Page 33 of The Worst of Them
She wasn’t sure what she expected, but staying back felt like another punishment, a way she hadn’t won any trust, and there would be no weapon for her any time soon.
“Because I so enjoy arguing with you about it,” he said tersely, adjusting a leather vambrace on his forearm that held yet another knife. Her traitorous attention lingered on his strong hands for a beat too long before she forced herself to look away.
If she couldn’t get the steel she wanted, at least she’d still get paid. “Alright then. I’ll wait here while you murder so I can rob. Doesn’t sound so difficult.”
Jack’s eyes narrowed. “Something’s always difficult with you.”
“Do you even have enough men to raid a ship?” she asked. A decent portion of those preparing to fight were former prisoners who looked overly eager to handle weapons they surely had little idea of how to use. “I assure you the women here have never held more than a kitchen knife.”
“Oh?” His brows rose, his tone bright with curiosity. “What’s wrong with kitchen knives?”
“They’re not…” Her head cocked. Was he mocking her? “They’re not civilized in a fight.”
He barked a laugh, eyes shining with spiteful mirth. “Says the girl who turned a chicken bone into a shiv.”
Ah, yes. He was indeed mocking her.
She shot him a loathsome glower. “You’ll kill half these people if you rush them into battle so unprepared.”
“A merchant ship will have a few guards at most,” he assured her. “Nothing half a crew can’t handle.”
“You can’t—”
“You’re not the most astute listener, are you?” He pinned her with a frosty look. “Fraught winter. Lost ship. Low morale. We haven’t got much, and it’s well over a week until we reach Tortuga.” He pointed to the merchant ship. “There’s fresh food and water on that ship, and enough money to please our crew.”
“Your crew can’t be pleased if they’re dead.”
Something flickered in his eyes—a hint of agreement? When he spoke next, most of the bite had left his tone. “Captain’s orders.”
She might have asked what manner of evil had earned such unwavering loyalty, but then Greyson lumbered over with two massive axes strapped to his back. Cecily pursed her lips and tamped down her ire at seeing so many sharp things and having none herself.
Greyson noticed it too. “No weapons for your girl, Jack?” he asked.
“If she were my girl,” Jack replied coolly, “she’d be armed to the teeth.”
Her previous frustration turned leaden. Armed to the teeth…
She swallowed back an indignant huff. Why did this have to be so difficult? She didn’t want to give anything to Jack, and she wouldn’t. Somewhere out there was a man who was more deserving of everything she hadn’t already given away, a small, odd kind of dowry of righteousness that was quickly dwindling.
But armed to the teeth?
Men had often looked at her with desire without her inviting them to do so—how hard could it be to render Jack stupid enough for her that he’d hand over a knife without expecting anything she wasn’t willing to give in return?
“She’s got good aim,” Greyson said, eyeing the cut on Jack’s face, and Cecily could have snorted and bade him to tell Morgyn that. “Give her a sword.”
“Absolutely not,” Jack said.
“Jack’s worried I’ll stab him,” Cecily said. “Can’t imagine why he’d think I want to.”
“Ah,” said Greyson, then glanced to her. “Sorry.”
They were catching up to the other ship, their distant shouts drifting over the wind. With a final nod to Jack, Greyson headed for the bow where Hester waited with a pair of meat cleavers.
Kitchen utensils. Honestly.
Jack made to follow, but Cecily reached for his arm before she could allow herself to think better of it. He tensed under her hand but didn’t pull away.
His bicep was warm beneath her fingers, his skin radiating delicious heat through his sleeve. Her pulse quickened as she slid her hand up, stroking her thumb over a band of muscle.
