“Miss? Oh, mysterious, dangerous Miss? I’d be willing to negotiate my release. I’ve got... charm, for one. Maybe a song? Not that this seems like the time for a lute, but believe me, I’m very good at what I do.”
I raise an eyebrow, taking a couple of steps toward him. He stiffens at my silence, eyes widening. Pale blue, almost silver.Pretty, I suppose. If you’re into that sort of thing. But they’re nothing like Zayan’s.
The thought of Zayan makes my stomach twist, a fresh wave of irritation crashing through me. Why the hell am I even thinking about him? That bastard doesn’t deserve a second of my time, let alone a place in my head. Not after what he did.
I wrinkle my nose.Focus.
“If you could just give me a chance, then I’m sure—“
“Quiet.” My voice is sharp but low. I don’t care for his songs, or his charm. I need someone to pull ropes, not serenade me.
He flinches at the command but recovers quickly, flashing a weak smile, trying to sell me on whatever he’s got left. His teeth are clean. Too clean.
“Look,” he starts again, his voice trembling just slightly, “I can see you’re not the type to—ah, let’s say, negotiate, but maybe we could come to an understanding. Something mutually beneficial, you know?” He lifts his bound hands, fingers wiggling pathetically.
I study him for a short moment. He’s not the type of companion I would normally go for. Too little skill shows on his smooth hands. But like I said, I don’t have much choice.
“Chains aren’t really my style, you know,” he tries again, his smile faltering as his eyes dart to the pistol on my belt. “You wouldn’t want to... shoot me, would you? I’m much better above deck. Fresh air, less blood...”
He stops when he realizes I’m not laughing.
“You still don’t know when to shut up,” I say, unlocking the cage with a swift, sharp click. “It makes me want to kill you.”
“Now, now, I’m sure that’s just the heat of the moment talking. Killing me would be such a waste of potential. You haven’t even seen my best skills yet. I’m excellent at... well, a lot of things. Surely that’s worth sparing my life?”
I don’t respond. His desperation leaks into his tone as he continues.
“I—I mean, think about it. “There’s a lot I could do for you, Miss…”
“Captain,” I snap over my shoulder, not slowing down. “My name is Gypsy. But if you call me that again, I’ll put a bullet between your brows.”
I can hear him trying to keep up as I push open the hatch and emerge back onto the deck. The wind hits us both immediately, sharp and biting, and I feel him freeze for a second behind me.
The storm’s closer now, swirling clouds overhead like a black monster ready to devour us whole. The sails are thrashing wildly, ropes twisting in the wind.
The weather is changing even faster than I feared.
“O-okay,” the prisoner says. “Where… Where do you need me?”
I point toward the bow, where the anchor chain is still slack, dragging in the water. Shit. That’ll tear us apart if we don’t get it up before we set sail.
“We need to take up the anchor or we’ll be wrecked before the storm even hits us properly.” I wave him toward the capstan, already making my way to the bow. “Get over here and help me turn it.
He scrambles after me, and we both grab the heavy wooden bars. Inch by inch, the anchor chain groans, pulling the dead weight of the anchor from the water.
“Hurry!” I shout over the roar of the wind. “We don’t have time for this!”
He grunts beside me, his face red with effort. We both heave, the wind slapping against us, the ship starting to drift in the storm’s pull. Finally, with a last turn, the anchor clatters up, and I lock the chain into place.
“Done!” I shout, wiping the rain from my eyes. “Now, the ropes!” I point toward the tangled mess of rigging by the mast. “Untangle them. Now.”
There’s a pause—a very brief one—but in that second, I catch the flash of uncertainty in his eyes. His hands twitch like he doesn’t quite know what to do with them.
“I... sure! Absolutely! Ropes, yes, I can do ropes.” He jogs forward, tripping over his own feet before grabbing hold of one of the lines. His fingers fumble with the wet, knotted ropes, and he curses under his breath. It’s awkward, clumsy, but, somehow, it’s working.
Thank fuck.
I rush to the mast, ignoring the screaming protest of my muscles as I grab the halyard and wrestle with the mainsail. It’s difficult, but the adrenaline pumping through my veins keeps me going. The wind roars louder, the ship groaning beneath us, and I can feel every creak, every pull, like it’s alive and fighting back. I yank hard, cursing under my breath as the sail finally catches, flapping violently before snapping taut.
