Tarnished Persuasion (Justified Treason, Book 2): Endless Horizon Pirate Stories

by Cristi Taijeron

“Well, what a match made in Hell. Get the hell away from me, Sterling, I don’t want to be a pirate. I don’t want anything else to do with you or your heathen ways. I want to go home.”

  Pushing him away from me, I tried to run, but he grabbed me by the arm. “You’re not going anywhere.”

  Pained by the force of his grip, I tried to swing a punch at him. He easily blocked it and backed me against the wall.

  “Let go of me!” I screamed as if anyone in that shitten town would give a care.

  “You’re not leaving my sight.” His voice pounded as he cornered me against the wall.

  “So you can keep me as your own and ignore me until you want a harlot to rub on?” I tried to sound fierce but fear was all too apparent in my voice. I was frightened by his tone and the way he had entrapped me with the mass of his big body. I didn’t know him. The dark liner under his fiery eyes made him look fearsome and threatening, like a terrifying villain braced with weapons and fueled by anger. With his enormous hands holding tight to my shoulders, he yelled, “That’s enough, Charlie! You’re out of your mind.”

  I stomped on his foot. His eyes flashed with pain but he didn’t move. Continuing to fight with him, I shouted like a lunatic, “I am! I am completely out of my mind and it’s all your fault!” I started crying. “You’re hurting me. Let me go!”

  Holding me steady, he growled through clenched teeth. “Stop fighting with me, woman.”

  I had not expected him to let me go, but the moment I felt his grip loosen ever so slightly, I used one of the escape tactics he taught me to break free. I might not have been so fortunate if he was sober, and I knew if he caught me there would be hell to pay, so I ran like the wind.

  I breezed past a group of men who were walking down the alley, but once I rounded the corner I realized I had no idea where I was going. The hellhole of a town was a terrifying blur around me. All the ugly men looked like fearsome demons, far more threatening than the villain I had just escaped.

  Thinking that I should find Mary, I ran back to The Polished Pearl, but they were nowhere in sight. I didn’t know anyone in there. With nowhere to go and no one to turn to, I felt so alone in that terrible place. Everything around was loud and frightening. I wanted to be home, in the silence of my bedroom. I wanted to be with my father in his fancy dining hall. Then he could tell me what to do. It was terribly obvious that on my own I was not capable of doing the right thing. During my rush of panic I thought about how terrified Josephine must have been when she ended up here. But unlike her, I wasn’t alone. I had Lawrence. I just had to make it back to the ship.

  Holding fast to the flicker of hope, I turned to leave, but I smashed into someone’s chest. Certain that I would look up to see Sterling’s angry face scowling down at me, I was shocked to see a man I did not know. He was tall. His sandy beard lifted off his chest as he laughed at the tears welling down my cheeks. “Aw. Did Bentley make his strumpet cry?’

  How did he know who I was?

  I started backing away from him but his mates surrounded me from behind. They were laughing at me, too. They circled around me like wolves. I started shoving them. The bearded man picked me up and put me over his shoulder the same way Sterling would have. I screamed and kicked but my wrath was futile against his grip. No one in the barroom gave a shit that he was taking me against my will. They all carried on in their festivities without mind to my screams of horror. Amidst my thrashing I saw Gitana smirking at me from behind the bar.

  The sandy-faced man walked over to her and said, “Thanks for the tasty treat, Georgina.”

  “It’s Gitana, Lynden. You ought to know that by now.”

  “Ah, then you should have a normal name like Jane. Thanks again, Jane.”

  As Lynden carried me out of the tavern I wished I was able to smash Gitana’s smug face against the bar she stood behind.

  Lynden and his mongrels carried me out into the street. Dreading the horrifying possibilities of their plans for me, I hoped that Sterling would come after me. Where the hell was he?

  We were heading towards the harbor. I only had a small window of time to escape and I was determined to do so. Trying to calm my panic, I attempted to focus my energy. Unlike the wrathful power of anger, my fear weakened my efforts.

  After taking a few deep breaths, I observed my surroundings hoping to find a vantage point. Lynden had long hair. While dangling over his shoulder I clawed at his tangled lock causing him to lose his balance. With my fist tangled in his hair, I used the momentum of his jarring to roll off his shoulder, but I landed on my back and lost my wind.

  Failure.

  A short, ugly, round man kicked me across my side while I was down. It hurt like hell. While gasping from the pain and struggling for air, I tried to get up and run, but he kicked me again. I screamed in horror as he grabbed my hair and yanked me to my feet.

  Lynden slapped me across the face and as my head whipped to the side he shouted, “Shut your nasty mouth, slut.” Through the stars I was now seeing I saw him rub his crotch. “Open it again and I’ll show you what you can plug it with.”

  No! I had to break loose and flee before they got me to the dock. During my wild attempt to shove my way out of their group, the tormenting scene blurred around me. They hit me, they pushed me, they pulled on my hair. Before long I landed facedown in the dirt. The feel of their violent kicks battering my helpless body, caused everything to go dark around me.

  Chapter 6

  Persuasion

  As Told By Charlotte Wetherby

  Awaking to the feel of my face dragging against the wooden planks of the dock, I forgot where I was or what had happened. Feeling rough, man hands wrap around my wrists, I realized they were in cuffs. Hearing men laughing as I looked around, I saw the horribly familiar faces of the group who had kidnapped me. The one named Lynden grabbed me by the hair and threw me in their longboat. Without free hands to stop my fall, my head hit the bench. My face hurt like hell, my body was beaten with defeat, and I wanted to throw up. It was too late to fight my way out. The moment was lost. Whoever the hell they were, I was their prisoner.

  Scared to death, I sat there quietly, but the men started pinching and grabbing at me, asking to see what I had under my coat. To my surprise Lynden swatted them off. “Get off of her, you dirty vultures. The captain will want her alive and unharmed.”

  I assumed that to be good news.

  As the swarm of demon vultures backed away from me, they grumbled about what a wildcat Bentley’s whore was. At that point in my life I figured I would have been much better off assuming the role of Sterling Bentley’s alley slut. Aye, in comparison to the nightmare I was living, unmarried sex behind the tavern didn’t sound so bad.

  My eyes filled with tears, but I refused to let them flow. My stomach welled with vomit, but I resisted the urge to expel it. As they rowed their boat through the darkened water I wished I knew how to swim so I could dive in and wriggle away like a mermaid. It even crossed my mind to throw myself overboard, for sinking to the bottom of the sea seemed more promising than the uncertain fate awaiting me on the ship we were rowing towards. Persuasion.

  Aye, the mysterious ship I was damned to was called Persuasion. Through the throbbing welts on my face, the aching bruises on my body, and the nauseating sickness turning in my gut, I laughed at the irony, for it was indeed the tarnished persuasion of Sterling Bentley’s rugged charm which led me into this wretched peril.

  A fog had rolled over the sea and the thick, salty air was heavy with moisture as the black-hearted scoundrels forced me up the gangway. The way the burning lantern lights illuminated the misty glow made it look as if I was entering the very pit of Satan’s den.

  While Gordy and the one they called Dirty Jim Flint escorted me to the captain’s quarters, the rest of the snarling crewmen shuffled off to do their duties. Dragging me by the arm, Gordy hacked and snorted in exasperated breaths. The climb up the gangway must have been too much work for his fat little body. As he pulled me along I
made the mistake of squeaking about his painful hold on my arm.

  He slapped me on the back of the head. “Shut your whore mouth, whore.”

  Dirty Jim Flint nudged Gory with his elbow. “Remember how Lynden suggested we plug her up?”

  Clearly remembering Lynden’s vile threat, I instantly regretted the comment about my discomfort.

  While Dirty Jim Flint rumbled about plugging my suck hole for having bellyached, Gordy pushed me to my knees. He shoved my face against his crotch. They both taunted and mocked me as he began undoing his breeches. There was no way in hell I was going to let this go that far. Remembering Sterling’s mention about how handcuffs could be a vital weapon, I rammed my cuffed hands between Gordy’s stubby legs.

  As Gordy hunched over in pain, Dirty Jim Flint chortled like a dastardly ghoul. The next thing I knew they were tugging me back and forth like a doll. I did what I could to fight them off of me. In the terrifying blur that my world became, I found myself on the ground with Dirty Jim Flint’s heavy body on top of me. Ripping at my clothes he shouted, “It’ll be women’s attire or nothing.”

  Feeling the front of my coat tear open, I bashed the heinous demon across his ugly face with my handcuffs. In the glow of the lantern light I watched his nose bust open. Just as his warm red blood splattered all over my face, someone kicked him across the head. As he fell back from the blow the young man who attacked him shouted, “The captain wants her unharmed!”

  It was Kasey Bolin. My watchdog.

  I had no idea where he came from, or how the hell he got in with the awful group, but he nodded at me in a way that clarified he was there for me. Confused as I was about his random appearance on the hell-bound ship, I was no longer annoyed by his insistent lookout over my wellbeing.

  The moment of hope was quickly lost, though. Lynden grabbed me by the hair, yanked me to my feet and scolded his men, “I can’t trust you two to do a damn thing right, you worthless lumps.”

  Lynden dragged me through the hideous group. They pinched and groped at me while I kicked and screamed with all the strength I could muster. I was sure they were the gargoyles that guarded the gates of Hell, and I figured I was on my way to Lucifer’s chambers.

  With a rowdy blast, the captain’s door flew open. Shooting his pistol in the air, he demanded his crew to silence. They quickly tamed their snarling. Sweeping his coat sleeves clean, the captain barked at Lynden, “What in the pits of Hell is this, Quartermaster Lynden? Let her go at once.”

  Lynden brashly dropped me to the floor. The captain instantly helped me up. I hardly wanted his assistance after all the hell I just experienced on his ship, but there was nowhere else to run. Though the thought of him wanting me unharmed seemed to be a rather unlikely hope, it was all the hope I had.

  After shooing Lynden and the demons out of sight, the captain dusted off my shoulders and said, “I am terribly sorry, mon cher. I am truly embarrassed by the barbaric ways of these rancid men.”

  Opening my mouth to curse the entire evening, my spout of rage was detoured by the fervent concern in his liquid blue eyes. Through the glow of the lantern behind me, I could see that his face was breathtakingly handsome. His features were sharp, his skin was tan, and his well-trimmed mustache flowed perfectly into his finely kept goatee. Glossy blonde curls hung from beneath his extravagant hat and the elegance of his plum colored coat and other regal accessories left him looking like royalty.

  The swarm of curse words that had filled my mind seemed to wash away in the grace of his presence. He was strangely enchanting.

  Taking me by the hand, he spoke with great concern, “Oh, mon cher, you look terrified. Did those terrible beasts hurt you?”

  “Yes, that bloody whelp Dirty Jim Flint attacked me, and I won’t even repeat what that fat hog Gordy tried to do. Lynden dragged me around by my hair and the rest of your gargoyles pinched and grabbed at me. So yes, everyone hurt me.”

  He chuckled to himself about me calling his men gargoyles before he assured, “Ma cherie, that is terrible. I shall have it handled at once.”

  The captain spotted Dirty Jim Flint in the crowd, yanked him by the arm and scolded him like a child, “How dare you try to harm my guest, you vile wretch. Do you not listen a bit, you ogre of a man?”

  With his face covered in blood, Dirty Jim Flint slurred through his dumbstruck drunkenness, “Wearing that garb has gotten the best o’ her. She thinks she be a right bloke crossing her irons about my sniffer. Brazen slut done broke my nose.”

  “Serves you right,” the captain said. “Maybe you can cry tears of blood while you receive your lashes.”

  Lynden was ordered to serve Dirty Jim Flint his punishment. My attacker cursed and wailed as the men tied him to the mast. When Lynden tore his shirt open I saw that his back was already scarred from a prior whipping. Before the horrific punishment began, the captain spoke sternly to his crew, “You mangy dogs will keep your filthy paws off of this woman. Let this be a lesson for any of you who think you should disregard my orders. Now sail this ship eastward. We have business to tend to. Hurry along.”

  Though I was mortified by the dreadful lashing, my eyes were for some reason glued to the sight of the whip tearing through the tied man’s back. Taking me by my hand, the captain said, “Come joli, you do not need to watch this.”

  Walking behind him, I heard the sound of the whip cracking in the air, then slashing through flesh. Dirty Jim Flint screamed with gut-wrenching horror. The mortifying echoes reverberated with a harrowing resonance that seemed to mock the fear welling in my hopeless soul.

  The fog was wafting through in patches and as Persuasion made her slow sail out of the harbor the mist cleared just enough for me to catch a glimpse of Wind of Glory sitting quietly in the west.

  Despair.

  She was so close, yet so impossibly far away.

  My heart was broken, my hope was lost, and my only option was to follow the handsome captain back to his quarters.

  Once we reached the door, the captain opened it and welcomed me in, “Please come in and sit down, Mademoiselle. I am sure you must be exhausted.”

  Awestruck by the sight of the room, I found myself looking around in wonder. Dark wood furnishings were all neatly arranged upon lavish rugs. Extravagant curtains hung over the glass veranda doors, and the canopy bed was well made with fine linens and colorful pillows. Most of the fabrics were a deep red color, but there were dazzling accents of gold and copper all about the room.

  Stunning pieces of art decorated the bulkheads, while obscure sculptures and intricate trinkets were secured on the tables and shelves. Shimmering glass pieces hung from the chandelier over the captain’s table, and I was entirely attracted to the way they reflected the candlelight and danced across the room as the ship swayed over the tide. But best of all, the centerpiece of this unexpected elegance was a beautifully polished harpsichord.

  Everything was fine and well cared for, like my father’s home, but there was a world traveled flare enticing me beyond the wealth of the scene. Closing my eyes, I rubbed my head wondering just how hard it had been hit. Reopening my eyes, I was still there in the seemingly mythical captain’s quarters.

  Reaching for my cuffed hands, the captain spun me around to look me over. He shook his head disapprovingly. As I also viewed myself, I realized what a disaster I was. I was splattered with blood, and my clothes were dirty and torn, but the worst part was the embarrassing mound of cleavage showing between the tattered fabrics of my bloodstained coat and shirt. Gasping in horror, I pulled myself together and cursed the way I often ended up with that nattering wardrobe flaw.

  Grabbing onto the collar of my coat, I pulled it closer to hide myself, but as I tucked my face into my shoulder, I realized the fabric smelled like Sterling. There was no sense taking shelter in the damning power of his aroma. With nowhere else to hide I felt completely translucent in my destitution.

  Chuckling at my childish attempt to hide from him, he warmly assured me, “It is quite all r
ight, amour. I will not hurt you. My name is Derouex, Derouex Baudin. I understand you must be terrified and I know the circumstances are far from ideal, but I do intend to keep you safe and comfortable while you are in my care. Please, tell me your name?”

  Hardly feeling worthy of either of the last names I had used in my lifetime, I introduced myself with a somber jab, “My name is Charlotte…Just Charlotte.” Aside from my aching shame, I tried to sound tough as I inquired, “Why am I in your care?”

  “Chance can be quite the charmer at times,” he alluded with a pleasant grin.

  From my introverted stance I asked, “What are you going to do with me?”

  “I shall start by insisting you change out of that hideous men’s attire and wash those vile bloodstains off of your pretty face. It is bad enough that you are so colored by the sun, I can hardly stand to see you marred with the vestige of such awful abuse.”

  He had one of his men deliver a wash basin steaming with warm water, and trusted me with a moment of freedom from my cuffs to wash up and change. It was strange to see that he had a chest of women’s clothing, but the allure of clean clothes was far more appealing than my worrisome curiosity.

  Derouex worked quietly on his maps while I changed and cleaned up behind the black and gold dressing room divider. I hadn’t washed with warm water since I’d left home, and the sensation on my skin was quite endearing. All the toiletries Derouex provided were fragrant. As the seemingly therapeutic water washed away the stench of dirt, tar, and blood, the pleasant scent of lavender flowed in to take its place.

  It was easy enough for me to wash my short hair in the basin, but combing through it afterwards showed no such simplicity. The nightgown I was granted was made of a fine silk that was a saucy shade of red. Even though the neckline was uncomfortably low for the circumstances, it was clean and it smelled good. Aside from the welts and bruises I had acquired from my escort, I felt like a new person.

  Before I walked out into the unknown, I looked at myself in the full-length mirror. There in the reflection stood an unfamiliar young lady. Yes, she appeared to be about my age, but there was an awkward mystique behind her hazel eyes. I couldn’t tell if she was brave or terrified, and it wasn’t clear if she was heartbroken or headstrong, but even in the pretty red gown, she looked beaten.