Page 25 of An Imperfect Scoundrel
Alana moaned, rolling her head away from him. Her cheek ached, no doubt a bruise blossoming on her face. She’d seen her brothers return with bruises on numerous occasions but never experienced the violence herself.
Perhaps she should reconsider her opinion on dressing as a man.
Pain detonated in her jaw, her teeth knocking together.
He’d stuck her a second time with his hand balled into a heavy fist.Whimpering, she rolled to her side, drawing her feet into her chest.
“Please,” she begged, covering her head.
Fingertips bit into the fleshy part of her upper arm. Pulling her toward him, Captain Shaw studied her balled-up position through narrowed eyes.
“Coward,” he muttered, releasing Alana’s arm. Rising, he kicked the trunk toward her. “Lift it.”
“I cannot,” she replied, her voice trembling.
Jerking her to her feet, Captain Shaw shoved the pistol into her stomach.
“Either you carry it, or I shoot you right now, and I pray you’ll be dead before the fire reaches you.”
Swallowing, Alana bent over, grabbing one end of the trunk. She yanked, but the chest refused to budge. Keeping her eyes on the trunk, she walked around the opposite side, her hands planted on her hips. Placing one foot on the seam, she shoved, and the trunk slid forward.
A tiny grin broke out on her face. Stepping forward, she put her foot on the trunk again, kicking the end. The chest flew down the corridor, crashing into the door.
“Now, what do you plan to do?” Captain Shaw’s amused voice came from behind her.
Ignoring him, Alana stepped over the chest and shoved the door open.
“Hell!” Mr. Evans dove out from behind the door, glowering. “You hit me.”
Alana gulped. “That was not my intention, sir.”
Where was Mrs. Parker? Had she escaped Mr. Evans? Had she been dumped into the ocean?
Terror bubbled in her throat.
“Evans, would you prefer we addressed you as ‘Sir’?” Captain Shaw’s dark voice floated over her shoulder.
“No,” he snarled, clearly not amused by his captain’s joke.
“Mr. Evans,” Alana pasted a smile on her face, swallowing her fear, and stepped forward. “Would you assist me with something?”
“No.”
“Would you assist your captain?” She folded her arms across her chest and frowned, hoping the effect would make her appear intimidating.
“I do whatever my captain commands.” Mr. Evans’ suspicious gaze jumped between Alana and Captain Shaw.
“Carry that trunk.” She pointed at the chest.
He glanced back at Captain Shaw, a question in his eyes, but Captain Shaw remained silent. Mr. Evans folded his mouth into a grimace.
“If that is what my captain wishes…”
“He does.”
“Why does he not tell me?”
“Because I’m telling you.”
