She whirled toward Alf, expecting a fight, but he climbed with nothingbut a grin, his attention below. On the deck, the crew laughed. Some even patted Thorne on the back.
Thorne smirked and nocked another arrow. “Nothing motivates like fear, don’t you think?”
So, that was how he wanted to play this game? Fine.
Selene grinned back for all the times she couldn’t before. “Fuck you, you bastard.”
Tristan Thorne was a vile, dangerous man. He was also shrewd. She wasn’t sure how or when, but she would ensure that was his undoing.
Selene ignored the pain and pulled herself up onto the platform, only seconds ahead of Petrina, who had a stream of blood streaming from a gash on her temple.
“Thorne?” Selene asked.
“I’m going to kill him.”
Grunts and heaving breaths preceded the groping of hands on the platform. A whistle of air flew by her ear, and an arrow struck the mast by Selene’s head.
“Thank you!” she called down and yanked it out.
Petrina half-stood on Alf’s wrist, making him writhe and yell. The assassin gave Selene a nod. “Do it.”
Selene stabbed Alf’s hand, then yanked the bloody arrow tip back out.
Alf screamed—you’d have thought she’d just lobbed off his entire arm. His hand vanished below just as Finn came up through the other side.
Finn faced Petrina, feet planted, weight centered. He blindly found a dangling rope and wrapped his forearm in it, leaving a good amount of length dangling. He whipped the rope toward Petrina’s feet, but it didn’t have the snap he expected.
Petrina grabbed the rope and yanked.
Finn fell onto his knees with athunk, and the crew’s cheer turned into an uproar of excitement.
Petrina pushed Selene up another shroud, this one much slimmer. “Go.” Alf appeared on the platform, and she added. “Hurry.”
Selene tucked the arrow into the back of her waistband and scurried up toward the spar where the mainsail was furled. Petrina was on her heels, leaving the other side open for the pirates to climb.
Alf led the way, being smaller and faster, but Finn charged like a furious bull.
Selene continued toward the bird’s nest, muscles burning, heart racing.
Petrina leapt onto the mainsail’s thick, wooden yard and faced the two men, who ran nimbly toward her.
Rope. Selene needed…
Ah, there.
She jumped from the shroud onto the dangling rope. Her momentum swung her around the port side toward the yard. She dropped behind the pirates, who had corralled Petrina toward the yardarm.
Selene gripped the rope and ran up behind Alf with a wild plan rushing through her head. Her thoughts were a drum beat with every step—please work, please work—and gave over to her training.
She wrapped the long length of cable around Alf’s arms and torso. He turned to respond, only worsening the tangle and losing balance. With a pitched yell, he toppled off the yard and swung wide through the air.
The crew’s laughter carried upwards like a distant echo.
Another arrow shot past Selene, clipping her right shoulder. Blood soaked through her shirt and began seeping down her arm.
She blinked hard, dizzy with adrenaline, but the ache was manageable. For now.
Ahead, Petrina and Finn exchanged swings, and then the assassin jumped off the yardarm to a collective gasp from below. She didn’t fall far. Petrina caught the footrope and shimmied beneath Finn to laughter and cheers.
