Page 12 of The Worst of Them

These women who she’d spent the last six months hating and fighting, well, they might have been regular civilians for how at ease they seemed, as though they’d stepped onto some sort of grand new life of contentment.

She supposed they had. At least, it would seem that way to them.

If there were any misgivings, Cecily couldn’t tell. There was such an air of relief about them. They didn’t look around like she did, assessing every face and corner of the ship. Even Morgyn seemed at home talking with a pirate with no hint of evil in her eyes—though Cecily was sure it was still there, perhaps just hidden for the sake of impressing their saviors.

And then there was Hester, half hidden behind Greyson who had her pressed against a wall, their mouths locked in a kiss that looked far more like they were attempting to swallow each other.

Everyone was happy. Joyful. Looking for all the world like they’d found heaven.

Cecily didn’t trust anything that much, but her limbs were moments away from failing her. She hauled herself over the rail. As she stepped down, her gaze bounced from one pirate to another, catching on their weapons—swords, daggers, the ax strapped across Greyson’s back.

She unclenched her teeth, dropping her shiv into her hand.

“Well, aren’t you brave.”

So much for going unnoticed. Cecily stiffened as Jack appeared beside her, his handsome face unsmiling. Blood ran from his left cheek to his chin, mingling with beads of sea water before dripping to the deck. Though he stood several feet away, he somehow managed to give the impression of looming over her.

He tilted his head, letting the sun catch the gash in his skin. “Welcome to the Fortuna Royale.”

He said it like a threat, and she would take it as one. With a glance at the sword at his hip, she gripped her shiv tighter, angling it so that with a quick press of her thumb, she could shove it from between her fingers and into his neck.

A deep laugh rumbled from behind her, “Brave indeed.”

Alarm shot down her spine. For the second time that evening, she acted without thinking and lunged for Jack’s sword.

He wasn’t fast enough to stop her as she yanked it free and spun, brandishing her shiv in her opposite hand. She brought the sword down, slashing⁠—

Toward Captain Copson.

It was too late to stop, or else she might have. One did not pick a fight with an infamous pirate.

But the captain merely broke into a terrible grin as both blades arced toward him. He easily dodged, stepped forward to grab her wrists, and used her momentum to shove her toward the mainmast. She stumbled forward, her chest hit the wood, and he smacked her arm against it hard enough to make her drop the sword. Then he twisted her arm, locking it behind her back.

She cried out as pain lanced through her shoulder.

“Drop the shiv, girl,” Copson said into her ear, his fingers tightening around her other wrist and forcing her arm back. “Or I’ll break your bones and take great delight in it.”

It had been so fast, so effortlessly smooth⁠—

“Let go,” she snarled, gritting her teeth as blind rage roared from the pit of terror that had swallowed her so many months ago. It screamed through her veins, thundering in her ears, and she thrashed as the captain’s hold turned crushing.

For a man who should have been close to seventy, he was a great deal stronger than the prison guards had been. Perhaps there truly was something supernatural in his blood.

Regardless of if that were so, it was wise to fear him.

“I won’t tell you again,” he said. “Drop it.”

She hissed a breath, and even though it went against her every instinct, she managed to open her hand. The bone blade clattered to the deck.

Jack came beside them, snatching up his sword and shoving it into its scabbard. When he straightened, his eyes were fixed on her, mirroring her fury.

“You’re not so fierce without a weapon,” Copson mused. “What’s your name?”

She gritted her teeth. Though she tried to bite back the sharpness on her tongue, she spat, “Cecily Shoard.”

The captain didn’t release her. “You’re making enemies very quickly, Miss Shoard.”

God above, she knew that, but this time she didn’t mean to. Saying so would only make her sound more petulant than she already did.