Page 16 of If I Go Down with This Ship

“N-no, Captain.”

My heart pounds in my throat.I’d be surprised if he couldn’t hear the thrumming, even over the voices of the crew, over the crashing waves against the hull.Captain Night smiles before slamming the book closed and thrusting it into my arms, his fingers sliding over mine as he pulls away.

“Good, now get to work.”

I am left to stare after him, mouth agape as he disappears down the stairs and into his cabin below.He is everything a pirate captain needs to be.He is terrifying and commanding, calm and calculating.He is suave and sexy, even if he doesn’t realize it.But above all, he is relentless.

And though everything in me is pulled to him, to his voice and his smell, I will do my best to steer clear.I throw up my walls, try to barricade the doors to this stuttering heart of mine.I fear with him leading this ship that I am doomed, and if I follow the burn in my throat or tug in my chest, it could only mean my downfall.

6A Nervous Wreck

I trynot to express any of the torrents of emotions whirling through me as Jack leads me through the galley to the cargo hold.It’s claustrophobic as we squeeze through the dark, narrow halls, and though the path is similar if not identical to the one I followed George through only hours earlier, the scents and the dimness and the creaking sound of the ship rocking with each crashing wave are all too real.

Scowling pirates file past us, and we fit ourselves against the sides of the narrow passages to let them by.

“Hi,” I say with a nod to a small, angry man shoving his way through.“Yes, nice to meet you, too!”Each one grunts in response, never caring to acknowledge me.“What a lovely bunch they are,” I mutter under my breath.

“Are you tryin’ to get yourself killed?”Jack asks as he tugs me past an open door.

“I don’t know,” I say.“I talk when I’m nervous.”

“Then stop being nervous,” he says and gestures me on.

Easy to say, harder to do.I can feel my anxiety building up like a bundle of nerves in my stomach, acid bitter on the back of my tongue as I try to swallow it all down.Chest out, head up, eyes narrowed as Louise does when she’s trying to prove a point, but either I’m doing something wrong or the crew can’t take me seriously, because they only seem to avoid me further.

Which, fair.Considering how I came to be here and how I’m dressed, I wouldn’t take me too seriously, either.

I think over the slight differences between this ship and the replica.Although they did an outstanding job with the replica ship, it was lacking the feeling of being lived in, missing the smell of a crew at sea, the sounds of feet shuffling on deck, of voices rising over the crashing waves.

The smell, though, is…distinct.Frankly, I could have gone my whole life without knowing what a pirate ship smells like.

“I’m beginning to think I have a death wish,” I admit as I peer past Jack.A few crew members are leaning lazily down the hall, their voices low, heads bent.

He raises a brow.“I noticed.”

More people shuffle past, and I hold out a hand.

“Hello!”I exclaim.They grumble and push, ignoring my outstretched hand, and I trip backward, falling through an open door and into what looks to be ammunition stores.

Muttering to himself, Jack holds out a hand for me and helps me up.

“I’d be surprised if you make it a week.Come on, Laszlo, ’aven’t got all day.”

Rubbing the spot on my hip where I fell, I let Jack lead me past swinging tables to a small kitchen in the backcorner.It smells surprisingly good here.Freshly steamed vegetables and seasoning linger in the air, and it’s the first time I’ve smelled something pleasant on this ship—besides our captain, of course.

An older man stands in the makeshift kitchen, working with his hands, his back turned to us and his face hidden from view.

“Pip, this is Laszlo,” Jack says, sweeping his arm to me.

I step around the entry and peer in, inhaling.

“This smells delicious,” I say.

Pip grunts in response.

Clearing my throat, I reach out to shake the man’s hand, but he finally turns to me and holds them up with an amused expression, hazel eyes gleaming, salt and seasoning clinging to his weathered hands.He has lightly tanned skin, the color darker in the dim light, but unlike many of the other crew, he’s not nearly as sun-weathered or battle worn.

“Oh, right,” I say, dropping my hand.