Page 56 of The Worst of Them

He was a thief. A filthy, rotten pirate. Because even after he yelled at her and looked at her with so much loathing, she could still look into his eyes and want him. She had grown to like him far more than she realized after seeing the beating heart behind his callousness.

She wished it were not so, so she lied again, hoping that saying the words would make them true this time.

“I hate you,” she hissed. Tears pressed against the backs of her eyes, and she knew she was doomed.

Jack stepped back, his cruel face even sharper in the shadows. She waited for him to say something, to deliver the cutting words she was sure he would savor. She wanted them, wanted him to declare he had only ever despised her and that she was right to hate him.

The words never came.

Though his eyes burned with contempt, he walked away, heading for the road through the break in the trees, his knives glinting dully in the low light. All of them were accounted for, as far as she could see. And though he’d just threatened her, his hands were now empty.

14

THE FOUR

Cecily hadn’t cried in a long time, and she wasn’t about to start now.

She lingered in the woods after Jack left, staring at the inn’s back door as she grappled with all they’d said.

The tears threatened to fall in a way they hadn’t since she was in Northgate over six months ago. She wanted to let them, but she didn’t dare with Jack so close.

Voices burst from the other side of the inn. “Jack!”

She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes. With a deep breath and a quick exhale, she pulled her frosty composure into place, locking her emotions into what was left of her heart—though they surely wouldn’t stay that way for long. Then she started down the path behind Jack’s retreating figure.

“Where are ya, Copson, ya slippery bastard?” a man called.

Jack rounded the side of the inn, and a holler went up with the sound of slapped backs and raucous laughter.

“About time!” the man said. “We’ve been waiting for you to creep in.”

“Rough winter, Frederick,” came Jack’s steady voice, carrying none of the malice from moments ago. “Else we might’ve been here sooner.”

“So Greyson said!” Frederick’s voice lowered. “What a girl he’s got. Terrifying smile, that one.”

Cecily reached the front of the inn and lingered at the corner. Jack stood in the street with a short, square-faced man with long dark hair he’d tied at the nape of his neck. He was built like an ox, and the moment she appeared, his eyes, silver as coins, landed on her. His brows rose, but as he started to speak, the door opened to release another man into the street.

“Copson,” said this second man in a thin, gravelly voice that sounded as though he’d been screaming. He was tall and willowy, handsome even though his hair struggled to conceal his scalp. “About time.”

“Killian,” Jack said, clapping him on the shoulder with a generous smile that made Cecily’s stomach bottom out. That smile felt like sunlight, and she’d basked in it these past days. Now she’d be relegated to seeing him give it to everyone else.

The door opened again, and four more poured out—Greyson, Hester, and two young women who were opposites in nearly every way. One was short with dark features, and she’d tied a red scarf over her shoulder-length black hair. Her arms were corded with muscle, and she wore a snarky smirk that promised fun, though Cecily couldn’t tell what kind.

Beside her was the strangest woman Cecily had ever seen—tall and uncommonly pale with a shock of long, white hair that seemed to float on the air. Upon seeing Jack, she broke into an effortless grin, but then her smoke-gray eyes widened in horror. She gasped and hurried forward to take his face in her hands.

“Jaaaack,” she breathed. “What happened?” She ran her finger along the scar on his cheek. “Noooo, not your face. It’s my favorite thing about you.”

Jack smirked. “You’ll be pleased to know I did my best to avoid it, Fay.”

“I suppose that’s all I can ask,” she said airily. Then she leaned in and kissed Jack square on the mouth.

Even though it was a short kiss—really more of a peck—something boiled violently in Cecily’s core.

She’d never make it out of Tortuga alive. Either Jack would kill her or some higher power would when she burned this island to the ground with herself in the very heart of it.

Fay gave him a single pat on the cheek. “Welcome home,” she said, then traipsed to Killian’s side. She hadn’t been gone for an entire three seconds before the other woman greeted Jack with the same kiss.

“Maria,” Jack said. “You look lovely as ever.”