Sea of Treason (Pirate's Bluff Book 1)

by Stacey Trombley

  Her expression stays steady. She shows no surprise whatsoever. While that leaves me a tad confused, I'm even more disappointed that she doesn't react. She’s not shocked—or pleased.

  Me, Jeb, it doesn't matter to her. Indifference is worse than disappointment I realize, and rage sweeps through me.

  But I remember that I wasn't expecting this to be pleasant. This is much more important than feelings.

  Her hand is still extended to me, so I give her a moment to retract it, in case her reaction is delayed.

  "Are you coming?" she asks.

  I blink, then grab her hand, and together we rush from the banquet hall and onto the dark streets of New York City.

  Whitley

  A shiver of excitement rushes through my body, enough to overcome the fear of what's happening behind the closed doors of the Harrison's manor. Will the pirate crew kill someone? Will they kill Jeb?

  I push the thought from my mind because I don't want to feel those things.

  I want to feel Bluff's hand in mine. I want to revel in the moment, in the realization that I haven't lost him, or the freedom I so crave.

  The streets are dark, filled with lines of empty carriages. A few lanterns glow along the lane but merely serve to cast shadows, making the in-between appear even more haunting. We pause, each with heavy breaths, as we consider the path in front of us.

  One mile. That's how far the harbor is.

  That's a one-mile trek through the pitch-black streets of New York city. This city is just as full of slums and criminals as it is of entrepreneurs and high society. When the sun goes down, these streets are anything but safe.

  A figure appears from behind a nearby coach. I can't see his face or how he's dressed, but the hunch in his back is enough to make me wary. Bluff steps in front of me.

  "Who are you?" Bluff asks as the figure approaches slowly. "Sir?" he says. There's still a possibility it's simply an older man arriving late to the party or a driver awaiting his master.

  Then I notice the knife, dripping some liquid I can't quite see but can certainly guess.

  I let out a small gasp, and the man charges. In two quick leaps, he is on Bluff, knife glinting in the splotches of candle light.

  Bluff grabs his arm just before it contacts his chest and pushes it upward with a massive grunt. At the same instant, he uses a knee to the chest and his other arm to push the man back violently, twisting so he flips onto his back. The smack of his head on the stone pavement reverberates through the streets.

  So fast. It's over so fast, and I don't even know if the man is still alive. Can someone die from such a simple move? And yet it's hard to imagine him living after a sound that revolting.

  I don't look too closely at his face as Bluff rips the blade from the man's fingers, then pulls me roughly into the darkness, towards the harbor.

  Over five thousand feet to our destination. And even then, will there be a ship waiting?

  My mind still reels from the quick altercation, the wet crunch replaying over and over. But my feet continue to move as Bluff directs me.

  A few moments later, a smear of red against a brick wall catches my attention, and suddenly my whole body is at alert. Ice fills my veins as my mind is pulled back to the present and I recognize the alley we're in.

  I shove my feet into the rocky dirt, pulling Bluff to a stop as violently as I can manage.

  "What are you doing?" he hisses as he stops and turns back towards me.

  The expression on his face is one of pure rage, and it stops me for a moment. Why is he so angry?

  "We can't go this way," I say, with a quieter voice than I meant to use. “We have to go back...” I begin to point back the way we came, but he interrupts me.

  "What are you talking about?" He rips his hand from mine.

  His eyes. That's what strikes me the most. I can't even describe the look there, like storm clouds building within his grey eyes. The worst part is the pain.

  He won't meet my gaze.

  "What's wrong?" I ask him, suddenly forgetting the panic I'd felt at finding us smack in the middle of mob territory.

  "What do you mean what's wrong? Stede is here, and we have to get to the harbor as quickly as possible or we're dead." He spits as he finishes his line. "We can't go back."

  "Yes, I understand that," I say, defensiveness creeping up my chest at his tone. I'm not a moron. "But—”

  "Look, I don't want to hear about Jeb or the perfect life I ripped you from. I'm sorry, but I don't care about your happiness. You go back and you're dead. Understand?"

  I flinch. "You think I want to go back to Jeb?"

  "I mean that you can't go back—ever."

  I narrow my eyes, realizing—of course he thinks that's what I want. This was always my destination. New York. Jeb. It's the only place I'd ever expressed a desire to go—because I didn't know another option.

  So he thinks I ran to save my skin for the moment, but plan on seeking out that same life once the coast clears. He doesn't know I was planning to leave with or without him.

  "I don't want to go back... ever," I say quietly.

  His expression shifts, confusion softening his anger. But before he can respond, the shattering of glass just down the dark alley causes us both to freeze.

  "Also," I say in a whisper, "I forgot to mention, we're currently in Five Points. One block from the bar where the mob meets."

  Bluff

  Well, that's good news.

  I curse under my breath. Someone is down the alley, still out of sight in the darkness, and based on the information Whitley just gave me, odds are it's a member of the mob.

  Yes, the mob that chased her father out of New York to start with, and who very well may know exactly who she is if they catch a glimpse. And that’s if they don’t decide to kill us on the spot just for entering their territory.

  We stand frozen, waiting to react until we know for sure whoever smashed the glass bottle is coming this way.

  We sit in silence.

  For that moment I allow my heart to slow, for hope to grow—maybe we can just back our way out of here and go around.

  Pounding footsteps stomp down the alley towards us, and the breath flees from my lungs. I can get out of this if the mob catches us—but can Whitley?

  Unlikely. If she was married to Jeb they’d simply pay for her freedom. But here, now? They might as well be Stede's crew.

  I must do something to ensure they don’t look at her closely.

  I turn quickly to Whitley, panic searing my every cell, a hasty plan forming in my mind. "Scream," I whisper.

  "What?" she asks, eyes darting from my face to the alley in front of us.

  "Scream," I hiss, as I begin to shift into a massive figure right in front of her.

  A high-pitched squeal escapes her lips, and for a moment, I blink, believing she's really terrified. Whether her fear is true or not, I still need to act.

  I grab her by the waist and shove her against the brick wall lining the alley, just as a man comes into view through the darkness ahead. I press my now large body against her slight one. Hips to hips, chest to chest.

  She lets out another scream, but it fades to a whimper as I press my lips to her neck, her hair plastering to my face. For one long moment all that exists is Whitley. Her hair in my face, neck on my lips, between my teeth...

  She groans and I suppress the urge to do the same.

  For this little act to work, the mobster has to believe I'm a criminal attacking an unsuspecting high society victim—which is impossibly disgusting, but given our situation, the ways she's dressed, it's the only thing I thought we could sell to get away with being here and hide Whitley's face in case he recognizes her.

  I'm hoping my new form—a muscled and tattooed man in tattered woolen pants and stained cotton shirt—works well enough to make it believable. I had to pull off the first image that popped into my mind. The clothing might be off for this place. The tattoos might be wrong.

  I just hope he
doesn't look too closely.

  And groans bordering on moans of pleasure aren't doing us any favors—as much as I like it.

  "Looks like you caught a pretty one," the man says as he approaches, eyeing us.

  I run my hand up her thigh, and she lets out another groan that sends shivers through my whole body.

  Her smell intoxicates me. She's supposed to be terrified, but all I can feel is anticipation.

  I grip her waist, fingers squeezing uncontrollably. She likes this, I think, and suddenly my mind is spinning. I must force myself back to the issue at hand, but God is that hard right now, with my hands on her skin, her skirt hiked up...

  This girl is like a drug to me.

  The man chuckles. "Sounds like she likes it."

  God, I want her to want this.

  But again, it's not me. It's all a game of pretend, and I can't help but feel like she's just messing with me now.

  She's messing with me, and it’s working. I clench my jaw, letting anger overcome my desire.

  "She won't for long,” I snarl and press my body harder into hers. She gasps and cries out.

  "Stop! Just let me go, please!"

  Again, the man laughs. "She one of the Lockhart sisters?" he asks casually, shaking his head like this would be just like them.

  I realize now that he doesn't think she's an innocent victim. He thinks this is a planned tryst, and now that we’ve been caught, she's only pretending to be a victim. I hold back a laugh.

  That would be so much like a high brow woman. Blame it on the poor man if they're caught.

  Either way, it works for me—so long as the mob doesn't shoot us for being in their territory or recognize Whitley and take her captive.

  "Look," he says when I don't respond, "I'm not one for interruptin’ a man getting his jollies, but you got to take this elsewhere. You're encroaching on our territory, and anyone else comes along, they won't be so kind."

  I look up and around like it was the first time I'd noticed where we were. "Shit. Didn't realize we came this far."

  The mobster raises his eyebrows.

  "She runs fast." I smirk.

  "I'm sure. Take it a block that way. That’ll do fine."

  Whitley wiggles in my arms like she's trying to break free. I tighten my grip and smile. "Thanks, brother," I say in a low and sinister voice, then pull Whitley down the alley away from the mob territory.

  Whitley

  Bluff finally releases me once we reach an area so dark that I can't see my own nose.

  I'm gasping for breath for so many reasons at once. My mind spins, body tightened like a spring, adrenaline pulsing. Every place where Bluff's body contacted mine sings—and that's a whole lot of my body.

  Bluff's rapid breaths nearby are a comfort, the only hint that he's still here. I remain unmoving, allowing us both time to wind down. My mind won't let go of the sensation of his hands on me, his breath on my neck. But we're still in danger, so I try not to dwell on it too much.

  It's so strange to want someone that badly, even when they don't look or move like the person you desire. But he still feels like Bluff, even in someone else's skin. I was supposed to be scared. I was supposed to be a victim. But I couldn't push the desire down. I couldn't hide it.

  Pretty sure that almost got us both killed.

  In truth, a part of me wanted him to know how much I want him. The look he gave me, just before the mob member came, had me questioning how he sees me.

  "We have to go," he finally says, his voice low and harsh.

  "Are you mad about something?" I ask. I can't help it. I was thrilled to be with him again, to just see him again. Yet he seems miserable to be around me.

  "You really don't want me to go into how I feel about all of this. And I certainly don't want to hear your feelings either. So just let it go."

  I roll my eyes. "Fine. What's the plan?"

  "We get to the port, within the hour, before Stede's crew swarms the place."

  "You think they're not already?" I stand, wiping dirt from my dress and ensuring nothing is hiked up inappropriately. An image of Bluff’s hand gliding up my leg drifts through my thoughts and I swallow. Can't go there now. Clearly, he hates me. "That's exactly how we escaped the last raid, and I highly doubt they'll make the same mistake a second time. We only made it out of the banquet hall because I was already on my way out when they began their sweep. They won't let us make it to the harbor. That might have even been the plan to start with: chase us from the ball and catch us before we reach our escape vessel."

  He's quiet for a moment. "Maybe we should go back and find Rosemera."

  I jerk my head up, even though I can't see Bluff's face in the darkness. "Where is Rosemera?"

  "She was at the ball."

  My mouth flies open. I can't believe I didn't see her there! "And you left her there?"

  "She'll be fine. She knew we'd leave without her if needed. It was part of the plan."

  I shake my head. I don't like that at all.

  "She seemed to be enjoying herself last I saw."

  I run my hand through my once perfectly restrained hair, pulling a few pins loose and tossing them to the ground. "We can't go to the main port. It's at least three quarters of a mile away still. We have mob territory to go around, and a pirate crew that will be anticipating the path. No way we can make it tonight. But I also can't imagine going back to the manor is good idea. Mr. Robinson will be on the lookout for me. Jeb will ask entirely too many questions..."

  "I don't want to hear about Jeb, all right?"

  I bite my lip at the harshness of his tone, the pain laced between the words.

  "I knew it was you, you know."

  Bluff is still. I wish I could see him. Wish I could read his expression. Instead, I just have to take his silence as a clue.

  "In the captain’s quarters," I clarify.

  "I don't know what you're talking about," he says, a rustling followed by a sweeping sound tells me he's up and dusting off his own pants. "We must go."

  "Where?" I ask again. We still haven't established a plan.

  "The harbor. It's the only place we can go. We have to reach The Freedom."

  "So they're waiting for us?" If they're already there, then perhaps he's right. But that doesn't seem very safe for them.

  "Not exactly. They won't come back to the dock, but they'll be off the coast waiting. We just need a ship to reach them."

  Okay. We have to get off shore, but there are many other routes to the ocean than the main harbor.

  "Come on," I say, and begin down the alley purposefully.

  "Oh, now you're ready to accept my plan?"

  "No. I'm not going to the harbor port."

  He grips my wrist and pulls me to face him. I've moved far enough for me to get a better look at his current appearance—he's definitely back in his own form, he even has his dapper clothing back on—fine wool suit and silk tie—which causes my stomach to do summersaults despite the way he's acting towards me now.

  "What the hell are you talking about? I told you, the harbor is the plan. It’s where Rosemera will meet us. "

  I shake my head. "That's your plan. Not mine. The harbor port will never work.” I don’t like that Rosemera will be trying to go there, but I know it’s not an option right now. Hopefully she figures that out too. “Besides, you don't know these streets like I do. Just like you didn't know we were smack in the middle of mob territory—still are, by the way, just a quieter part so keep your voice down—I have a plan and you're just going to have to trust me."

  "Never," he whispers.

  You really hate me that much? I want to ask him, my heart throbbing. But I keep my mouth shut. I'll deal with his pouty tantrums later. Right now, it's my turn to save us.

  Bluff

  My fists are clenched all the while I follow Whitley in and out of alleyways, sprinting down the large open streets until we're safe and secure back in the shadows. We even cross through an open construction site.

&nb
sp; I must admit she clearly knows her way here. Knows which places are safe to cross, which shortcuts are worth the risk. But I still hate the fact that I'm following instead of leading. Not because I don't trust her or because I want to be in control all the time—but because, if I were in the lead, I wouldn't need to keep my eyes on her.

  I wouldn’t see her blond hair flowing behind her as she runs. My eye wouldn't catch on her sleeve hanging loose on her shoulder, exposing more skin than is ladylike.

  Is that the place I bit? I wonder and immediately chide myself.

  I want to focus on the streets, on our survival, not on her.

  Eventually, I notice we don't seem to be heading in the direction I would expect. "Where exactly are we going?" We're going west, not south. She mentioned unwillingness to go to the harbor, but we still need to head towards the ocean, I'd assumed...

  "The Hudson."

  I tap my fingers on my leg. "Is there a dock there?" I ask. The river leads to the ocean, so I understand the potential but I'm unsure of the specifics.

  "Not exactly."

  I pull her back and settle into another alleyway. Our proximity immediately causes me discomfort. What in the world am I going to do with this girl? I can't be near her, but I can't leave her alone without risking both our lives. She's a risk alone, and she's torture with me.

  "Tell me you have a plan more complex than making it to water then find the ocean from there."

  She rolls her eyes and pulls her hand from mine. "Yes, I have a plan."

  "Care to share it?"

  She takes in a long breath. "In Carolina we ran from pirates by finding other pirates. We're doing the same now."

  I motion my hand for her to explain further, because that gave me nothing. "Where are you going to find pirates on the Hudson?"