt and reload my pistol, snapping the cartridge back once finished. Mary removes both daggers from their hilts at her hips and stabs them into the neck of a man who dared to tackle her. She shoves the now-dead man off and leaps to her feet, collecting the daggers from the corpse. With Mary’s back turned, another man storms behind her. I aim my pistol and fire at his chest, sending him flying to the deck on his back before he gets within paces of her. Mary nods in appreciation.
Anne continues to handle anything the petty merchants, unaware they’re fighting a deity, bring her way. We’re fighting for our lives, the cargo, and our way of life. Gradually, the merchants’ numbers dwindle. The battle continues around the perimeter of the ship, but I take the opportunity, trotting behind Anne, my chest heaving at the sight of her torn shirt stained with blood, dirt, and oil.
“Anne,” I call out, my voice thunderous.
She’s nearly breathless when she turns to face me, the sword held firmly in her grasp, but her expression softens when hergaze lands on me. I grab her free hand and yank her toward me, our chests colliding, and my mouth is on hers before she has a chance to rationalize any of it. Keeping my sword ready at my side, I use my free hand to curl around the back of her neck, pulling her tighter against me and deepening the kiss.
Anne kisses me back, a sweet taste laced with the rust and dirt coating her lips. She whimpers against my mouth, her hand bunching my shirt between my shoulder blades. The metallic clangs of the crew fighting the remaining merchants around us fade, replaced by only her breathing and the sensual murmur in her throat.
