The Devil's Tide (16 page)

Jethro looked horrified. "I'm so sorry, captain," he said, using his sleeves to wipe the wine off the desk.

"It's done," Teach said, setting the book down on a dry side of the desk. "You were saying?"

Jethro sat back down and fretted with his sleeves, which were dripping wine. "Her name did not seem o' much import until now. I'm afraid I did not put it to memory."

"Annabelle," Annabelle said. "My name is Annabelle."

"My god," Jethro gasped. "The boy mentioned you, he did."

"Now you're lying," Annabelle said, getting out of the bed. She held the pistol at her side.

Jethro observed the weapon respectfully. "It's no lie, missy. He said something about never seeing his Annabelle again. He went on at some length. Even said your name in his sleep, he did."

"
His
Annabelle?" She said, stunned.

"That's right. Destined for the gallows, he was, and at times quite downtrodden."

"Downtrodden?" She had never heard the word.

"It means 'sad'," Jethro replied with a condescending smile.

Annabelle looked at Teach. He was sitting back, staring sourly at his red-stained book. His gleaming blue eyes slowly lifted until they met hers. She had seen the look many times, but never focused on her. She didn't like it.

"Annabelle," Teach said at last, "would you excuse us."

Annabelle hesitated. "Where should I go?" She knew very few of the crew and did not feel like mingling.

"See that Vane is satisfied with his reward."

She stared at him. "Fully satisfied?"

He nodded slowly.

Annabelle set the pistol on the bed and straightened her robe. She left without looking back, gently closing the door behind her. She descended to the cutdown forecastle, trying not to think about whatever Teach was planning for her.

She found two of Vane's men, one tall and lanky and the other squat and muscular, loitering before the broad ramp that had been extended between
Queen Anne's Revenge
and Vane's recently acquired sloop,
Valiant
. "What's your purpose, missy," said the squat man. He had a shiny bald head and deep-set, beady eyes that were nearly swallowed by the bulging folds of his face.

"I'm looking for Charles Vane, by order of Blackbeard."

The two men exchanged glances. "He's in his cabin," said the tall man. "Generally he don't fancy intrusions, but for you I wager he'll make an exception."

The two men moved out of the way, and Annabelle smiled sweetly at each of them as she stepped onto the ramp. She moved carefully across, lifting her robe slightly so she wouldn't trip and tumble into the black water below. She brushed past several gawking crewmembers, smiling at all of them along the way. "Captain's quarters, please?" she asked a heavyset young deckhand with rosy red cheeks and an innocent face. He stammered all over himself before pointing her in the right direction. "Thank you," she replied sweetly, and his cheeks flushed a deeper shade of red.

She did not bother to knock. She knew what type of man Vane was. He liked initiative in a woman. She swung the door wide, and her mouth fell open.

Vane was seated behind his desk at the opposite side of the room, one hand atop a painting of a nude woman, the other beneath the desk, stroking fervently. His coat was discarded on the bed, and his white shirt was hanging open, chest glistening in sweat. He looked up. If he was embarrassed, he failed to show it. He stood with his pants down to his knees. He seemed unashamed of his erect manhood. "I didn't expect you so soon," he said with a smile.

Annabelle turned her look of shock into one of pleasant surprise. She was good at that. She closed the door behind her. "I hope you haven't finished," she said, slinking toward him. She slid her fingers down her cleavage, parting the robe from her breasts. Vane's lustful gaze fell between her legs as the robe slipped to the floor. She watched as he grew harder. "I think you'll prefer me to a painting." She trailed a finger over the rough canvas of the nude woman as she rounded the desk to join Vane on the other side. He seized her waist, crushing her to him and kissing her. His tongue worked its way into her mouth, locking with hers. Her breasts mashed against his powerful chest. Her fingers found his cock, giving him a sharp squeeze. He gasped excitedly into her mouth. He slapped both hands against each cheek of her ass, hefting her onto the painting and splaying her across the desk. He parted her legs and shoved himself into her, setting his hands on her breasts and thrusting violently. Every thrust racked her entire body, like lightning surging through her.

She started to lift up, but he clutched her neck and forced her back down, glaring at her. "Don't you fucking move," he snarled.

"Then get down here," she said. She grabbed a handful of his auburn hair and jerked his face toward hers. He let out a little
yelp
, and then grinned in surprise. Both their mouths were open, but held an inch apart, breath hot on the other's face.

He pulled out halfway through climax, seizing his cock and spilling the remainder of his seed into her naval with several firm strokes. He fell back into his chair, panting.

She remained flat on her back as his fluids streamed down either side of her stomach and saturated the painting beneath her. "Take me with you," she gasped, still out of breath. She rubbed at the soreness between her legs. "I'm wasted on him."

Vane looked mildly concerned. "He does not fuck you?"

She shook her head. "I am a puppet for his schemes and nothing more. He's plotting something nefarious right now, with me at the heart of it."

"And you will do whatever he commands?"

She propped herself up on her elbows. "I think he would kill me if I didn't."

He fixed her with a pointed gaze. "Is that why you came here? Because he told you to?"

An involuntary smile crept across her lips. "Some commands are easier than others."

He leaned forward. "What if he told you to kill me? Would you do it?"

She gnawed on her lower lip as she considered that. "I've never killed anyone before."

"Now there's a curious reply," Vane said, fascinated.

"How so?"

"If I asked twenty people if they would kill someone, ten would say they couldn't do it, though some might find it easier than they think if pressed into action. The other half would say of course they would, though some might find it more difficult than they imagined. But you . . . you simply say you've never done it. No denial or feigned resolve. In my considerable experience, that is the sign of a true killer." His lips pulled away from his teeth in an evil grin.

She sat up and slowly leaned toward him. "Take me with you."

"Would that I could," he sighed. "I have enough enemies as it is, and don’t wish to make one of Edward Teach. You are right to fear him. Even from afar, he is dangerous. And if he would kill you for disobeying him, imagine what he would do to me for allowing it?"

"One day he'll be dead. You said it yourself."

Vane stood and lifted his pants, tucking his shirt back in place. "Aye, his time is running out, but even with a sliver of life he is not to be underestimated. Like all men, he will meet his end. Until that day, I shall dream of your bountiful tits every night, and curse the morning sun when it stirs me from slumber."

She looked away, making her disappointment plain.

"Do thank him for the reward," he said. "You
are
preferable to a palm and a painting."

"I'll relay your joy," she flatly replied, falling back down on the desk.

He fixated on her maidenhood. "I don't believe you've finished."

"It's difficult for me." She hadn't had an orgasm since she was raped. She wasn't sure it was even possible anymore.

"Lucky for you, I fancy a challenge," Vane replied. He sat back down and grabbed her by the legs, sliding her toward him and ducking his head between her thighs.

"Shouldn't I clean up first?" she protested, but he was already prodding her. The tip of his tongue quickly found the right spot and lingered there, working diligently. She shuddered instantly and clawed at the painting.

He lifted his head only for a moment. "No need. I relish the taste of myself."

Hornigold's nose throbbed in agonizing waves. He stripped off his shirt, dipped it in the water, and pressed it to his face, but the blood would not stop seeping from his nostrils.

Over the bunched cloth he spied her. She was waist deep in a little black lake nestled in the rock beneath a long, narrow waterfall that drained from the summit. Her left cheek had a thin gash, but he doubted it was anywhere near as bad as his face must have looked. It was still too dark to see his reflection in the water, and he was glad for that.

The sky was gradually lightening, deep purple hues intruding upon the eastern horizon. He wasn't sure how far they had walked. After their quarrel, neither felt like returning to camp. They had ventured out here to find treasure, and they weren't about to leave empty handed after dealing each other so much pain. At least they could agree on something.

He glared jealously at his sword, which was sticking through her belt. "This is mine now," she had informed him, after crushing his nose. She let him carry the shovel, but had wisely lingered behind him and maintained a safe distance as they walked. The torch had extinguished in the sand, so they had to let their eyes adapt to the darkness before they got very far.

She had taken off her black bandana and was washing her hair, not that any blood could be detected in those red tresses. Infuriatingly, the slice in her cheek somehow added confidence to her expression. It slanted from her cheekbone to one of the tiny creases flanking her mouth.
She actually has dimples,
he realized. Barely detectable, but there they were. She must have smiled a lot as a child.

She shuffled out of the water, breeches wet and tight around her hips, arms raised as she fastened her bandana over the top of her head. He could clearly see the small dark circles of her nipples poking against her wet white shirt as she stretched. A rush of blood surged through him. He turned away as yet another jolt of pain pulsated through his nose. His face was probably ruined forever, and Lindsay was more fetching than ever. He hated her.

She will let her guard down, sooner or later, and then I'll take my sword back.

She stepped in front of him, setting a hand on her hip. "It's nearly dawn. Your nose looks terrible. We should get back so you can get it looked at."

"The doctor's dead, remember?" He was revolted by how nasally he sounded.

"I'm sure someone can patch you up."

"No," he insisted. "It's fine."

He lowered the shirt to reveal his face, and her lips peeled away from her teeth, and her shoulders quivered in disgust. She quickly looked away, adopting a vacant look and scratching the back of her neck.

"Is it that bad?" he said.

She shrugged, not looking at him. "Of course not. We must press on." And then she added meekly, "Soon you'll have enough to afford a new nose."

He took a step forward, rage seething in his breast. The shovel was sticking out of the sand before him, where he had thrust it, and he had half a mind to grab it and lunge at her before she could draw her sword. He wouldn't make the same mistake again. This time he would beat her senseless before raping her. And after that, maybe he would drown her in the lake and leave her corpse to rot, with fishes nibbling her beauty away. "You're a dreadful person."

She set her hand on the hilt of the sword in her belt. "Only on the inside." She cocked her head keenly. "Would that I could say the same of you."

His teeth mashed together, the pressure sending a fresh torrent of pain into his nose. He did his best to ignore it, but he felt water lining in his eyes. "I can only imagine what horrors dwell inside you."

She bubbled with laughter. "And only hours ago you were so desperate to get inside me. Or did I misread that? You were so very subtle, dashing me with a shovel, and all."

"Not nearly subtle enough, it seems," Hornigold grated. "I should have dashed harder. How is it you are not hunched in agony?"

"No need to question your strength, Benjamin," she said, rubbing the side of her head. "My skull still throbs from the blow, but the pain is slight compared to the memory of a pirate chewing through my ear."

"I should have finished what that man started and gone for the other."

She ruffled her hair and then straightened her shirt, fitting it back into her breeches where it had come loose. "There are many things you should have done, and far too many things you should
not
have done." She opened her hand to a narrow path leading away from the waterfall. "After you."

They followed the little path around the mountain, a steep crag on one side and dense jungle on the other. Hornigold crushed the shirt against his nose for a long time, and finally his nose seemed to stop bleeding. He sniffed too sharply, and a stab of pain shot into his skull, as if someone had jammed an icicle up one of his nostrils. He leaned against the rocky wall, hissing through his teeth.

"You look like you're going to fall over," Lindsay said from behind.

The thought of his hands around her throat as her face turned purple, squeezing until her eyes bulged and all life escaped her, was all that kept him standing. His head was impossibly heavy, his back ached, and his legs were unsteady and numb. He would not collapse in front of her, not when she strutted about without a care in the world, seemingly oblivious to the pain she claimed he had dealt.

"I can stand just fine, thank you," he said.

He lowered his head, and a tiny droplet of blood splattered the sand. His nose hadn't stopped bleeding after all. He frowned. "We're close."

"Are you sure, or are you just following your nose?"

He threw a caustic look her way. Her head was down, hair in front of her face as she giggled softly. "I couldn't help it," she said.

He pointed down at the sand before him. "There are footprints here."

Her head shot up. She rushed over to his side, hand firm on the hilt of her sword.
My sword,
Hornigold reminded himself.