Page 78 of An Imperfect Scoundrel
Grabbing her hair again, he dragged her into a standing position, then threw her down the corridor.
She crashed into the outer door, rebounded into Mr. Evans, who wrapped his forearm across her chest, sliding the appendage beneath her neck, and crushed her body against him, his arm cutting off her oxygen.
“Scary, isn’t it?” he murmured in her ear.
“What is?” Gagging on the words, she dug her fingers into the miniscule space between her throat and his arm, sucking down a breath.
“Losing the captain’s favor.” He shoved open the door and flung Alana through the opening, announcing, “We’ve discovered the culprit!”
She stumbled, lost her balance, and skidded across the deck, coming to rest at the feet of Mr. Northcott, who stared down at her with such hatred, she feared he’d kill her before she reached the brig. Scuttling backward, she crashed into the legs of Mr. Wickes.
She swallowed and, heart racing, glanced up.
The cook glowered at her, his cold expression matching that of Mr. Northcott as he drew a knife from his belt. The loose circle of pirates surrounding her tightened. Several more knives appeared, along with a coil of rope.
Her desperate gaze sought Mr. Evans.
He stood on the outside of the cluster, arms folded, a pleasant smile on his face, as though he were enjoying a musical on a warm summer’s evening, not about to witness the gruesome massacre of an innocent person.
Grabbing her hair, Mr. Wickes jerked her head back and pressed the cold metal of his blade to her throat, digging the sharp edge into her windpipe. Raising his voice, he addressed the circle.
“Do you have anything to say, thief?”
Tears streaming down her face, she choked out, “Captain Shaw said I’m to receive trial first.”
“Lies!”
“Ask Evans!” she screamed as the sting of the blade sliced through her skin.
Mr. Wickes froze but didn’t lift the knife from her throat. Raising his head, he searched the group, finding Mr. Evans hovering on the fringes of the circle.
“Is what Dubois claims true?”
Stepping forward, Mr. Evans’ dark gaze slid over Alana, a tiny smile hovering on his lips. Dragging out the silence for several minutes, he finally replied. “Aye.”
Removing the knife from her neck, Mr. Wickes held his arms out, dropping Alana, and took one step backward. He gestured at her crumpled body with the knife.
“Take him.”
“Get up, Dubois,” Mr. Evans commanded, placing his foot on her back and shoving her toward the center of the ship.
“I didn’t take anything,” she said, struggling to her feet. A whimper, the one she’d desperately been trying to hold in, escaped.
Not one man listened.
With an ever-widening grin, Mr. Evans reclaimed her arm, adding a cruel pinch to the soft underpart, and dragged her toward a dark hole in the center of the main deck. As they approached, he placed his hand on the back of her neck, squeezed, then shoved, chuckling as she flew toward the opening.
Flinging her arms out to stop herself from plummeting down to the level below, she grabbed the edges of the hole and smacked her chin on the deck, her teeth snapping together. Pain radiated through her bones, stealing her breath, and she froze, momentarily suspended over the hole, unable to move.
Before she could crawl backward onto the deck, Mr. Evans leaned down and shoved her face into the opening.
“Allow me to show you your new accommodations.”
He stomped on one hand, then the other in rapid succession, and she fell, crashing to the floor below. Her legs folded over her head, bending her body into an excruciating angle, and she screamed, the inhuman sound echoing through the ship.
The tips of Mr. Hayward’s shoes appeared. “Dubois, I’m surprised to find you down here. I thought you were assigned to the captain.”
“He’s been dismissed,” Mr. Evans growled, dropping to the lower deck with a thud. “Apparently, thievery is one of Dubois’ hidden talents.”
