“But you’re different.”
“No. I’m a pirate. Same as them. Bound to the Jolly Roger and sailing under the command of James Hook. His word is law, and you’re his guest. They won’t touch you.”
“I don’t know about that.” I shoot a look at the large one—the man with all the tattoos—then jerk my chin at him. “See?”
She raises a brow. “Bill, step up.”
“Oh my god.” I want to sink beneath the ship deck when he stomps over.
“I’ve got a mast to tar. What is it you’re wanting?” He wipes his forearm across his sweaty forehead, all the muscles in his body flexing as he does it. He’s absolutely massive.
“What would happen to you if you were to lay a finger on Moira?”
He glances up at the crow’s nest. “I reckon I won’t have any guts left in my body if I were to do that.”
I swear I can hear Hook snort a laugh. I might sag a little in relief. Of all the men on this ship, Bill’s the scariest after Hook.He’s just so big, and all that ink—it must’ve hurt like hell. If he can take that kind of pain, how much can he dish out?
“That all?” he asks.
Widow taps the flat of her blade on her palm. “Wait, if I remember right, you’re amazing in hand-to-hand. I saw you fighting at Blackbeard’s contest a little while ago. You won the prize money.”
He draws himself up, pride in his chest. “I did.”
“Could you show Moira some moves, maybe teach her how to defend herself if?—”
“Not a chance. Captain would—” He drags his thumb across his neck.
“Captain!” Widow yells.
“Oh my god, Widow, don’t!” I grab her forearm.
“What?” Hook leans out of the nest again, his black hair blowing in the breeze.
That’s when I notice he isn’t wearing a shirt.
My mouth goes dry.
“Can Bill show Moira some hand-to-hand when I’m done with her sword lesson?”
Hook stares down at us, then in a lithe move, he grabs a rope swinging beside the crow’s nest and slides down. His feet hit the deck, and then he’s standing only a few feet away. Scars litter his torso, a particularly nasty one along his left side. His tanned skin is dusted with dark hair, and underneath he’s solid, his muscles undeniable.
My mouth was dry before. Now it’s a desert.
“Bill?” Hook gestures toward me.
Bill sizes me up.
I try to stand a little straighter.
“No.” Bill crosses his arms over his wall of a chest.
“What?” I glare at him. “I can fight!”
Bill doesn’t blink.
Hook faces him, giving me a view of his back. I lean on the railing as I stare at every bare inch of him. Is there a weight room on board? Is that what’s happening? Because, jeez, he looks like he’s carved from stone. Chiseled, tanned, and with more scars, some matching the ones on his front. He’s been through hell.
“Close your mouth,” Widow whispers.
