Page 51 of Captive of the Pirate King
Neelan glares at me with so much rage that I step back. “I hate you,” he seethes. “You worthless piece of shit. You’ve cost me my place in the fleet. I’ll be lucky if I get to keep my ship.”
Suddenly he drops everything he’s carrying and charges me, seizing my throat and ramming me against the cabin wall. “Did you know who he was?”
“No,” I gasp, writhing in his grip. “No.”
“That bastard is going to ruin me. I’ll be damned if I let it happen without a fight.”
“If you hadn’t suggested gang-raping me, he wouldn’t be so angry,” I choke out. I’m tempted to kick Neelan in the crotch, but I’m afraid of inciting him to further violence. His hold hurts, but at least I can breathe, for now.
“I don’t know much of the Pirate King,” seethes Neelan. “Before this voyage I’d only seen him once, at a distance. I wanted the protection and perks of his flag, you see. Not much interest in the man himself. But I’ve heard a few tales of his past from them as should know. He’s a sick one, he is. Murderous and vile, just like the rest of us. Now that you’re not his secret piece of ass, you’ll likely see a whole new side of him.”
“Let go of me,” I whisper.
With a final harsh squeeze, Neelan lets go. He collects his things and storms out, while I drag air through my bruised throat.
I don’t know what to do, or where to sit. I don’t want anything to do with Neelan’s bed, or with the big captain’s chair by the desk. I have no clothes but the robe, and I’d rather not rifle through Neelan’s drawers and trunks to find something else. So I grab one of Neelan’s knives from a belt hanging over the chair, and I sit in a corner with my legs tucked up, waiting, watching the lantern gutter and flare and swing from its hook.
A long while later, there’s a scrape at the door handle. I tense, clutching the knife hilt.
Locke walks in, shirtless, still wearing the brutal spiked crown. How did that crown comeoutof his tattoo? How does his magic work? I’m desperate to know, but I’m more desperate to find out his intentions. He told the crew he would “decide what to do with me” in the morning. What in the gods’ names did that mean?
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Locke closes the cabin door and bolts it from the inside. Then he turns to me, his handsome face impassive, unreadable.
I’ve only seen him shirtless a few times, and each time is a delight. He’s so beautifully formed, his muscles smooth and well-defined. I remember how that body of his felt against my breasts, under my palms—and the lust of the memory mingles with my sharp terror and my burning anger. I’ve never been so confused, aroused, and scared at the same time.
“You’ve put me in a very difficult position, Veronica,” Locke says.
“Sorry for trying to stay alive,” I snap.
He half-smiles. “How dare you, really. You should have gone quietly to the deep like a good girl.”
I want to be angry, but the words “good girl” steal my breath. He has spoken those words to me before, while I was trembling in the throes of violent ecstasy.
“You lied to me,” I say.
“I lie to everyone, love. All the time.” Locke sinks into the Captain’s chair, sets the crown on the desk, and pulls off his boots—the fine leather boots I took from the dead captain of theWending Willow. A sudden surge of hate rushes through me—hate for those boots, and for him.
“How did they not recognize you?” I ask. “It doesn’t make sense.”
“I don’t sit for portraits, Nick,” he says. “My most recognizable features are my pale eyes, this streak in my hair, and the tattoo on my back, which many have seen. Disguise those key features, add slovenly clothing and a bit of grime, and you’d be surprised how few ever suspect. Not to mention that no one would expect me to be aboard ship, not when they see me standing on the dock to wave farewell to departing vessels.”
“Cook mentioned that,” I say. “How do you manage to be in two places at once?”
“I have a double. A trusted friend who takes over my duties when I go on an investigative foray such as this one.”
“And have you ever been caught, or revealed yourself like this?”
“Never. Usually the voyages are fairly straightforward, and any small infractions I notice can be taken care of later, once we’re back in Ravensbeck and I’ve resumed my role as Pirate King.” He gives me a hard stare. “This is the first time I’ve had to remove my disguise before I was ready to do so.”
“Apologies for the inconvenience, milord.” My voice is a sardonic hiss.
His eyebrows lift. “Milord? Oh, I do like that. Say it again.”
“Bastard,” I spit. I rise, knife in hand, and stalk toward him. “You killed people today.”
“Fewer than I expected, thanks to you. What were you doing to those sailors, anyway? And don’t tell me you’re ‘persuasive.’ I know magic when I see it.” He leans forward, clad only in his loose pants now, palms on his knees. “You’re still keeping secrets, Nick.”
