Page 32 of The Worst of Them

Cecily narrowed her eyes. “That’s what Jack called me.”

“Jack didn’t say it only to you.”

She glanced at the captain’s son on the quarterdeck and didn’t feel satisfied that the cut on his face went deep enough. Giving her Susan’s work, talking to Morgyn, calling her prickly behind her back.

It wasn’t any worse than what she was doing, but she hated him more for it anyway.

“Fine,” Cecily said. “I’ll…try.”

And though it was a lie, it seemed good enough for Hester.

8

THE LOWEST RISE

An hour later, Cecily still broiled with indignation as she mended the edge of what was beginning to feel like a never-ending sail.

The needle stabbed through the canvas, glinting in the midday sun and keeping pace with her spinning thoughts that spiraled from Hester and kindness back to how utterly close she’d come to spitting out her deepest shame.

In that moment she’d been so sure that there was power in revealing herself as the monster she’d been accused of being. The women on this ship had all fought for their lives in different ways, but only Cecily had gone further and done worse. Only Cecily had faced death and welcomed it. And Cecily, of all of them, had the least to lose because she knew what it was to despise her own life.

It had to count for something.

In that, she wasn’t so afraid of Morgyn torturing her with it. In fact…now she might want Morgyn to know, and she could purposefully and loudly acknowledge her shattered soul for just a little while.

What was a week or so in the face of a lifetime?

Cecily rested her hands in her lap and tipped her head back against the mast. Closing her eyes, she faced her little home. The version of herself who lived here was good and right, locked away in a fantasy she would do anything to protect. Maybe a temporary betrayal of her broken heart would be worth it for solace and respect—just until she got herself to somewhere better.

With a deep sigh, she opened her eyes to sea and sunlight. A cool spring breeze kissed her cheeks, and she had just settled into acceptance when a bell began shrilling.

The crew burst into motion so suddenly that Cecily dropped her sewing and pitched herself off the crate, instinctively reaching for her shiv before remembering, yet again, it wasn’t there. Scowling she whipped her head around to see what had made everyone so frantic as they retrieved weapons and shouted to one another.

The Fortuna Royale quickly approached another ship, their sails billowing as they tried to flee. It was useless to run from Copson, and they likely knew it. And Cecily—she’d signed away her service to this infamous pirate and agreed to everything that came with it. Even…

A sword. She’d get to hold a sword again, and despite what she’d be expected to do with it—kill and steal, which she saw no way out of—she was eager for the familiarity a blade would bring, and looked around the deck as though one might appear there, waiting for her.

The bell kept ringing, and Copson shouted orders. As gunners descended to their cannons, Jack emerged from the lower decks.

Though she hadn’t seen him leave the quarterdeck earlier, she noticed him now solely for how differently he moved from the rest of the crew—with calm confidence rather than excited frenzy, like a shark through a school of fish.

When he broke through the crush of sailors, her lips parted.

He’d removed his coat, revealing his muscular body strapped with weapons. Three daggers were belted to his thigh, their handguards flashing in the sun, and a sword hung from his hip. More knives were hidden in his vest, the small metal hilts glinting along his ribs.

Her heart sputtered, her cheeks warmed, and her breath came as a small pant as heat curled low in her belly.

She tore her eyes away, flushed and utterly horrified. He was a criminal, she reminded herself. A nightmare, her jailer, and terrible—terribly handsome⁠—

A quiet swear tore from her. It was lack of sleep that made her this way, coupled with the sight of all those knives and⁠—

“Awful lot of curses today. Not very pious of you.”

She didn’t lift her gaze as Jack came to stand in front of her, which left her staring at the daggers strapped to his thigh. It did nothing to help her flush.

“We’re raiding a merchant ship,” he said. “You’ll stay here until we’re ready to move loot.”

Her head jerked up. “What? Why?”