Page 6 of The Worst of Them

She opened her mouth to cut Morgyn with words that were sharper, louder, and more heinous than the snide jibes she so often weathered. But then came Hester’s quiet plea: “Cecily.”

Cecily hesitated for only a moment. Then she released Morgyn and shoved, sending her careening into the bars on the opposite side of her cell.

“Perhaps not today,” Cecily said. “I fear I’d lose control, and it’d be over far too quickly.” Flipping the bone through her fingers, she looped her arms through the iron bars as though she might pass right through. She flashed a wicked smile. “I’d rather take the time to see you gutted properly. I want to hear you choke on your blood for a good long time.”

Morgyn glared up at her from the floor, one hand covering the cut on her neck as she growled, “Monstrous bitch.”

Cecily merely winked, picked up her manacles, and returned to her spot on the floor as quiet mutters drifted through the brig.

Nestling into the shadows where no one would look at her, she pressed her hands to her chest, feeling for her heart. Somehow it was still there, still alive, though aching, hollow, and frozen through.

Hester slid closer and reached through the bars to place her hand on the splintered floorboards. She was too far away to touch, but the intent was the same.

Cecily stared into her sad eyes, trying to convey without words that she was sorry. But while Hester was a peacekeeper, Cecily couldn’t conduct herself with the same care. She only regretted disrupting Hester’s peace, but no one else’s.

“Life will be good,” Hester whispered, her voice so low that the words were just a movement of her lips. She said it often enough that there was no point in arguing. Life was exactly as it was going to be, and Cecily didn’t hope for anything better because hope only made her a fool.

This was what she was told she deserved, and she’d learned to expect nothing more.

Afternoon light burned toward evening outside. With the manacles hanging around her wrists, their open seams secured against her belly, she shoved her boot against the cell door, which swung in rather than out. It hadn’t opened in the weeks they’d been on board, but she didn’t trust that wouldn’t change tonight—or any night. Palming her shiv, she let her eyes slip shut, her head lolling against the grimy boards behind her.

Monstrous bitch.

The words nestled beneath Cecily’s skin, ugly, barbed, and true, where they tangled with visceral memories of blood and fire that could easily trick her into thinking she was back at the only night she’d ever spent in a brothel. She felt the cool press of glass in her palm, heard it shatter right along with her heart and soul, but it wasn’t real. It was never real.

She fled from the memories, ignoring the women’s whispers and the rocking ship as she returned to the little home in her head where all was happy and right, and she did not have to be a monster.

The footman raised his hand in greeting. She’d nearly mounted the front steps when her world exploded with cannon fire.

2

VIOLENT: DO NOT ENGAGE

Wood cracked and burst from the higher decks, shards raining down the steps with the crew’s shouts and pained cries. A distant explosion sent the ship shuddering.

“Pirates!” shouted a voice from above, followed by a scream. “It’s Captain Copson!”

Some of the women whimpered, several began crying, but they all kept quiet, save for the rattles and clinks of their chains as they tried to hide deeper in the growing shadows.

Cecily only gripped her shiv tighter.

Everyone knew who Captain Copson was. She had first heard of the infamous pirate ten years ago during one of her many visits to Baron Stinton’s estate with her father, when the baron happened to have left out a newspaper with Copson’s name printed in large letters across the front. At the sight of it, he’d scowled and said the man was “simply dreadful” and that he’d “love to run this sword right through him,” while brandishing the exquisite weapon her father had made for him. Cecily had laughed because Baron Stinton was famously kind, and she couldn’t have imagined anyone in her life wishing death upon another.

“Copson was famous even when I was a boy,” her father had told her afterward. “He must be very old indeed, and either very evil or very clever to live as long as he has.” Then he’d smiled. “He would surely be a sight to behold with a sword.”

For her father to say that was significant, as his expertise was better than most.

Naturally, after learning of Captain Copson, Cecily heard about him everywhere to such a degree that she was surprised she’d never known his name before. Many admired that he hadn’t been caught by the authorities after reigning the seas for several decades. Others said he was terrifying and cruel, known to slaughter entire crews and sink their ships if only to prove he was a king among pirates—and after all this, he refused to die until he reclaimed the treasure stolen from him nearly seventy years ago.

He was legendary, and all feared him for it.

Cecily took a deep breath to calm her thundering heart. One never expected to meet a legend by chance, and this one was not one she particularly wanted to encounter.

There were shouted orders overhead, pounding footsteps, and desperate cries to get the ship moving faster, as though that would save them.

Many of the women had their eyes shut tight, their lips moving as they silently beseeched God to save them. Cecily’s own prayers hadn’t been answered in any way she liked for a long time, so she only dragged herself closer to Hester and took her hand.

Beyond the grimy portholes, the sun fell closer to the horizon, piercing the gloom with streaks of gold and orange. One by one, those shafts of light winked out as something large moved beyond the windows, throwing the brig into darkness.