Page 123 of The Worst of Them

Copson boarded first, followed by Jack and Greyson, their weapons out and ready for battle on the chance that the passengers would take them by surprise or reject Copson’s terms of survival.

Cecily crossed with a group of twenty armed pirates who surrounded those on board. It was a smaller vessel, and the addition of Copson’s crew made the deck feel cramped.

She tried to keep herself from nervously tapping the naked blade of her knife against her thigh as she prowled to the far side of the ship. This was their third raid since leaving Tortuga, and usually she and Jack moved as a team, protecting each other’s flank as the deadliest pair on the Fortuna Royale, but she’d been especially ill at ease all morning—more so than usual—and sought a corner where she could watch everyone else without worry of anyone coming behind her.

Across the ship, Jack met her gaze. His brows creased, silently asking, Are you alright?

No amount of ignoring the gut feeling had made it abate, but she said nothing because she didn’t want to alarm anyone. Sailors were famously superstitious, and for good reason—Stede had warned her with all of his stories, and by now she knew well to listen to her gut.

But Jack could tell when she was bothered, and she gave a small nod to assure him it was nothing to worry about.

Hester stood near the back of the group, huddled among the pirates. Beyond her, Fiero stood a head taller than anyone else. Though he hadn’t threatened her again, Cecily had taken to noting his position regardless of time or place.

His gaze roved like he was looking for something. She gripped her knife tighter as she stepped a few inches to the left, placing herself behind several passengers to hide from Fiero’s view.

“We don’t want any fight with you,” the other captain said to Copson, trembling as he faced the legendary pirate. “We only desire safe passage.”

Copson considered the man and his crew. Beside him, Jack did the same, his watchful gaze taking in everything.

“I’m a reasonable man,” Copson finally said. “What will you offer me to let you go in peace?”

The other captain’s throat bobbed. “What we can give to satisfy you while leaving these good people enough to build lives in the New World?”

Cecily studied the passengers. While the previous raids had come with some kind of military presence or guards, the people here were not merchants or sailors. They were civilians, families who clung to one another in fear.

If Copson refused to spare them, he was truly heartless. Unfortunately, Cecily didn’t know him well enough yet to say for sure what he would do, for evidence of his heart was rare and unreliable at best.

As far as their relationship went, he’d hardly spoken to her unless it was to address her as one of his crew—no better or worse than anyone else beneath him. It drove Jack mad to the point of imploring his father to relent, to no avail. But if Copson could be generous to these people, she’d take it as a sign that he wasn’t always a complete ass.

Copson adjusted his grip on his sword, purposefully drawing attention to it as a silent threat. “What do you have?”

Cecily kept tapping her blade, watching and waiting. Something still felt wrong, but she didn’t know where or how or why⁠—

Jack met her gaze again. His jaw tightened, this time seeming to ask, What’s wrong?

She shook her head once, moving her attention to the silent passengers who traded glances as they waited for someone to offer their wealth. Her knife tapped faster.

Then a woman parted from the gathered civilians, removing the hood of her cloak to reveal a pretty, middle-aged face and a long, black braid shot through with strands of gray. Her eyes were kind but wise in a way that spoke to a lifetime of both happiness and pain.

“Madam,” said the other captain. “You don’t have to⁠—”

She set her hand on his arm with a smile. “It’s alright,” she said, then she turned to Copson. Not one bit of that kindness left her eyes as she told him firmly, “Grant us safe passage and I can assure you the favor of the sea.”

Copson tilted his head. “Who are you to grant such a thing?”

She kept her smile as she answered, “Ann Lovibond.”

Many of the crew caught their breath. Some crossed themselves, but even with their muttered blessings, the air grew heavier.

Cecily wracked her brain as to why the name sounded so familiar, and if it was any reason to reach for her sword.

Copson smiled—and then sheathed his cutlass. Jack shoved his gun in its holster, and since it was no small gesture for the captain and his first mate to put away their weapons. The pirates did the same, stowing their guns and swords to leave their hands free. Cecily did not.

And then Copson bowed to the woman. “An honor, my lady.”

Ann looked pleased. “You’ve heard of me?”

The pirate was still smiling when he straightened, but his friendly expression was stiff. “I met Jonah before he made his deal with Davy Jones.”