I have nowhere else to go. It’s not like I’m going to jump back into the sea or somehow figure out how to lower the rowboat and escape. I don’t want to be here, but that choice wasn’t mine in the first place.
With a sigh, I reach for the pirate. He grips my waist and lifts me from the rowboat and onto the polished deck. I drip all over it, my clothes still drenched with seawater, but no one says anything.
A man with spectacles hurries up, his attire not terribly pirate-y either. Unlike Starkey, this pirate looks more like an accountant. A neat haircut and an even neater tunic with leather pants, he seems to have every hair in place. Giving me an appraising look, his brows draw together, worry in his eyes.
“Smee, escort her to the captain’s quarters.” My pirate gestures for me to follow the accountant.
“Hey, wait, I …” Completely ignoring me, my pirate stalks off toward the front of the ship. “Hey!” I yell after him, but he doesn’t turn around.
I jump as Starkey lands on the deck beside me. “Jeez!”
“I can take her to the captain’s quarters, Smee.” Starkey gives me a charming smile. “Give us a chance to get to know each other.”
If I didn’t already suspect he was a fuckboy, I know now for sure. Blond hair, bright green eyes, and dimples for days—he’s as handsome as they come, not to mention the physique. I suppose a pirate’s life keeps you in shape.
“No, thank you.” Smee cuts between the two of us and takes my elbow. “Right this way, miss.”
He leads me down the dark wood deck, pirates scattering this way and that as we pass ropes, masts, and various openings that lead to lower decks. I’m no expert on pirate ships—or any ships, for that matter—but this one certainly seems huge.
A rhythmic, grinding noise catches my attention, and I watch as two men, both shirtless, turn a crank attached to a thick chain that disappears beneath the water.
“What’s that?”
Smee stops and looks at me, his mouth twisting in disdain. “The anchor, of course.”
Something in the way he says it rubs me raw. “Look, buddy, I don’t need that tone, okay? I’m being kidnappedagain, and I’d rather not have to deal with your condescending attitude while I’m at it!” I snap.
His eyes widen, the spectacles dropping to the end of his nose.
What am I doing? Am I trying to get myself thrown into the sea to drown? Or worse, get eaten by mermaids? I step back from him and hold my breath.
“You tell him, girl.” A pirate strides by with a huge coil of rope over one shoulder and golden hoops dangling from his ears. “Smee needs someone to knock some sense into him.”
I recognize him from my first night on the island. He’s the one with the Italian accent who has a mermaid lover.
“Oh, shut it, Cecco,” Smee grumbles and motions for me to follow him.
I glance over the side to try and catch a glimpse of the anchor, but only the length of thick chain, some of the links draped with seaweed, are visible. Maybe I should take a page from Smee’s playbook and focus on where we’re going instead of what’s happening around me. After all, I’m being taken to the captain’s quarters.Hook’squarters. It’s a sobering thought, one that fills me with a queasy sort of dread. My feet begin to drag, and I slow to a stop as Smee passes the giant steering wheel and strides to a set of doors behind it.
When he opens the door, the dread inside me explodes into full blown panic, and I backpedal right into someone.
“Whoa.” A deep voice.
I whirl and find a huge man with tattoos covering his entire face and chest, black ink everywhere I look. I scramble back, and he steps toward me as a scream rises in my throat.
He arches one eyebrow as my wail dies on my lips, then steps around me to adjust the wheel, spinning it clockwise a few turns before securing it.
“Bill.” Smee nods.
“Smee.” The man whose voice is deeper than the sea nods back, then gives me an amused look before returning down the deck.
I’m surprised the ship doesn’t shake with each of his footfalls.
“Miss.” Smee impatiently waves me toward the open door.
“I-is he in there?” I swallow hard and look behind me, trying to spot the black feather plume or the gleam of moonlight on a metal hook.
“Please, miss. I have work to do.” He gestures again.
