“Why?” Francis shouted the question at his four former comrades. “Why would you side with this man? He's a monster.”
“We're sorry, Cap'n, we're real sorry,” one of the traitors spoke up. “We just wasn't happy anymore, and your old man gave us a better offer.”
“Speak for yerself, Lyle,” another traitor objected. “I betrayed him, and I ain't ashamed. I'm tired of doin' whatever the captain tells us to do. The last time we completed a mission, he gave away the damn reward! And now we're trying to help a princess take back her kingdom? What a load of bollocks! That ain't got nuthin to do with me! It ain't got nuthin to do with none of us.”
“I agree.” A third traitor spat on the deck, not far from Francis' boots. “I'm here for the money. If it's not flowing, if it's like we're doing charity work, then I'm done.”
The fourth and final traitor was Zeke, the ginger-haired young man who used to swab the deck with Kitt. Francis had to ask, “And why would you betray me? I was only ever kind to you.”
“Sorry, sir,” Zeke quietly replied. “I got tired of swabbin' the deck, I guess. I felt I'd earned some more respect.”
“And you've already earned my respect, young man, by siding with me.” Stephen, whose gun was still pointed at his son, lightly patted Zeke's back. “If I could trade this piece of dog shit for a new son, I'd choose you. Oh... and by the way, boys, stop calling him Captain and Sir. There's only one man who's the real captain of this ship, and it's me. Always has been, always will be.”
“If you're going to kill me, get it over with.” Though he taunted his father, Francis was desperately looking for a way out of the situation. If he died, the airship would inevitably fall into his father's hands. That would mean the end of Princess Lyneah's mission, and the end of Kitt's rescue.
“Nah. I think I'll have a bit of fun with you first. I want to see you suffer a bit.” An odd, mad grin briefly flickered onto his father's lips. “Actually, I won't lie. I want you to suffer a lot. For seven years, you kept me in that hole. You didn't give a damn that it smelled like piss and shit and all manner of refuse. You wanted me to suffer. Now I owe you seven years of suffering, so... let's see how much I can cram into the next seven minutes, shall we? Hold out your arm.”
Francis held out his left arm. He tried not to look too intimidated, but his father had him terrified. He was the only man in the world who ever truly terrified him. He made Rory McCray look downright friendly by comparison.
“No. The other arm, Shit For Brains. The injured one.”
As soon as Francis held out his right arm, Stephen took out a dagger and cut into his son's flesh, lengthening his wound by inches. It hurt like hell, but Francis barely winced.
“Do you like that? Hmm? Would you like a lovely, matching one on your other arm, boy?”
When Francis spoke to his father, he tried to speak as calmly as possible. “You won't get away with this. You know that, right? Even if you kill me, you won't take back this ship. There are over a hundred people on this airship, and a hundred on the other one. Do you really think they won't resist you? Are you really that stupid?”
“Not really. You've already done me the favor of stripping their weapons... the majority of them are completely defenseless, or so I've been told. And most of them follow the princess, not you. If I get rid of her, they won't know what to do with themselves.” Over his shoulder, Stephen barked an order at the men who followed him. “Zeke, Lyle... go find the princess and bring her to me. Zeke, you have a sweet face, so be sure to use that to your advantage. She'll probably think you're a nice boy. And Lyle... you don't have to be gentle with her. I don't even care if you feel up her tits a little bit, just bring her here.” When he turned his attention back to his son, Stephen waved his gun. “Now, for fuck's sake, hold out your other arm!”
Francis reluctantly held out his left arm. When his father's dagger carved a matching wound into his flesh, he grunted and ground his teeth. One of the traitorous pirates frowned at the sight of his former captain's blood painting the deck.
“What should I do to you now, son?” When Stephen asked the question, he spoke in an almost singsong tone. “Maybe I should shove this dagger up your ass? What do you think about that?” He wiggled the stained red dagger in front of Francis' face.
“If you're that eager to fondle my ass, go ahead,” Francis coldly replied, staring straight ahead. “I have to say, though, your post-prison preferences are truly surprising.”
“Or maybe I should cut our your blasted tongue!” Stephen barely shoved the tip of the blade between Doon's lips. “After all, I'm tired of hearing you speak.”
When his father withdrew the blade, Francis said, “No. You wouldn't do that. After seven years of bantering with me, wouldn't you miss my witty retorts?”
“No.” Stephen snorted at the thought. “Not really, no. Now, take off your shirt and turn around. I want to see those scars I gave you.”
With a tremendous sigh, Francis removed his shirt and tossed it aside. When he turned around, he had his hands on his hips.
Stephen's eyes lit up when he observed the plethora of scars. “Wait, now... wait. Some of these are far too fresh! Did someone else have a go at you?”
Francis nodded casually. “You could say that.”
“I don't like it.” Stephen practically whimpered his response. “I don't like it. It was my work. It was mine. They ruined my artwork!”
“I know,” Francis sarcastically agreed. “Such a shame, isn't it?”
When Stephen kicked the back of his son's legs, Francis nearly toppled to the ground. Stephen started to raise his dagger, but the sound of a shrieking female halted him. When he turned around, Lyle was dragging Lyneah toward him—dragging her by the hair, no less. Stephen smiled at the other man's brutality. He had certainly chosen the perfect sidekick.
“Well done, Lyle. That didn't take you long at all. Did Zeke's handsome face draw her in?” Stephen winked at the younger boy before turning his attention back to Lyle. “And more importantly, did you feel her up?”
Lyle shook his head. “No, sir.”
“Well, that's a damn shame. I would have!” When Lyle shoved the princess to the ground, Stephen gently patted her head. “Don't look so frightened, Princess. This will all be over soon enough.”
“Who are you?” Lyneah trembled as she asked the question.
“Ah. Where are my manners? I'm Stephen Doon, Your Highness. I'm this asshole's father.” He clutched his knife and gun to his heart and bowed slightly. “And you're Princess Lyneah? Damn, you're even more beautiful than I imagined!”
When Francis turned around, he saw Kieran in the corner of his eye. The mercenary was extracting a gun from his coat as he slowly crept forward. Kieran was hardly his friend, but Francis held his breath and prayed he would be rescued.
Unfortunately, Lyle spotted the potential rescuer at the same time Francis did, so he raised his gun and shot Kieran's shoulder. When Stephen realized what was happening, he held his dagger under Princess Lyneah's eye. “Drop your weapon!” Stephen commanded. “If you don't, I swear to god, I'll mutilate this lovely face!” To prove he wasn't lying, he lightly scraped the side of Lyneah's cheek, giving her an inch-long scratch. “I wouldn't even flinch. After all, it doesn't seem fair that she's allowed to be spoiled, rich and gorgeous!”
Kieran lowered his gun with a sigh.
“Kick it toward me!” Stephen demanded. Because he didn't want to see Lyneah hurt, Kieran had no choice but to comply.
“You better not hurt her,” Kieran grumbled as he kicked his gun.
“Oh, I won't hurt her. Not now, anyway. You've bought her some time, at least. James, grab his gun.” Commands flew from Stephen's lips as if he was born to give them. When his pirate collected Kieran's discarded weapon, he barked another order at Kieran. “Walk over here! Slowly.”
Kieran's fists clenched as he closed the distance between Stephen and himself. He kept eyeing Francis, wishing they could work together to free th
emselves—but they weren't the ones with the guns.
“James, keep that gun pointed at my son. Lyle... make sure the princess doesn't move.” Stephen grabbed the back of Kieran's neck and roughly escorted him to the side of the airship. “It's been awhile since I've tossed anyone overboard. I usually prefer to torture them first, but you look like a worthless piece of shit, barely worth my time. Should I not just dispose of you?”
“Please!” Lyneah cried out. “Please don't do that! I'll do anything!”
“Would you take out my cock and put your pretty little mouth on it?” Stephen asked with a chuckle. “I haven't enjoyed a woman's touch in far too long, so it'd be quite a nice treat for me. Would you do that for your friend, Princess?”
Lyneah took a moment to consider her answer before she gave a solemn, “Yes.”
“I'm assuming you're a gentleman, sir?” Stephen jabbed Kieran's back with the muzzle of his gun. “I'm curious... would you let the princess suck me off to save your life?”
Kieran shook his head. It took him less than a second to make his choice. “No, sir. I wouldn't. I'd try to break free and let you shoot me first.”
“Interesting. Very interesting.” Stephen rubbed his bearded chin as he decided on his next course of action. “I appreciate this little act of nobility, so let's play a little game instead. Zeke, give me a coin.”
Zeke pulled a penny from his pocket and quickly dropped the coin into his new captain's filthy fingers.
“If I get heads, I'll spare your life,” Stephen quietly informed his captive. “If I get tails, you'll be sailing over the side of the ship. Down, down, down to earth. Does that sound good to you?” When Kieran tried to glance back at Francis, Stephen slapped his head with the gun. “Does that sound good to you, dammit?”
“Sure,” Kieran replied with a sigh. “I don't see that I have much of a choice, anyway.”
“You're right. You don't.” Stephen casually flipped the coin, which dropped to the deck beside his feet. “Tell me, Zeke... is it heads or tails?”
“It's tails, sir,” Zeke said.
“Aha!”
“No, wait...” Zeke amended his answer. “It's heads.”
“Well... fuck! Which is it, heads or tails?”
“Heads.” Zeke collected his coin from the ground before Stephen Doon got a good look at it. “It was definitely heads, sir.”
“Well then... I guess you're spared for now, big man.” Stephen shoved Kieran aside and turned his attention back to his son. “Keep your gun on that one, James.” He flicked a finger in Kieran's direction. “We wouldn't want him to try anything funny.”
Kieran looked like he wanted to say something to Zeke, who had tears in his eyes, but neither of them said a word.
“Down on your knees, Francis!” Stephen commanded his son. “Get down on your knees, right here in front of me.” When Francis didn't move, Stephen cackled loudly. “Is it really that difficult for you to follow orders? Your mother was a slave, after all... you'd think that would make you more compliant. Now get down on your fucking knees, or I'll tear off the princess' top and suckle her delightful little tits in front of all of you.”
When Francis dropped to his knees, a tremendous growl rattled his throat.
“Don't be such a little shit. Give me your hand. The one that still has all of its fingers.” When Francis raised his hand, Stephen ran the tip of the blade along his knuckles. He didn't pierce his skin—yet. “Lyle, give me a number between one and two hundred.”
“Uh... twenty-eight.” Lyle's voice was quivering when he replied.
Starting with Francis' thumb, Stephen counted his fingers. “One, two, three, four, five...” In the middle of counting, he told his son, “Whichever one I land on, I'm cutting it off.” Smirking like a giddy schoolboy, he continued to count. “Six, seven, eight, nine, ten... eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen... sixteen... seventeen... are you getting nervous yet, Francis?”
Francis Doon glanced in Lyneah's direction. She looked worried for him. She had her mouth open, like she wanted to speak, but was too terrified to utter a word.
“Eighteen... nineteen... twenty... ooo, I'm getting all excited!” Stephen's laughter sounded suspiciously close to giggling. “Twenty-one... twenty-two... twenty-three... twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven aaaand... twenty-eight.” He lightly tapped the middle finger on Francis' right hand. “Uh-oh! It seems like such a shame to lose that one. Your sword hand will never be the same, you know. It seems like such a waste. I wonder if you'll be able to grip a sword the same way again? Oh well. On the bright side, at least it's not a thumb!'
As his father's blade lightly sawed into his finger, Francis looked panicked. He wanted to try something—to beg, to punch, to run—but none of it was necessary. The sound of gunfire put an end to his father's intended mutilation. Francis glanced up and saw Tobias with a gun in his hand, looking more frightened than he'd ever seen him.
Unfortunately, Tobias' shot wasn't perfect. It hit Stephen's shoulder. When Stephen raised his gun and retaliated, he was a lot more accurate.
His shot hit Tobias right in the center of his chest.
Twenty Seven
After Tobias was shot, everything happened fast. Lyneah bellowed an agonized sob and tried to run toward him, but Lyle held her in place. James kicked Tobias—or whatever was left of him—to the ground. Stephen Doon was grinning, pleased with himself for finding a way of inflicting more pain on the princess.
Finally, Zeke ran forward and shoved a gun into Francis Doon's hand. “Here, Captain!” he exclaimed. “I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!”
Before his father could turn around, Francis raised Zeke's pistol and took aim. After years of hesitating to kill the man who wrecked his life, Francis shot him in the back of the head. As soon as Stephen went down, Francis whirled around, and with three perfectly aimed shots, he killed James, Lyle, and his father's unnamed accomplice. When he pointed the gun at Zeke, the boy held up his hands and pleaded for his life.
“Please, Captain, don't shoot me!” Zeke wailed. “W-what I did was wrong! I know that now. I helped you! I didn't know what sort of man your father was! Please, Captain, I like working for you. I like to li--”
Francis fired a final shot, hitting the young man in the center of the forehead.
As soon as Doon had the situation under control, Lyneah ran to Tobey's side and collapsed on the ground beside him. She ran her hands through Tobias' thick hair, sobbing until she could no longer breathe. When he opened one of his dark green eyes, she sobbed again.
“I'm alright, Lyneah,” he whispered. “I'm alright.”
“No you're not! You're dying!” She shouted through her tears.
“No... really.” Tobey reached into his shirt and pulled out his grandfather's tarnished pocket watch, which hung from his neck on a simple silver chain. Stephen's bullet was lodged inside it. “I guess my granddad saved me.”
Lyneah snatched the watch from Tobey's hand and studied the bullet that was embedded in it. The clock's hands weren't moving, nor would they ever move again. When she realized Tobias had been spared from death by something so silly, she sobbed again. She collapsed on top of him and bellowed into his shirt.
Meanwhile, Francis Doon seized his father's dead body from the ground and dragged it to the edge of the airship. As he pitched it overboard, he screamed, “Farewell, you piece of shit! Not even your corpse is good enough for this ship!”
“I can't believe I'm asking you this... but are you alright?” Kieran's arms were crossed as he mumbled the question to Doon.
“Well...” Doon looked down at his matching cuts, each one running the length of his entire arm. “You know, I think I'll probably need some stitches. Do you know anyone who can do that?”
“Aye. Me.” Kieran grumbled to himself. “And I suppose I can help you... once.”
When Francis looked down at the finger on his right hand, which his father came uncomfortably close to severing, he breathed a sigh of rel
ief. There was only a small cut above his middle finger. It would heal soon enough.
“I owe you one, Tobias,” Doon thanked the younger man, even though it was an awkward moment for gratitude. Tobey was still on the ground, and the princess was still crying on top of him. “I'm sure I would've lost another finger if you hadn't intervened.”
“No problem,” Tobias replied. He stroked the princess' hair, hoping she would stop crying and breathe again. He was surprised she cried as long as she did. Princess Lyneah usually hated to share her tears with other people.
“I thought I'd never see you again,” Lyneah whimpered, sniffling as she spoke. “I thought I'd never hear your voice or get to hold you. That was the most horrid moment of my life!”
Tobias knew Kieran and Doon were watching them, so he murmured, “So... Lyneah, we should, uh... we should pr-probably move.”
But she didn't move. Instead, she rained kisses all over his face. When she was confident that she had kissed every inch of his cheeks, forehead, nose and chin, Lyneah finally rolled off of him. “Come with me,” she said, grabbing Tobey's arm and dragging him to his feet. “I want to be alone with you. There's something I need to say.”
“Of course.” Tobey waved to Doon and Kieran, then he allowed himself to be whisked away. “After what happened today, I'm tempted to never let you out of my sight.”
“You're the one who almost died!” Lyneah reminded him. “I should be the one who never lets you out of my sight! How many times have you narrowly avoided death in the last twenty-four hours?”
“Um... a few.”
“Exactly! You're either going to break my heart, give me a heart attack, or both!” As soon as they were alone in her room, Lyneah closed and locked the door. The next few minutes were probably going to be the most important minutes of her life, and she didn't want to be interrupted. “In another twenty-four hours, we'll be at the castle. How many more times will you risk your life then?”
Sky Pirate (Belles & Bullets Book 3) Page 17