Page 14 of The Worst of Them

She gave him a sour look. “You manhandled me, you ass.”

“Oh, I apologize,” he mocked. “I only thought of you exploding with the ship. Had I foreseen this outcome, I would’ve left you there and rejoiced at your demise.”

She climbed to her feet, facing him with the full force of her scorn. “I don’t like being touched.” Not like that. Not when a touch meant harm or force, and she would not stand for such a thing again.

“So you’ve said.” He stepped toward her, bringing his bloody face close to hers. “Rest assured I won’t try again.”

She eyed the ragged cut she’d left on his face. If she couldn’t have a true blade, she’d make one with words. And if she was to be made an example, she’d make him one as well and demonstrate every reason to leave her alone.

“You poor, pretty boy,” she said. “Would you like an apology? I’m not feeling so inclined to give you one, but I’m sure I could try to make it sound sincere.”

He glowered at her.

She grinned. “You should’ve left me on that ship.”

“I truly wish I had.”

“Why didn’t you?” He didn’t need to know she had decided to come to the Fortuna Royale on her own. Let him think she would’ve stayed and blown up. He could torture himself much better than she could, and it would be a pleasure to watch.

He pinned her with a heavy, hateful look, and she memorized the way it burned over her skin. “I suppose I thought you were lovely,” he muttered. “But now that you’ve cut me, humiliated me, and burdened me with your presence, you could wear the loveliest face in the world and I wouldn’t give a damn.”

She remembered the way he’d looked at her in her crusty dress, which was at least three shades lighter after being in the water. Her sickly complexion hadn’t seen the sun in a year, and yet he’d thought she was pretty.

She, too, had thought him exceptionally handsome before he’d grabbed her. What a shame.

With a low, gruff laugh, she said, “A good lesson, I suppose.”

He swept his hand over his face, smearing the blood toward his lips, then flicked his fingers at her, smattering her nearly clean dress with hateful drops of red before he stalked off.

Spiteful brute. She didn’t know how long she might be stuck with him, but it was no matter. Work didn’t bother her, and she would have Hester for company. She could withstand a great number of things if she had her, and now they would have this life ahead of them⁠—

A boot scraped against the deck, purposefully loud, and Cecily knew it was Hester before she turned.

The woman’s face was flushed, and strands of straw-yellow hair had pulled free from her braid. For the first time since meeting in Bridewell, there were no bars between them.

The ice stirred in Cecily’s chest, fondness creeping up her throat.

Then Hester’s swollen lips broke into that disturbing smile. With a delighted laugh, she declared, “I’ve decided to marry the bald one.”

4

MARRIAGE AND MONEY

Hester didn’t give Cecily any time to choke on her shock before she grabbed her hand and dragged her to the steep, narrow stairs descending into the belly of the ship. How the butcher girl already knew her way, Cecily couldn’t say, but she assumed it had something to do with the bald one.

Hester marched past a massive room filled with hammocks and small mattresses, toward the back of the ship and a skinny hallway lined with doors.

If the Fortuna Royale was foul, Cecily couldn’t tell, as her acquaintance with foulness skewed toward the more deplorable of definitions. The first thing she noticed was the smell—or lack thereof. It was slightly musty, like brine and canvas, and the portholes and floorboards were clean.

Luxurious by prison ship standards.

Despite this, Cecily’s stomach churned with the weight of meeting the captain and his first mate, and now learning her friend was ingratiating herself with these pirates— “You’re marrying one of them? Hester, it’s hardly been an hour!”

Hester snorted. “When do you think I’m gonna get a better offer?” Her voice held the slightest edge, daring Cecily to judge. She opened a door. Inside was a small cabin with single bed, its blankets tangled and pillow askew.

Cecily blinked, not bothering to hide her thoughts—or her judgment—from her face. “Didn’t you kill the first one?” she asked. “What makes you want a second?”

Hester didn’t flaunt her widowhood. It wasn’t a long story—her husband had suddenly taken ill and died—but Hester smiled when she told it, which made Cecily think his death hadn’t been wholly natural.