With steely determination, Damian moved down the hatchway toward the gunpowder room. One spark and the Bonny Meg would be no more.
But the alarmed cry of a woman, as she smacked into him bounding up the steps, tossed that notion from his mind.
Mirabelle!
She was a bloody pirate.
Damian’s heart slammed into his ribs at the realization. This was the woman he had lusted after…the woman in whose arms he had found a measure of peace. And all the while she was akin to an enemy. Her brothers had destroyed the only semblance of goodness he’d ever had in his miserable life: Adam. And yet, he could not bring himself to sink the ship. Not with her on board.
“Damian!” cried Belle, her eyes round with evident horror. “What are you doing here? How did you get out of the—”
He grabbed her by the arm and dragged her up the stairs. He wasn’t really sure what he was going to do with her. The pain hacking through his heart was distracting.
“Damian, we’ll have to discuss this later!”
She wriggled free of his hold and took off running. He bounded after her, determined now to lock her away until the battle was over.
But she was a quick siren, eluding his capture, sprinting through the ship and eventually onto the gun deck, where she handed a gunner her powder chest. The pirate emptied the chest into the cannon and handed the container back to her. She bolted again, intent on more gunpowder, Damian assumed, but she didn’t get very far. He hooked his fingers around her arm, stopping her in her tracks.
“Not now, Damian!”
He paid her outcry no heed, dragging her away from the gun deck. She struggled to break free. He wrapped both his arms around her waist and was prepared to hoist her over his shoulder when they both heard the jubilant cries.
Damian and Mirabelle glanced toward the portholes in time to see the now badly damaged vessel slowly retreating. Orders were relayed to the gunners to hold their fire. Apparently, Black Hawk wasn’t going to finish off the rig as he had on the night Adam had perished. Why? Damian wasn’t certain. But then the idea came to him.
Mirabelle.
The captain obviously didn’t want to prolong the battle unnecessarily with his sister on board. It would only risk her life further. Damian could think of no other reason that James would abstain from destroying the other vessel, especially since she had attacked the Bonny Meg first.
As the smoke cleared from the gun deck, the pirates, all congratulating one another with smacks across the back and whoops of joy, slowly quieted down as they noticed Damian standing on deck.
The navigator was privy to their identities. Everyone was suddenly aware of that, even Belle, who cast him a both vexed and anxious look.
Heavy footsteps were heard coming down the hatchway, followed by the captain’s curt command. “Take him back to the brig.”
Later that night, Damian was locked back in the brig. The cell door had been temporarily repaired and was strong enough to hold him.
Morose, lost in thought, he sat on the floor, arms curled around his knees. A pirate ship. He was on a miserable pirate ship. He still couldn’t fathom how he had found himself in this predicament. After such a long and exhaustive search, for fate to simply toss him onto the Bonny Meg was staggering. Even more staggering was his failure to act on fate’s boon. He’d had one chance to blow the Bonny Meg to hell, and he had failed to take it. He had failed his brother. Again.
Damian let out a growl. Why did Belle have to be here? She had wrecked everything with her presence. But for her, the Bonny Meg would be lying at the bottom of the sea right now.
Damian rubbed his eyes, still stinging from the sulfur fumes. He was weak. More so than he had imagined. Like Odysseus, lost at sea, he had fallen under the enchantment of a beautiful siren. He had lusted after that siren to distraction. And now she had thwarted his goal: his vow of vengeance. A vow he had made in earnest to his brother.
The conflict inside him was brutal. The guilt intolerable. It was as though Adam had died a second time when Damian had failed to avenge him. Only this time, he had struck the mortal blow, not the pirates.
The creaking wood planks disturbed Damian from his gloomy meditation.
He glanced up to find Mirabelle approaching, lantern in hand. She set the light on the ground, a soft orange glow enveloping her features, highlighting her classic beauty.
She was a pirate. That bowled him over the most. His passionate, fiery temptress was nothing but a cutthroat. A novice cutthroat, but still, she aspired to be the one thing he hated more than anything else in the world…and he had bedded her. Over and over again. He had wallowed in debauchery and had loved every minute of it. And the crux of the problem was that he was still attracted to the woman, pirate blood and all!
“Quincy will bring you something to eat soon,” she said softly. “But I wanted to talk to you first.”
He didn’t say anything, didn’t trust himself to keep a cap on his temper. He might inadvertently confess his true intention, that he was trying to kill her brothers. And Belle, of course, would warn her kin, dashing all his hopes of ever bestowing retribution.
“Damian, I’m sorry you discovered our identity like this. It wasn’t suppose to happen this way. James was suppose to make a decision once we reached port…well, it doesn’t matter now.” She sighed. “But you’ll have to make a choice soon.”
He wrinkled his brow.
“You see,” she went on, hesitant, “you’ll have to join the crew or…”
“Be killed?” he said, not the least bit surprised by his so-called choice.
She nodded.
“I’m not joining the crew.” He was adamant. The very thought of it made his stomach churn.
“Damian, please, listen to reason. James can’t let you go, knowing our trade, but as a crew member you’re bound to him. If he plunders a ship, you are implicated, too. You can’t reveal his identity without condemning yourself and—”
“I understand the captain’s logic,” he cut in, a rough edge to his voice. “I’m still not joining the crew.”
“But you’ll die.”
“So be it.”
“Damn it, Damian!” Her arms folded under her breasts. “Life aboard the Bonny Meg isn’t so bad. You’ve seen firsthand. Why won’t you even consider it?”
“Because—” Your brothers killed mine, that’s why. “Forget it, Belle.”
Uncrossing her arms, she crouched down, their eyes level. “Damian, think about it. The wealth and the freedom. Surely being a pirate isn’t so disagreeable?”
He studied her for a moment, wondering why she was trying so hard to persuade him to stay. He finally asked, “Why do you want me to be a pirate?”
“I don’t want to see you get hurt,” she whispered.
Her words, words of caring, made his heart tighten. “Why?”
“Because you saved Quincy’s life—and mine. It wouldn’t be fair to take yours away.”
He shouldn’t have pushed her for an answer. He should have left it alone at I don’t want to see you get hurt. At least then he could imagine what he wanted, that she actually cared for him instead of feeling a sense of obligation.
Bloody hell, what was wrong with him? That’s all he needed, the affections of a pirate. Better that she loathed him. After all, he would kill her brothers as soon as he got the chance.
“Fine, Belle,” he growled. “I’ll think about joining the crew.” Just leave, he thought, for he couldn’t stand looking at her through the iron bars anymore, knowing he couldn’t touch her—ever again.
“Really, Damian?” She dropped down to sit on the balls of her feet, her legs splayed. Though she was covered in her leather breeches, Damian couldn’t stop the salacious image of her legs bare and splayed from skipping through his head. And he hated himself all the more for still finding her so irresistible.
“Really, Belle,” he returned gruffly. “Now go before Quincy finds us in a compromising position.”
Her b
row furrowed. “How’s that?”
The bloody temptation was more than he could bear. He realized then, if he didn’t break off his obsession with Belle, he would never see his plan of vengeance to fruition. She would always be in the way, distracting him. And she would always give him false hope for a life he knew he could never have. A life void of emptiness and pain. A life filled with promise and joy.
He grabbed her through the cage and hoisted her to her knees, so her body was flush with the cold metal bars. One arm wrapped around her midriff, his other hand cupped the warmth between her legs.
She gasped.
He kissed her hard through an opening in the bars.
“If you insist on spreading your legs,” he growled, breaking away from the heated kiss, “then I’ll insist on ravishing you.” With a cruel smirk, he added, “But next time, Belle, you don’t have to get down on your knees and beg me like a tavern whore.”
The sound crack to the mouth knocked his head back.
Mirabelle pushed him away and staggered to her feet, her amber eyes spitting fire. “You son of a bitch!”
She was gone then, the lantern forgotten.
In the shadows of the brig, Damian sat back against the wall, fingering his tender jaw. Good girl, he thought. Hate me. I deserve it.
And he did deserve it. He was nothing but a worthless, miserable sod. He couldn’t do anything right—except bring out the worst in a person. And that talent had just come in handy. Belle surely despised him now. She wouldn’t be coming around anymore, tempting him. He would spend the rest of the voyage alone.
It was bloody better that way.
It really was.
Chapter 17
M irabelle hammered away. It was dark out. Only a small lantern off to the side provided her with a glimmer of light. It was so dark, in fact, she wasn’t even sure she was driving the nail into the right place. But she didn’t care right then. If she didn’t vent her fury on something, she would have to vent it on someone. And as tempting as the idea might be, she didn’t think it very wise to smack Damian across the head—even if he did deserve it.
A whore! The bloody ass had called her a tavern whore! To have said something so ruthless, and after everything they had been through. Why? Because he was on a pirate ship? Was he really so angry about it? Would he join the crew now that he knew the truth?
Oh, she didn’t give a damn about Damian anymore. She had tried to save his life. First by locking him in the brig, then by urging him to become a pirate. And how had he repaid her good intentions? By insulting her, the blackguard. He had enjoyed their tryst as much as she had. What did that make him?
She snorted. Not a whore, that was for sure. Apparently, only a woman could be saddled with such a stigma. Bloody unfair, really. She couldn’t do anything that she desired without being condemned for it. And she was growing sick of all the reprimands. First from her brothers and now from Damian.
The pounding in her chest painful, Mirabelle gritted her teeth to halt the surge of tears welling in her eyes. She had grown to care for the lousy bounder. There was no sailing around that truth. But he apparently didn’t give a fig about her. He never had. He’d claimed an infamous reputation. A rogue. She should have believed him.
She was such a fool. A sentimental fool. She bloody well deserved to feel so rotten. This was the very reason she had vowed to never give her heart away. It made her vulnerable. It made her weak…It made her miserable.
Well, she had learned her lesson. Never again would she let anyone into her heart. Never again would she rely on anyone for her happiness. It was up to her—and her alone—to find it, fight for it, and keep it. And that’s just what she intended to do.
“Belle?”
She glanced up to find James hovering above her. “What is it?”
“Why don’t you go below and get some rest?”
She turned away from him. “I’m not tired.”
“Then I’m ordering you to bed.”
She hit the nail head hard. “Why, damn it?”
“Because I won’t have a ship left to sail if you keep trying to fix it.”
Brow creased, she stepped back to examine her handiwork, and it was then she realized what James was talking about. The starboard rail did look rather crooked.
She let out a winded sigh. “I’m sorry, Captain.”
“Don’t be. I know this has been a rough day for you.”
You have no idea. “How’s the crew?”
“Mending.” James crossed his arms over his chest and propped his hip against the rail. “Brice is recovering nicely. He should be up and about soon.”
“That’s good.” Brice, their quartermaster, had been stationed at the helm when a cannonball demolished part of the rail, peppering him with a series of splinters. “And the ship?”
“She’ll make it back to England, I’m sure. But she’s going to need a minor overhaul once we reach land.”
She nodded. “Did you figure out why the other ship attacked us?”
“Not yet. But I intend to. Anything else?”
“What do you mean?”
“Any more questions before I order you to bed—again?”
She made a moue and handed James the hammer. “No.” She started to move away from him, took about two steps before she paused to face the captain again. She had vowed to dismiss Damian from her head and heart, but despite that conviction, she said, “What will happen to Damian?”
“Don’t worry about the navigator, Belle. I’ll take care of him.”
That didn’t sound too good. She shouldn’t have asked. Now she would never get any sleep.
Morning rays filled the brig through the cannon holes in the hull. Damian squinted at the shaft of sunlight creeping over his face, then moved his head to the side to avoid the brilliancy.
With a growled oath, he rolled onto his back. He had never had such a miserable night. Pirates had infested his dreams. He’d ached for Belle in a most wicked way. And now he awoke to a stiff pain in his neck and back and everywhere else for that matter. The result of spending the evening on the hard wood floor.
With a grimace, he slowly sat up. The blood rushed to his head, his temples throbbing.
“Bloody hell.”
It was like rousing from a drunken stupor, only he hadn’t had a drop of spirits.
Damian swiveled around to press his back against the wall. He had a full view of the room from his vantage point, and so was quick to notice the figure that strode in through the door.
Bile burning in his gut, Damian glowered at Quincy. A dastardly, loathsome, murdering pirate. An enemy.
Squatting, Quincy set the tray of food on the floor. He offered Damian a grim, even contrite expression. “I guess this is kinda my fault.”
Damian couldn’t stand to look at the kid anymore. Grief wracked his brain. Quincy was nothing but a merciless cutthroat. It almost defied reason. But harrowing as the truth might be, the kid was a villain. And he had to die.
“If I hadn’t dragged you along,” said Quincy, “you’d be in New York right now. Stranded, granted. But safe.”
Damian looked back at him, fiery pain cutting up his soul. “Forget about it, kid.”
Quincy was about to say something in return, then quirked a sable brow. “What happened to your face?”
Damian reached for his chin. It was then he noticed the swelling. His lips were puffy, too. A parting gift from Belle.
“Never mind, kid.”
Quincy shrugged. “Listen, Damian…”
But another large figure appeared in the doorway then, curtailing Quincy’s remark.
The Black Hawk.
Damian’s muscles hardened.
James took an ominous step into the room. “Out, Quincy.”
With a sigh, the kid lifted off his haunches and departed, leaving Damian alone with the pirate captain.
The two men glared at each other for a moment.
Damian was a mess inside. James had murdered his brother.
A rabid rancor gripped Damian. A desire to destroy the pirate who had slain his kin…but why did James have to be Black Hawk?
Damian wanted to howl in agony. So long he had hunted Black Hawk. So many nights he had stood atop the poop of his own ship, staring into the black beyond, wishing for Black Hawk to appear so he could send the piratical swine to the seabed. Vengeance had once seethed through his blood for the pirate captain. Now Damian was in turmoil. The anger still churned in his belly, but it was not easy to think of James as an enemy. Damian had come to respect the captain over the last three weeks. He was a sage commander, who elicited the respect of his crew—a pirate crew.
Damian took in a sharp breath. James was a fiend. He had to remember that. He would kill the captain and the rest of the men. Adam’s death demanded vengeance.
“Why?” Damian growled, “Why are you a pirate?”
James stepped deeper into the room. “And what else should I be?”
“Anything but a pirate.”
“Oh? And what if I want to be a cabinetmaker, like my father?”
“Then be one.”
He grunted. “Aye, it sounds simple enough, doesn’t it? Marry and have a family and work hard every day of my life, until one day a troop of goons come along and take it all away.”
“The press gang.”
James lifted a black brow.
“Belle told me about your father.”
“Did she?” James moved to stand in front of the cage. Darkness swirled in his cobalt blue eyes. “Then you should understand why I’m a pirate, Damian. I’m not going to heed law, only to have my life snatched away by ‘king and country.’”
A tight knot formed in Damian’s throat. “And what of the lives you devastate?”
It was hypocritical, the query, coming from him, considering all the lives he had devastated, but Damian needed to know the answer nonetheless.
“And what lives would those be, Damian?”
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