Squall Line (The Inland Seas Series Book 1)

by Gwyn McNamee

  Warwick.

  The relief that floods my system at seeing him makes acid rise up my throat. I shouldn’t be happy to see him. I should be thinking of a way to use this blackout to my advantage.

  Maybe I can get away…

  Shove him down the stairs? Run?

  To where, Grace?

  I have no idea where I am or what, if anything, is around us. We could be miles and miles from any semblance of civilization, and in fact, I’m pretty confident that’s exactly the situation. Warwick is smart enough to know to keep from being caught, he needs a base of operations far away from prying eyes. Which means, even if I got away without Warwick or the Hulk catching me, I would likely just end up wandering in the middle of nowhere during a violent storm.

  Staying may be the lesser of two evils.

  Warwick steps into the room. “We lost power. It’ll take a little while to get the generator up. But we have plenty of flashlights. Just sit tight.”

  “Like I have a choice.”

  I release a deep, shaky breath and nod, but instead of turning around and returning the way he came, he just stands there watching me, his dark eyes reflecting the bright light from the flashlight still trained in front of me.

  He scrubs a hand over his face. “Shit. I just realize what time it is. You must be starving.”

  Now that he mentions it, my stomach rumbles in complaint, and I lay my palm flat against it. The disorienting lack of a clock in here made me forget how long it’s been since I last ate.

  How can I have any appetite in this situation?

  But somehow, I do. And I need to eat to keep my strength up in case I do need to make a break for it.

  I shrug and offer him a tentative half-smile. “I could eat.”

  He motions with his hand for me to follow him out of the room. I’m not sure what I expected to find outside his quarters—a pirate hangout with a bar and serving wenches, maybe—but when I step out, I’m at the top of the large metal staircase overlooking a vast expanse of darkness spread out below us.

  Three or four bright spots of light illuminate scattered places around what appears to be a warehouse. The various flashlights and lanterns set up barely touch the space, though.

  Curses come from a far dark corner, and the faint outline of a figure is visible, bent over something. It must be the generator.

  Warwick descends the steps slowly, keeping the light trained backward so I can see my way. I’m sure he knows this place like the back of his hand, but I might as well be blind.

  A litany of screaming and more cursing echoes up to me while I descend, and I pause. “Do you need to go help the Hulk?”

  Warwick stops on the second to last step and looks at me over his shoulder. A tiny grin pulls at the corner of his lips. “He’s a big boy. He can handle it. I wouldn’t call him that to his face, though.”

  The tiny flash of amusement again tells me Warwick is very human. That’s not something I want to be reminded of. I want to be able to hate him. I want to be able to be raging angry. I want to demand to be let go again, but I can’t push him or try to escape. Not yet. Not until I know more. Like where the hell we are.

  When my feet hit the concrete floor, they echo through the space. “What is this place?”

  My limited view of the things immediately in the beam of Warwick’s light or lit by the handful of other places doesn’t help much, but it feels very industrial.

  He doesn’t look back this time. “Anyone ever tell you that you ask a lot of questions?”

  I bite my bottom lip and wring my hands. The ache in my gut moves from hunger to something totally different. He doesn’t know it, but it couldn’t be more of a sore spot for me. “Yes.”

  The man doesn’t respond, just stalks ahead into the darkness with the flashlight as our only guide. We approach an open door, and he finally turns back to look at me with one raised dark eyebrow. “Anyone ever tell you it’s going to get you into a lot of trouble someday?”

  I scowl at him. “Yeah, I’ve been told that once or twice.”

  Or a million times.

  By Mom and sometimes Dad. By Leo. By friends. By teachers. By the handful of boyfriends I ever had.

  “Ever think of taking that advice?”

  Asshole.

  This time, I don’t answer. I just scowl harder at his back as he disappears into the dark room.

  A scurrying sound comes from down a dark hallway to my right, and something short, fat, and furry rubs against my leg.

  They have a dog?

  I bend down and rub my hand over the head of a very large bulldog. “Hey, buddy.”

  “You coming?” Warwick’s question floats out the door to me.

  I rise to my feet, and the dog and I follow him into what can only be described as a sparse industrial-like kitchen.

  A long, low stainless-steel prep table dominates the center of the room. Various cooking implements glint in the beam of the flashlight as he moves toward a cabinet along the wall.

  A giant stove occupies the corner next to a large fridge. The place is pristine.

  Someone is anal about cleanliness…or they never cook.

  Warwick grabs something from what must be a pantry, then stops at a row of cabinets to grab two bowls. He sets them on the counter next to the fridge and grabs a carton of milk. After retrieving two spoons and dropping them into the bowls, he gathers everything up and sets it down on the metal table between us.

  “Who is this?” I point down to the dog.

  He glances down. “Milo.”

  My eyes drift to the box.

  You’ve got to be kidding me…

  A chuckle I can’t hold back builds and bursts forth out into the room. He jerks and looks up at me.

  I brush away the tears forming. “I’m sorry. It’s just…”

  He raises an eyebrow. “Well?”

  I finally regain my breath. “Well, it’s Cap'n Crunch.”

  My laughter echoes off all the metal in the room and rings in my ears. I take a couple deep breaths and try my damnedest to get my shit together.

  The man who probably hasn’t ever laughed a day in his life eyes me for a moment then shrugs. “Yeah, so?”

  Oh, come on!

  “You don’t see the humor in that, considering the situation?”

  Warwick lifts the box up and examines it before his eyes return to mine. “Not really.”

  He’s lying.

  He thinks it’s funny, too. He’s just too hardheaded and assholey to admit it.

  The two of us, captains of our respective ships, our respective crews. One of us kidnapper. One of us kidnapped. Sharing a bowl of Cap'n Crunch during a storm.

  You can’t make this shit up.

  He grabs the box, rips open the top, and pours us each a bowl before filling both with milk. Apparently, he intends to continue with the ruse that I’m not funny.

  Whatever.

  I grab my bowl, and he digs into his with gusto while I tentatively take my first bite. It’s probably been a decade since I’ve had Cap'n Crunch. Maybe longer. I honestly can’t remember the last time.

  Damn, is it good…

  Warwick’s dark eyes roam over me, sending goose bumps and chills skittering across my skin and starting a low, fluttering burn in my belly.

  I don’t like it. But it’s there all the same.

  It doesn’t matter how angry I try to be…the man just has a way about him. Something that tells me he isn’t at all what he seems. Something that prevents me from trying to run, aside from not knowing where we are or how to get home…

  There’s more there. More to know. A truth lingering beneath the surface he tries so damn hard to hide. Maybe the tattoos are designed to distract from people really seeing him. But it won’t work on me.

  I struggle down three more bites and set down my half-eaten bowl. With a deep breath, I summon all my courage.

  I have to know.

  “What’s a guy like you doing with a library like that upstairs?”<
br />
  His spoon stills halfway to his mouth. Instead of eating it, he lets it fall into his almost-empty bowl and then sets it on the counter. His clamped jaw tics. His eyes darken to an almost black.

  “A guy like me? A guy who takes hostages and robs innocent people? Is that what you mean? A guy like me, who’s supposed to rape and pillage his life away. A guy like me, who has the IQ of a goldfish and isn’t supposed to do anything else but cause misery?”

  Oh shit.

  Maybe that was the wrong way to phrase the question or maybe I shouldn’t have asked it at all. God knows he gave me a warning to keep my mouth shut, and I didn’t listen.

  But now I need to explain. I can’t let the man who holds my life in his hands believe I think so little of him. That feels dangerous in the same way being close to him does. Hostages should respect the authority of their captors if they don’t want to end up hurt, or worse. I haven’t done that at all.

  “Look, I didn’t mean—”

  He slams his fists down on the counter. “I don’t give a flying fuck what you meant. It was a mistake to leave you up there. Stay out of my stuff. Stop asking questions. Or there will be consequences.”

  7

  War

  Before she has a chance to respond and ask any more infuriating questions, I stalk past her and Milo, out across the warehouse floor, past a stunned Rion, and shove out the side door.

  The cool, driving rain pelts my skin.

  Good. Let it.

  I rush into the storm and stride toward the beach and the lighthouse in the distance.

  Who the hell does she think she is?

  If she knew what was good for her, she would keep her mouth shut. She’s been warned over and over again. I don’t need her reminding me of what a shit storm I’ve created, or that we are in very real danger from the goddamn Marconis. And I especially don’t need her reminding me of who and what I really am.

  I’m soaked almost instantly, the chilly drops stinging every inch of my exposed skin, but I don’t care. It helps quell the rage roaring through my body.

  Her.

  The situation.

  All of it.

  It’s just too much.

  How the fuck did this happen?

  I failed. It’s that simple.

  “Warwick!” Her soft voice floats through the air, and even over the sound of the thunder and raging storm, it makes me pause.

  I stop and turn back.

  Why the hell did she follow me? Can’t she see how fucking pissed off I am?

  Rion should have stopped her. Told her it was a bad idea to go after me, to go out in this storm.

  It’s like this woman has no idea what’s good for her. And maybe I don’t either because now she’s standing here in the pouring rain, her red hair wet and plastered to the sides of her face and down over her shoulders already, and, Christ…

  She’s beautiful.

  She’s exactly the type of woman I would be chasing right now were things different, but instead, she’s chasing me when all I want is to be alone.

  “What the hell are you doing? Go back inside. I can’t believe Rion even let you out here.”

  My words carry across the distance between us, and a bolt of lightning tears through the sky, further illuminating her enticing form.

  She stops and crosses her arms over her chest, which only accentuates the soaking wet fabric clinging to her breasts.

  “Oh, your brute in there tried to stop me, but I told him to fuck off and slipped out of his hands and out the door. He started to come after me but I think he thought better of it.”

  What the hell?

  That’s so unlike Rion. He wouldn’t have just let her go. She wouldn’t have, couldn’t have, slipped from his grip. It had to have been intentional. Why, is another question. He probably didn’t want to have to deal with her and knew she wasn’t going anywhere—there’s nothing around for miles and miles and miles—and he knew there was no way I would let her get far.

  I’ll deal with that fucker later. Right now, my only concern is why this girl followed me out here in the storm.

  “You come out here to question me some more? To sling more insults?”

  She sighs and wraps her arms around herself to fight the cold wind. It tugs at her wet clothing and tries desperately to lift her soaked hair. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be nosy. It’s just in my nature, and I don’t really understand what’s going on here. I feel like if I did, we might be in a very different situation. Maybe I wouldn’t be so scared, so unsure.”

  I wipe the water from my face only to have it instantly wet again. Thunder rolls all around us, and she trembles.

  “This is neither the time nor the place to have any sort of conversation. And even in another place, even inside, what makes you think I would tell you anything?” My fists clench at my sides, and I grit my teeth together, trying to temper my desire to scream at her. “The more you know, the worse danger we are in. Do you not understand that?”

  The frustration burns through me, making me take a step back. I can’t be close to her. Not when I’m this angry. That never ends well for the person on the other side of my rage. And while I’ve never hit a woman, and wouldn’t, I might do something else very stupid.

  She closes the distance between us before I can scramble away and lowers her voice since she no longer has to shout over the storm. “I saw your books, Warwick. I saw the notes from your mother. I’ve heard the way you talk. You—”

  “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stop talking.”

  “No, I won’t. You aren’t some uneducated thug. I can’t believe that somebody like you is doing something like this for no reason. I feel like you’re…” Her head shakes from side to side, and she raises her hands, searching for her words.

  A fraud?

  It’s certainly how I feel lately.

  What kind of fucking captain am I when I get my guys into shit like this?

  But I know that’s not what she means. I can see it in her eyes, the way she looked at me when she mentioned the books and Mom’s notes. She thinks they mean something…far more than the truth.

  “Like I’m what? Really a good guy underneath? Not the type of person who would do something like this?” I huff out a deep sigh and narrow my eyes at her. “I’m not a good guy, Grace. So, get that out of your head right now. I’m exactly what you see. And if you paid attention to the notes my mom left me, you would’ve seen that.”

  The neatly scrawled words I’ve re-read a thousand times since she died fill my head. Mom always had a way with words, and an uncanny ability to read me as well as any book. She saw my struggles, what was happening that I tried so damn hard to bury deep inside. The things that eventually broke free with disastrous results.

  I can’t even remember the number of fights I was in…the number of people I hurt. The number of times I put that look of disappointment on her face before she died.

  Men like me don’t deserve to be looked at this way by women like Grace. I fucking kidnapped her, yet she’s staring up at me like I’m something to be saved.

  That can’t be further from the truth.

  Lightning splits the sky, illuminating her green eyes. Her bottom lip quivers. “I don’t believe you’re a bad guy. I want to. I should, with everything that’s happened, but I just…don’t.”

  Idiot.

  I shake my head. “I don’t know if I’m disgusted by your naïvety or if I feel sorry for you.”

  Rain continues to drive down on us, but the cold barely touches me. Even across the foot of space between us, her heat radiates. She steps forward and looks up at me, and her emerald eyes ask a million questions I’m sure her lips are wanting to voice. But she doesn’t speak; she just watches me, searches my eyes, like she can somehow see the depths of my soul and determine whether her assessment about me is correct.

  This. Right now. It’s more dangerous than anything Arturo or Il Padrone could do.

  “You need to go back inside a
nd leave it alone, Grace. Leave me alone. You’re not going to like how this ends.”

  “How what ends, Warwick?” Another tiny step has her breasts almost brushing against my chest, where my heart is about ready to beat straight out through my ribs. “Are you going to hurt me? Kill me?”

  “Fuck!” I whirl away from her to stand at the water’s edge. The waves churn up and slam against the rocky shore, echoing the turmoil swirling inside me.

  This situation has gone from bad to so fucking bad so quickly, it’s giving me whiplash. Taking a damn hostage is bad enough, dragging someone innocent into the life and death game with the Marconis. Now, is she really forcing me to do something I can never take back?

  Could I kill her if I had to?

  Yesterday, before I climbed onto that ship, I might’ve said yes. I might’ve believed I had it in me to kill somebody if I really needed to, in order to protect myself and the guys. I’ve done some other bad shit and come damn close to taking someone’s life without even thinking about it. When the situation calls for violence, it’s not something I’ve ever balked at. And there’s no doubt Rion, Cutter, and Elijah, even Preacher, will do anything needed. It’s one of the reasons I brought them on to my crew. I needed men who didn’t worry about shit like what’s legal, or what’s right. Men who would help me keep Dad’s business going and pay back the debt I owed to Il Padrone. Men who would always have my back and my complete trust, no matter what I asked them to do.

  But Grace? She’s something else altogether, and I’m not sure what that is, but it has me second-guessing my ability to pull the trigger if it were truly necessary.

  The woman might be tiny, but she has a strength and a passion that belies her size. It’s as infatuating as it is infuriating.

  I sense her moving behind me and turn before she can close the distance.

  “Go inside and stay there.”

  She shakes her head. “What are you going to do if I don’t?”

  Well, shit.

  That’s a good question. I guess she’s calling my bluff.

  “You don’t want to push me, Grace. You won’t like what you see.”

  If she were a man, she’d be laid out on the ground right now, with impressions of my fist all over her face. But one thing I could never do, never in a million years, is harm a woman intentionally. She knows it even though she doesn’t know me.