She had so many tricks up her sleeve. To the untrained eye, she was nothing but a woman. She could put color in her cheeks if she wanted and hide her fangs. It was enough to fool simple men provided we didn’t make a scene. Of course… we were making a scene, but at least they didn’t know she was a siren.
I glimpsed two men pulling out their pistols and one of them wore a bronze cutlass on his belt. Fear gripped me and as Dahlia lunged for another one of my captors, I kicked my foot out, knocking one man’s hand up toward the sky so he fired away from us.
“Don’t!” I shouted. Not at the men. At Dahlia.
There were too many of them and far too much bronze for comfort. In any other instance, I knew the two of us could take all five officers and come out with only a couple scratches. But pistols and bronze were too risky. A siren could survive most injuries, but those made by bronze were lethal.
At my word, Dahlia turned to look at me, her eyes on the verge of change. If they found out what she was, it would make things a thousand times more complicated. She saw the look in my eyes and immediately, she put a leash on her anger. She feigned tripping on herself and went to one knee, dropping her knife. The men quickly moved in and seized her.
Glancing to my left, I saw Mullins and James still at the shop, both reaching for their pistols. Their eyes were bloodthirsty and ready for a fight. I subtly shook my head at them and they stopped, sinking into an alley where they could not be seen.
As the men cuffed my wrists in irons, a slow clap echoed from inside Jon’s little office. A mass of color caught my eye in my peripheral, and I glanced toward it to see a hefty man dressed in fancy, sea foam green clothes and ruffles. I could recognize that face anywhere. That big nose and those heavy, full cheeks.
Fucking Whitton.
So, he’d dragged himself to the shit town of Gilly Pine himself just to get his own grimy hands on me. I was both flattered and disgusted. The last time I saw him was in a horrendous nightmare. He was eating Dahlia’s tongue while all manner of other vile things were happening to her and I was chained and helpless to do anything about it. He was fond of siren tongues. It seemed almost like an addiction for the pig.
“Whitton,” I greeted. “Nice day for a walk in your fancy shoes, is it?”
He was still clapping his hands together slowly, but the moment I spoke, he stopped.
“What are the odds, Woelfson, that I stop in this piss-smelling town for a drink and find you here?”
“Stopped for a drink, did you?” I glimpsed my wanted poster. “You weren’t hanging my pretty face all over town yourself with your dainty hands?” I winked at him. “Miss me?”
His plump lips were pursing at my every word. I’d always been good at aggravating the man just by existing.
“What you did to the Widow’s Smile, to Collin, has reached my ears.”
“Course it has,” I muttered.
I knew my actions wouldn’t go unnoticed for long. Destroying another hunting ship under Whitton’s thumb and payroll was bound to get attention. People didn’t have anything better to do than spread words. Even the good people at Port Devlin weren’t above a bit of gossip and Whitton certainly wasn’t above getting revenge for my killing one of his best hunters. He and Collin had something in common. They both enjoyed live merchandise. Of course, when Collin went aftermylive merchandise, he had surrendered himself to my judgment.
I shrugged. “He took something of mine.”
“It wouldn’t be this feisty morsel, would it?” he asked, stepping toward Dahlia and running a finger through her dark hair. “Though she looks like she’s been in more fights than even you.”
I could see her lip twitch. She was itching to bite off his finger, but no one had caught on to what she was yet. She remembered the dream as well as I did. She was there and she’d mentioned it to me more than once in the months following. It was our intimate curse to share dreams since she’d eaten two of my fingers when we were both children. Because she never finished the job and I still drewbreath, we were bonded in a way that no one could ever truly grasp. Not even us.
But sweet Dahlia resisted her urge to take Whitton’s fingers with her teeth. She was fully aware the men were armed with bronze weapons and we were in no position to win that fight. Oh, but I loved seeing her try to rein in her violence. The hate and hunger in her eyes had become something of an addiction for me.
“No,” I answered. “This here is just another poor soul who somehow found her way onto my ship. The prick, Collin, took my boy David.”
“Ahh, that scrawny redheaded boy. I remember. Well, you cost me a lot of money by destroying that ship and her crew.”
“Can’t say I’m sorry, mate.”
“I can’t say you’re sorry either,” he sighed. “Take them both to jail. I’d like to have a conversation.”
I looked at Dahlia and shrugged. “This ought to be good, love.”
Dahlia and I found ourselves in one of Gilly Pine’s dank jail cells. It smelled like piss and mud, but I’d been in worse places. Whitton sat down in a chair too fancy for the place, probably from the governor’s house. He would sit in nothing else. Night fell on the town and the only things lighting the room were a few torches fastened to the stone walls.
The sadistic pig had his goons beat the ever-living shit out of me. Dahlia had been closed into the adjacent cell and watched the whole thing with a great view from across the hall. She stood in the middle of the cell, wrists cuffed in front of her, and watched every second of the beating without a peep.
Oh, the things I knew she was conjuring in her mind. Every chance I got, I smiled with bloodied teeth at the idea. Every time a fist slammed into my face, her nostrils flared or her eyes twitched. She was in there, my furious siren. Waiting.
One eyebrow was split and blood was gushing into my vision. My lip was split, too. My nose might have been cracked and my ribs weren’t faring any better.
