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Chapter 10
Confronting the pirate lord had been a plan for his future—an accumulation of childhood trauma, years of pent-up hate, and more years of preparing after he had built his reputation to the extreme. It wasn’t to the extreme yet, but Isaiah had it all planned out, understanding he needed to be at his sharpest and most calculating when the confrontation finally happened. It would be the start of many confrontations, and the start would lead to the end, where he could finally avenge the lives ruined in the past.
But plans changed, and the pirate lord being present in the Sky now was too hard to resist. He had gathered up his men, told them the news, and waited for everyone to react.
“I thought we would do this years later. Like five years later,” Arty said, the first to express his doubt. “Don’t you plan to take over his legacy or something?”
“Let’s do it now. I want to meet him,” Wheeler insisted.
“Ye want to meet the man responsible for bringing fear to everyone’s knees?” Marko asked skeptically, side-eyeing Wheeler before he met Isaiah’s gaze. The only one to know Isaiah’s truth, Marko neither protested nor agreed.
Wheeler scoffed. “He doesn’t bring fear to my captain. Why don’t we take his legacy now?”
“You are drunk. Legacies can’t be taken that easily,” Chuck pointed out. While also drunk.
“I will come,” Moon volunteered. “I can take care of the drunks and check out this fearsome lord. I’m assuming there will be no legacy-taking tonight yet, right, Captain?”
“I will bring my special sword!” Alvin exclaimed.
“Me, too!”
“Yes!”
Isaiah had changed his mind then, but there was no stopping a crew’s roused passion, even if that rousing was a mistake. He should have given them a day or two to prepare. But to their credit, being drunk didn’t seem to lessen their efficiency as they finally listened to Moon—and Marko—and disguised for the initial civil confrontation.
They knew their roles and did it promptly, announcing his name and letting the news travel through the grapevine. They gathered drunkards and others stumbling out of buildings and encouraged them to join the crowd, then hummed the tune that carried through the rest of their march. Eventually, the tune became real as several people recognized his name, and he had Cross to thank for that.
“Remember the plan,” he had warned Marko upon their approach, learning the location from a tip.
“Announce ye, done.” Marko grimaced. “Keep them close to the exit. Ye will be the one to meet him.”
“Keep Moon out of this. Get him out first if trouble starts.”
“Yes. I don’t like leaving the boat.”
“You promised to leave it for this.”
“I know. I still don’t like it. Captain, we are here.”
He had waited for the loudest cheer before his entrance to the bar, persona in place like a second skin. He had scanned the area with a bored look and promptly placed him: Captain Ven, whose last name was elusive but whose face was as familiar as it had been years ago. Hatred ignited in his soul, echoing from the deepest end. He brushed back the flashes of blood and screams, prepared to give his most charming side for now.
And that was when he spotted the woman sitting on the man’s lap.
“Who the hell do you think you are to just barge in here?” someone demanded. The voice was faint over the roaring in his ears, his focus on the face that was slightly turned away from him. Even so, he would recognize that shade of hair and body anywhere.
The outfit made her seem more voluptuous than she was, and she had done something to her eyes to hide their real color. Horror simmered, along with questions. Why was Nicola on Ven’s lap? Was he the person she was looking for?
Focus.
He glimpsed his crew, dispersing in a corner. He saw a few of Ven’s men angle their chairs, ensuring an attack if things went south. He couldn’t afford to show emotion, not with those men on the line…and her.
Focus.
Isaiah plopped down on the free chair across from Ven, ignoring the earlier man’s new protest. He kept his gaze on Ven… not on her, even when she was so close. The quiet man watched him in turn, the lack of recognition not surprising. He was different from the boy he had been.
Focus.
“I said what the hell are you doing—”
