Page 13 of The Worst of Them

Copson was a terrifying force behind her, but he spoke conversationally, which made it all the worse. “You cut my first mate and turned a sword on me, which puts me in a rather foul mood. I understand this all might be rather overwhelming, but try it again, and I will put very little thought into killing you. I am not merciful, and neither is my son.”

Jack’s lips twisted into a wicked smile as understanding dawned on her. The cruelest, most bloodthirsty pirate in the world had a son. She saw their similarities now, from their features to their height. And if Jack’s expression promised anything, he was as bad as his father, if not worse.

She was used to worse.

“Never knew any mercy,” she ground out. “There is none for devils—none from them either.”

Copson hooked his foot around her ankle and knocked her leg out from under her, releasing his hold at the same time. She crashed to the deck, her palms stinging as they connected with the rough wooden boards.

The captain leaned over her, his stormy eyes glittering. “At least you know what to expect.”

All around, prisoners and crew had stopped to watch. Among them, Morgyn smirked.

Copson continued, “Be as angry and pettish as you like, Miss Shoard, but I won’t have you causing chaos on my ship. I’ve been kind by rescuing you from that godforsaken boat, and you’ll be grateful or I’ll make you wish you were dead.”

She glared through strands of short, tangled hair that had fallen into her face, but this time she managed to hold her tongue. This was a new kind of devil, not like those who had thrown her in prison or the ones she’d found when she got there. Copson had a measure of mercy, however small it may be, but fighting wouldn’t help her survive. Only silence would.

The roaring in her icy veins quieted a little. She was tired of fighting, and without a sword, she had no hope while she was so thin, bony, and tired. Though she was as impulsive as they came, she could keep her mouth shut if she tried.

“Seems we have an understanding.” Copson turned to his son. There was judgment in the his gaze, and Jack challenged it with a scowl. “How’d she cut you, Jack?”

Jack’s eyes flicked to the tiny knife near his feet. “A shiv.”

“No, how did you let her get close enough to cut you?”

Jack’s jaw clenched. When he offered no excuse, Copson said, “You’re better than that.” He glanced at Cecily as though she were no more than a barnacle. “A good lesson, I suppose. Don’t let it happen again.”

Cecily smirked. At least she’d had victory in this one small thing.

Jack’s flinty gaze sliced toward her. Seeing her smile, his hands clenched into fists.

“She’ll be your responsibility,” Copson said, and Jack’s attention snapped back to his father. Cecily’s smile vanished.

“My responsibility?” Jack demanded.

His responsibility? she would have said if she were willing to challenge the deadly captain. But Jack was doing that just fine on his own.

“I’ll not have her running free on my ship until I can trust she won’t try to kill us all in our sleep,” the captain said evenly.

“Kill her. It’s no matter to me.”

Cecily opened her mouth to retort, but Copson spoke over her. “We need crew, not corpses. Besides, she hasn’t done anything drastic.”

“She would’ve killed you,” Jack argued. “The articles⁠—”

“She doesn’t know the articles. If she breaks them again, then we’ll kill her. For now, we show the others what happens when they cross a Copson, never mind two.” The captain turned on her. “There are laws on this ship, and you’ll do well to learn them. Jack will show you.”

Jack barked a laugh. “Captain⁠—”

“She’s only a girl,” Copson said, eyeing the cut on his son’s cheek. Cecily understood the insult—both to her and Jack—and nearly scoffed. “Don’t get caught unaware again. And don’t let her too far out of your sight. Occupy her with something menial.” He studied Cecily’s dripping clothes and hair. “Put her in the ashes.”

He began to walk away, but then paused to add, “And don’t let her near anything sharp.”

Her stomach turned, but there was no space to argue as Copson called orders to the crew. Not that she would have. Jack didn’t, so she knew it was best to keep her mouth shut.

Nothing sharp—she’d be damned if she couldn’t have a knife. If she could hide one while being held prisoner, she could do the same now.

As the crew dispersed, she thrust out her hand for her shiv, but Jack batted her fingers away and snatched the bone, grumbling, “Like hell, wench.”