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The quiet tone of Des’s words cut through the battle to Roe’s ears. He looked around. Man after man of his was down on the ground, desperate to avoid death. And there was still a row ofMinervamen standing in front of the sliding doors.
“Fuck.” They were losing again. Losing and it was all his fault. Again.
“Aye.” Des lunged with a swing, his blade connecting with the stomach of the man in front of him. Des looked at him. “You okay, Cap?”
His jaw setting hard, Roe nodded.
“What are you thinking?” Des jumped to the side to avoid the dagger swinging at his ear.
“I’m thinking I will do what needs to be done.”
“Roe, what’s that mean?” Des stilled, looking at him square, be damned the swords coming at his body.
There was only one way left to save this.
He looked at Des. “Bockton wants me—let him have me and then you need to cut the rest of the crew off. Retreat.”
“We’re not about to do that, Cap.”
“Do it.” His glare centered on the line of men protecting the warehouse opening, Roe stepped away from Des, not sure if his first mate would follow his order or not. Probably not.
He shoved his way through the bodies in full battle, reaching the line of theMinervacrew still not in the fray.
Ignoring the grunts and screams of the battle behind him, Roe tossed his cutlass down to the ground in front of them, a sneer on his face as he looked at the two brutes in the center blocking his path. “Bockton wants me. I’m the captain of theFirehawk.”
The one on the left chuckled, stepping forward and punching Roe square in the jaw. “Should’ve fought, ye ass.”
“Probably,” Roe spit the words out with the blood quickly collecting in his mouth.
The brute’s friend stepped up, punching the other side of Roe’s face. Before he could reel back, they both grabbed one of his arms, dragging him forward toward the warehouse. They stopped before the door, the brute on his left reaching for his cutlass.
Roe smiled at him.
Just as the steel hilt of the cutlass came smashing at his face, a roar came from the dock that led to the lane in front of the warehouse.
A band of men, thirty deep, appearing from the dark shadow of the pier, rushing into the melee.
At the front of them, Logan. The Wolf Duke. And what looked to be ten of the fiercest Scotsmen he’d ever laid eyes on.
All of them charging.
All of them out for blood.
He smiled to himself, though his jaw had just been dislodged from his skull.
His crew was going to be just fine.
He didn’t fight the two brutes as they dragged him into the building and slid closed the giant doors of the warehouse behind them. He didn’t fight because after this, all would be done with Bockton, one way or another.
Torrie was safe.
That, he’d done well.
~~~
She knew she was supposed to be below deck, supposed to stay down there no matter what.
She’d promised it.
