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Here in Spain, Bockton was less wary, for he owned so much of the port. And that was exactly how Roe wanted him. Unsuspecting.
It wasn’t as if Roe and his men could even do anything about the ship or goods in this Spanish port. They were deep in Bockton territory and Roe would find no allies here. Bockton was outside of the reach of the English crown.
Once he’d verified that theMinervawas heading back to Spain for its latest shipment, Roe had rendezvoused with his crew and set his sails south. That they’d dared to enter into Spanish waters had been risky, but it was the best chance they would have to track Bockton’s latest shipment into English waters and then take the ship down for good.
That, or if Bockton showed, Roe was more than ready to kill the bastard here, on Spanish soil—never mind the consequences.
His fingers ran through his hair and he looked from corner to corner along the buildings that surrounded the warehouse. In the alcoves, doorways, or sitting along the street as beggars and drunks, his crew, all at attention, waiting just as patiently as he.
His thoughts wandered to Torrie, wandered as they were always determined to do—no matter how he tried to rein them in.
A month since he’d left her. Thirty-three days. Hours, minutes, seconds within each of those days and all he could think of was her.
All he was bound to think of until she was safe from Bockton’s clutches.
His eyes glazed over, watching what was alive in his memory instead of the dark street in front of him.
Her dark hair, woven into a long braid that always insisted on falling over her left shoulder. Her golden green eyes, inevitably watching him. Her body, lithe and strong under him.
He sucked in a breath, his gaze snapping into focus and going to the muck of the waterfront street below his feet. He shook his head.
Now was not the time to let those thoughts stray into his head—thoughts of her happy. Of the smile he’d put on her face. If he had any hope of staying alert and ready, he needed to think of her in the last moments.
Her face crumpled in agony. Her eyes accusing, all hope in them lost.
She’d thought she’d found someone in him—her match in every way—and to learn she’d been so very wrong had destroyed her.
Destroyed her in a way that had shredded his heart to ribbons, leaving them fluttering, lost in the cold emptiness beneath his ribcage.
Not that he regretted anything he had said to her. He’d had to say it. Had to get her to believe.
I was always going to leave you.
I can’t love you.
His lips pulled inward, his teeth clamping down on the inner skin of his mouth, drawing blood.
No.
He couldn’t regret it.
The words had been needed to keep her safe. And that was the most important thing of all. More important than her heart. More important than his soul.
She needed to be safe.
And if he had to leave her destroyed—without any hope for the future—then he had to come to hard fought reconciliation with it. It would have been far worse if he’d left her with the thought that she’d just lost the one person in this world that loved exactly who she was. That never wanted to leave her side. That fit with her.
Fit with her so perfectly, there was no question as to how they belonged together.
There wasn’t any question on that score in his mind.
Another wagon rolled into position in front of the wide, tall doors on the long side of the warehouse facing the lane that led to the dock. The left door slid open and a slew of men came out, moving in quick order the barrels stacked on the back of the wagon under tarps into the building.
Crates, barrels—all of it stacked long and high in the warehouse, from what Roe could see of the storage room from his angle. A full ship’s worth of smuggled goods. Bockton would be moving it soon.
A set of four horses pulling a black coach thundered down the street from the opposite direction of the wagon. The horses so wild and fast, Roe took a step backward into the shadows of the alleyway behind him.
The coach flew past him and the driver yanked up on the reins, pulling the horses to a stop.
