Page 34 of The Worst of Them

If he didn’t kill her for touching him, she’d flirt with him and see if she might worm her way into his good graces enough to snag one of those knives off him.

He stared down at her, unblinking. So near to his direct gaze, her blush came easily.

“What,” he snapped, but if she wasn’t mistaken, his breath hitched slightly, and the faintest shade of pink spread over the smooth planes of his hard expression.

Interesting.

She didn’t hate this. And she hated that she didn’t hate this, but it would certainly make things easier. Her pulse spiked as she drew closer and asked softly, “Do you want me, Jack?”

His eyes widened, and then his lips curled into a slow, dangerous grin. In the same whisper, he replied, “Oh, Cecily…if only I could trust you with anything but gutting fish and sewing sails.” He leaned in, close enough for her to feel the heat radiating from his body and smell his clean, briny scent. When he spoke, his breath brushed her cheek. “Though probably not even then.”

She released her hold and matched his smile, even as her insides shivered with something not entirely unpleasant. “Worth a try.”

“Is this because of what I said?” He stepped away, toward where the rest of the crew waited by the rail. “If you want a weapon, give me any reason to trust you with one.”

She folded her arms. “Offer’s open,” she said, attempting her best impression of Morgyn. Disgust coiled in her gut. “In case you change your mind.”

He turned, walking backward. The pinkness had faded from his cheeks. “Who’s manipulating now? I’m no fool.”

She raised one eyebrow like Hester did when she was being lewd. “I could make you into one.”

Rolling his eyes, Jack turned his back on her. Her smile immediately fell into a grimace. She’d never really flirted before, even with Oliver, and she didn’t imagine she was particularly skilled. After all, her only examples were the other prisoners, and this was how they did it.

But there had to be a less obvious method. Jack didn’t seem like the type to be interested in simpering or overtly insistent women. She was neither, which might have been in her favor were it not for the matter of their mutual dislike.

She sank back onto her crate with a groan.

Decks below, cannons began discharging so violently that the Fortuna Royale shivered with the force of it. The merchant shot back, but it was futile with only ten guns compared to Copson’s forty.

It didn’t take long to catch them. As the Fortuna Royale came alongside the merchant ship, pikes exploded from the pirate ship’s hull. Copson’s crew shoved gangplanks into place, rushing across and swinging in on ropes. Swords flashed, guns blazed, and cannons continued blasting.

A few of the few pirates who remained on Copson’s ship lingered on the deck to watch. One of them was missing an arm, another had an eye patch. Two were dreadfully old, and others were women who shuffled their feet and flinched every time a gun went off.

Beyond them, former prisoners clumsily waved their weapons, bolstered by freedom and eager to prove themselves worthy of it. Cecily’s lip curled as they cut a few men by sheer luck, but there was a sad lack of decorum. No skill. No style. Nothing remotely impressive.

Copson’s crew, however, fought like they were dancing.

Her attention drew to Jack, which ceased to surprise her by now. The man was a beacon with his easy grace and commanding presence. He prowled between sailors, daggers flashing from his hands to sink into necks, his sword swinging in graceful arcs. It was so beautiful that she was almost tempted to set aside how much she disliked him and find contentment in analyzing the perfection of his movements.

But she wouldn’t risk the generosity. Even as busy as he was at the moment, he’d surely know she was watching and mock her for it later.

Meanwhile, his father cut a path to the merchant ship’s captain. When he reached the man, Copson disarmed him and gripped the front of his coat in one fist. She couldn’t hear what was said, but the other captain snarled a few words and shook his head.

In response, Copson ran him through with his cutlass.

She supposed the man had told the pirate that surrender was out of the question.

After everything aboard the Sparrow, Jack had said they would have recruited the guards if they hadn’t tried to fight. She assumed Copson had just offered the same, and now there was nothing to be done for the souls on that ship.

Cecily slid off the crate, counting the men dressed in armor. There were more than just the couple Jack had assumed would be there. For how well Copson’s original crew fought, their newest members were little more than a detriment, and the merchant guards seemed to realize this.

Her fingers twitched as more guards burst from a lower deck, weapons drawn.

And there, in the middle of the deck, Hester fought alone—directly in the guards’ path.

Ice spread through her veins as her friend grappled with a much taller man, exposed on every side. Even from far away, she could see Hester’s confidence waning, her cleavers no match for a sword. The butcher girl panted, searching for help, but Greyson was near the stern, burying an ax in a man’s back.

“Hester,” Cecily gasped as the guard stepped closer to Hester. He lifted his sword, and even if she could block in time, she’d crumple under his attack⁠—