The captain studied them both for a long moment, then finally spoke, his voice low. “You joined me. Not as a prisoner, but as a member of my crew. I don’t intend to keep you locked up. You’ll work for your freedom.”
He slid the key into the lock, the cold metal scraping as he twisted it. For a heartbeat, he stared at Isaac, his eyes nearly black in the shadows. Then, with a click, the door swung open.
Isaac strode from the cell with purpose and stopped in front of the pirate. “Tell me, Thorne, now what? You sail to Savannah, cut down Ross, and walk away? When does it end? Will you ever truly find peace?
Thorne swirled his glass, staring into the liquid depths. “There is no peace for a man such as me. I’ve accepted that fate.”
“How? How does a man whose life was bound to uphold the law, to do what is honorable and right, end up like this?”
A terrible calm filled Thorne’s eyes, like the sea before a storm. His fingers tapped the side of his glass in slow succession. “Don’t try to play my past against me. It’s a game you’ll never win. Besides, there are monsters much worse than myself walking free.” A slow smile spread across his face. “Who are you to decide what’s right and wrong?”
“It’s my job. Just as it used to be yours.”
Thorne threw back his drink, then leaned forward. “Precisely.”
A shiver ran through Josephine at the icy calm in the pirate’s voice, the weight of his words settling in her chest like a stone. Isaac stood rigid with jaw clenched as the captain rubbed his thumb along the rim of his empty glass.
After an uncomfortable pause, he extended his hand. “I’ll take youruniform jacket, Caldwell. You won’t be needing it here.”
After a long pause, Isaac shrugged free of it.
The captain crumpled it in his hands before he turned and climbed to the hatch. At the top, he paused, his figure dark against the faint light from above. He looked down at Isaac, his eyes cold and calculating. For a moment, he said nothing, the weight of his gaze hanging in the air.
“I’ll tell you this once, and once only. If you disobey a command—if you step an inch out of line—you’re dead. There are no second chances on my ship.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
The warmth againstJosephine shifted, pulling her from sleep. She blinked, her eyes adjusting to the dim light that filtered through the lone porthole. The soft sway of waves tugged at her eyelids as if trying to woo her back to sleep. With a smile, she brushed her fingers across Isaac’s chest.
A dull ache throbbed through her back and her smile faltered. A wall. In a brig. Tension crept into her limbs as fragments of the previous day’s chaos rushed back. With a quiet sigh, she eased her arm away and pushed upright, wincing as stiffness tugged at her muscles.
When she lifted her head, her breath caught. Storm-blue eyes stared at her, unblinking. After a silent moment passed, he groaned and pulled his arm from around her, rolling his shoulders. He pushed to his feet, hooking his hands behind his neck and stretching. His shirt lifted, baring a swath of skin and she forced herself to look away.
“Now what?” she whispered, more a question to the empty air than to him.
He lowered his arms. “Right now? We wait. That’s all we can do.”
She frowned. “I feel like we should be doing something.”
A blonde brow lifted. “Like what? Convince Thorne’s men to form a mutiny? Take the ship by force? There’s just the two of us. Waiting may not feel right, but it’s all we can do.” Truth rang through his words.
One of his hands stretched out, skimming along the wall’s rough planks. “She’s listing to starboard, which means she’s taking on water faster than they can purge it. We’re sailing slow. If Christian andSamantha can follow us…” His fingers flexed against the wood. “They may be able to catch up.”
She pulled her lip between her teeth. “Do you really believe that?”
Isaac’s gaze drifted away, following the flickering shadows cast by the dim lantern. “We weren’t far from Wilmington when we caught up with Thorne. It’s possible Samantha and my crew could have limped to shore and made contact with Christian… if he was still there.” She didn’t miss the hitch in his voice, the way it softened at the end—not just with doubt, but with the heavy drag of hopelessness pulling at every word.
“I’m sorry.” He set a hand on her shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze. “As long as we are alive, there is hope. We won’t reach Savannah until the middle of the night at this rate. I’ll figure something out by then.”
She stood and smoothed her rumpled skirts before pushing a lock of unruly hair behind her ear. Salt clung to her curls, sweat beaded on her brow, and her nerves strained at the seams. Heat flared beneath her cheeks—God only knew what a wreck she looked like.
Her gaze slid to the shadowed stubble along his jaw, the blond curls falling in tousled disarray. He looked both undone and unshakable. Still impossibly handsome. Something about it tugged at her—an echo of that very first night in Tortuga. Her heart gave a quiet lurch.
The shadow of a bruise stood out on his temple, darkening against pale skin. She took a hesitant step closer. The sight of it brought everything rushing back—the hilt of Burke’s sword cracking against Isaac’s head, his sudden collapse, the cold terror she had felt. She reached up, brushing her fingers lightly against the dark spot. He flinched at the touch, but didn’t pull away.
“Last night, I didn’t get a chance to…” Her voice faltered, and she caught herself before the words could tumble out too quickly.
He raised a brow as she traced the outline of the mark. “To?”
