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Tossing my boots, jacket, and clothes down onto the deck, I put my hands up. “What are you going to do? Pat me down, checking for weapons?” Batara made sure I had none left.

“From the looks of it, you are a walking one,” the Scottish man scoffed. Leaning over, he swiped up my clothes.

“How sweet.” I took the chance, turning around to face him, ready to use my figure to get what I wanted… which was to get the hell off this ship.

The tall brute of a man kept his expression locked down, but his throat bobbed as I fully faced him. He was a man you’d stop to do a double-take. Tall, broad, with the signature reddish hair and beard you’d imagine a Scotsman to have. He wasn’t the faerie kind of beautiful, but he had the rough, dark fae look. The “I’m a rugged pirate” kind of thing going on. Probably pretty good in bed. Definitely a man I could let off steam with. Maybe more than once.

His gaze went over me, and I let my smile curl over my mouth.

“What are you doing here? I know you ain’t somehoor, so don’t lie to me.” He checked the pockets of my pants with one hand, keeping his gun pointed at me with the other. “I didn’t see you come aboard. How did you get on here?”

He was probably left behind to guard the ship. But I hadn’t smelled or sensed him. How I missed this big guy was beyond me. Maybe the explosion rattled me more than I thought.

A high-pitched call came from far down the pier, momentarily gaining his attention. His shoulders stiffened, and he tossed back my top. “Put that on.”

Gladly doing as he said, I pulled the tank over my head. Shifters got used to going without underwear a lot. Just another item we lost too many of. Got expensive.

Boots hit the plank, walking steadily up onto the vessel. Three more men came into view, coming aboard the ship, their heads swinging toward us.

“Well, well.” A sexy, dark-haired man sauntered closer, licking his lips. About average height but fit, he appeared in his mid-twenties. He looked Spanish, with dark eyes and hair and a mustache and light scruff. He seemed very aware he was “pretty,” his clothes more fashionable than any of the others. I had no idea what he was, but his magic flared off him. “Scotsman, are you hiding her from us? You guys doing some kinky role-playing? Mind if I join?”

“Haud yer wheesht, Vane.”Shut up, the Scotsman muttered. “I found her sneaking around.”

“A thief?” Vane’s dark eyebrow went up.

“What the hell would she be thieving half naked?” Another man, with a hint of a Jamaican accent, came up next to Vane. Around the same age, slightly taller, his arms rippled with muscles. He had long dreadlocks and dark skin. He was so utterly flawless my eyes kept going back to him. He was rougher than Vane, but even more striking.

“Well, she’s stealing my breath away.” Vane winked at me, openly gawking. “What a stunning thing you are.”

I had played with so many men like him before. Their egos gave me all the fuel I needed to con them.

The third man was a foot taller than the Scot. The least attractive out of the gorgeous group—he had to be at least half cyclops—the beefy, silent man rose over seven feet, with curly light-brown hair and one large blue eye in the middle of his head. Even with one eye, cyclops were known to have incredible vision and could see far out. The perfect bodyguard, though he did stand out in this area.

“Captain seen her yet?” the Jamaican man asked.

“No, he hasn’t returned,” the Scotsman replied. “Zidane, put her in the brig.” He nodded at the man, giving me the clear impression the Scot was second-in-command.

“How about you put her in my cabin? I will keep her locked up until Captain arrives.” Vane drew his tongue over his lip, his gaze rolling over every curve of mine.

The Scotsman shot him a glare. “Captain decides what happens to her.”

The man with the dreadlocks, called Zidane, stepped up to me, pulling out his own weapon. “Come on.” He grabbed my arm, hauling me to the stairs down to the brig.

My gaze circled around. I knew what I had to do, but that meant leaving two of my most valued items. The long-worn leather jacket, which reminded me every day of my purpose, and my specially designed, knee-length boots, which had blades in the heels—the only weapons I had left.

Turning into a cat and racing off this boat before they could lock me up was my only hope. Brigs were also purposely designed with iron and goblin metal to keep fae confined.

Zidane’s hand clutched my arm tightly, and his gun pointed in my direction, making my heart pound.

My lids closed as I exhaled deeply, demanding the change to happen. My bones cracked as I shifted, Zidane losing his grip on me as I transformed in a blink. My four paws landed on the ground with my tank.

“Holy fuck!” he yelled in shock. My feet scrambled away, beelining for the plank.

Bang! Bang!

Bullets cut through the wood near my cat form, forcing me to zigzag and dart in different directions.

“Get her!” a voice yelled, turning back, taking my focus from my escape for one moment.