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He should stop. He should let go. But her fingers were holding on, and she was visibly growing more aroused, too, if that smoldering gaze was any indication.
“Nicola—”
A whistling sound interrupted his words, stiffening him instantly. The bomb didn’t land on the ship, but it was enough to jerk them apart, their hands flying to untie the rope. His men stumbled to the deck, weapons at hand, but he was already surveying the horizon where a ship stood before them…no, not just a ship, but a whole lot of them, cannons all pointed in their direction.
They were surrounded.
“Lower your weapons,” he ordered, noting one approaching ship and understanding that no matter where they turned, there would be no escape.
“Captain?” Wheeler asked, unsure.
“You heard him,” Marko yelled. “Lower yer goddamn weapons and stand behind me and yer captain.”
He met the second-in-command’s gaze, who nodded. If the man was unsure, he didn’t show it. They waited until the ship was close, but refused to help as the men on the other end threw ropes to pull them even closer. Once secured, about three dozen men jumped in at the same time, weapons brandished. The cockiest of the bunch wore a colorful feather hat and aimed a sword at Isaiah’s neck.
“Captain, it’s nice to see you.”
“I wouldn’t say the same about you.”
“That’s a shame—”
“Get that thing away from him,” Marko hissed, then boldly pushed it away with his wooden stick. The sword swung and was aimed at him instead. Recognition blazed from the man.
“Marko. Look at you. From being the cleaner who stank too much to…whatever you are now. Tell me, can you speak properly now, or do you throw punches with your words and make your fellas laugh because of your idiocy?”
Marko growled but didn’t move to attack, holding more restraint than usual. Yet he didn’t let it pass.
“Yer a bastard, and yer the waste of a life. Yer a slimy ass and should just die.”
“Crude as always, I see.”
The man smirked, gaze flicking toward Arty, whose expression remained neutral. Wheeler paled when the attention was turned on him, but the man didn’t acknowledge either and focused on Moon next. The lazy expression lit up.
“You have a boy. An actual boy, all young and fresh. Innocent, too, I bet. Is that your first present for us?”
As one, the crew moved to cover the boy, not even caring that they were severely outnumbered. Moon protested. Isaiah stepped in, too, but Maddox was faster, gliding to the front to meet the sword and block the man’s passage.
“What is this? You also got some bulk in your team? This one seems solid. Perhaps he can be our present, too.”
“I am not your present, you piece of shit. Step away.”
Isaiah’s men blinked, Maddox’s insults opposing his normally calm state. Isaiah cleared his throat.
“Daniel.”
He waited until the man’s attention was back on him despite the sword still pointing at Maddox.
“It’s Dan now.”
Isaiah tilted his head. Daniel’s gaze shadowed the movement. “Tell me. Do you always entertain everyone that your captain meets? Because the way you talk and are dressed, with that gaudy hat and those ugly boots, it feels like you are a pet he shows off with your fancy little tricks. What’s next? Are you going to bark for us after your corny attempts at threats?”
He put as much humor into his tone even if he didn’t feel it, wanting them to see nothing but a man so amused that he couldn’t be bothered fearing the group. It worked as Daniel’s eyes narrowed into slits and the sword whipped back his way. Ready for that, Isaiah flicked a ring up and pushed it against the sword’s tip. His suspicion over this man’s orders was confirmed when Daniel pulled his sword away before it could break the skin.
“We want the boy,” the man said, switching tactics.
“Over my dead body,” Maddox growled.
Daniel sneered. “That can be arranged.”
