Page 129 of An Imperfect Scoundrel

Mr. Evans—and Alana—stumbled, but they both managed to hold their balance—Alana a bit more awkwardly.

“As I was explaining to you…” Cedric extended his arms.

Alana reached the metal chain, grabbed the cuff, and lifted the cannonball, biting back a grunt, but the soft sound escaped and fluttered over to Cedric. He hoped Mr. Evans hadn’t heard the noise, especially with his focus on the destruction occurring to the ship.

As Alana approached, she glanced at Cedric, her eyes locking on him, and he nodded once, giving approval. It was automatic, the movement, but it was enough to pique Mr. Evans’ suspicion, and he spun around, catching Alana before she threw the cannonball.

His arm snapped out, and he grabbed her, yanking her to his side. Pressing the muzzle of the pistol against her temple, Mr. Evans forced her to drop the cuff, then marched her toward Cedric, his face adopting a smug expression.

“Before Mrs. Dubois ties you to that chair for the final moments of your life, I’d like the sack of gold that you found in her chest. The one I hid there.” He pulled Alana in front of his body, wrapping one arm beneath her chin and shielding himself, then dug the gun into the side of her head.

“If you would,Captain.I’d prefer not to die aboard this ship.”

Rising, Cedric lifted his hands, showing he meant no harm, then moved toward the desk. As he rounded the side, his gaze flicked to his gun, glittering in the corner of the room.

Slowly, he pushed the chair back.

What he needed was another cannon blast to distract Mr. Evans so he could dive for the gun. Mr. Evans may have a fast draw, but Cedric was deadly accurate, despite having never taken a man’s life. Even with Alana blocking his body, Cedric could still hit Mr. Evans’ head.

Before Cedric could think of a solution, Alana screamed and fainted.

The sudden full weight of Alana in his arms caused Mr. Evans to drop her. However, as soon as she hit the floor, she rolled toward the desk, scooting the upper half of her body beneath the small space.

Snarling, Mr. Evans leapt on her legs, dragging her backward. She kicked at him and flipped over, raising a pistol, which she’d pulled from under the desk.

“There’s still only one shot in that pistol, Mrs. Dubois,” Mr. Evans said, and stepped toward her. “And you already missed me with that bullet.”

Mr. Evans leaned down to pull her up, but Alana swung, smacking the side of his face with the pistol. He howled, dancing backward, and Cedric, using the opportunity, lunged toward the corner of the room, his fingers curling around the cold metal of his gun.

He spun around, finding Mr. Evans atop Alana, his hands wrapped around her throat, crushing the life from her body as she beat her fists against his arms.

“Evans!” Cedric yelled out.

When the man looked up, Cedric squeezed the trigger, aiming at Mr. Evans’ torso.

The grin on Mr. Evans’ face froze, and his fingers released Alana’s neck. Touching hand to his chest, a look of shock passed over his face when blood seeped through his shirt.

Vibrating, Cedric kept his pistol pointed at Mr. Evans, hatred blazing through his body.

Clutching his chest, Mr. Evans’ eyes rolled wildly, and he slumped forward, collapsing on top of Alana, his limbs twitching.

She shoved him off with a shudder.

Stalking toward Mr. Evans, Cedric skirted the edge of the rafter and kicked the man’s boot. Satisfied by the lack of response, he lowered his weapon and knelt at Alana’s side. Sliding his arms under her, he lifted her from the floor, carried her to the bed, and gently laid her on the mattress, placing a soft kiss on her lips.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here to protect you.” He dragged a hand through his hair, guilt flaring in his chest as he pulled away, his eyes searching hers.

“This wasn’t your fault.”

“Yes, it was. I should’ve let you go when given the chance.”

“You have the chance now.”

“And once you’re free of me, would you allow me to continue spending time in your company?” he asked, his hands skimming over her wounds, inspecting the new injuries on her thighs.

“Are you giving me a choice?”

“I am.”