Page 137 of An Imperfect Scoundrel

Cedric shoved the chair forward, smashing the seat into Mr. Evans’ kneecaps.

Mr. Evans howled, hopping backward and crashing into the desk. Despite his anguish, he didn’t release his grip on the knife and rebounded toward Cedric, swiping the blade in a low arc that caught Cedric in his side.

Grunting, Cedric’s eyes widened as shock washed over him, and he slumped against the wall, sliding down until he was sitting. Weakened by the blood loss, he fell over, his head hitting the harsh floorboards as his fingers wrapped around the handle of the penny knife.

“I thank you for my severance.” Mr. Evans leaned into Cedric’s vision and saluted him, then collected the sack of gold from the floor and tied the bag to his belt.

“I’m refusing your offer to sell me your ship, as it appears the vessel won’t withstand another voyage. However, as your next journey is to Hell, I can’t imagine you’d concern yourself too much with what happens to this ship… or Mrs. Dubois.”

“She’s not on the ship,” Cedric wheezed, struggling to pull the knife from his body.

“What do you mean?” Mr. Evans knelt beside Cedric’s head.

“She jumped overboard.”

“No, she didn’t. She’s too frightened.”

“Mrs. Parker jumped with her.”

There was a modicum of amusement in watching Mr. Evans realize he’d been bested by a dying man.

“I released all the hostages. There were no other women aboard.”

“Except the one serving Mr. Hayward and Mr. Johnson.”

“Mr. Johnson didn’t say anything about a cabin ‘boy.’” Mr. Evans snarled, spittle forming in the corners of his mouth.

“Information wasn’t part of your agreement for repayment of Mr. Johnson’s debt?”

Cedric didn’t have the strength for his voice to properly convey the mockery he intended in his question, but the effect was the same. Mr. Evans punched him, which only caused Cedric to laugh maniacally.

Grabbing Cedric’s head, Mr. Evans yanked him into a sitting position and leaned him against the small niche between the window and the wall, then bent forward, his nose nearly touching Cedric’s.

“You’re lying.”

“You’ll never find her now.” Cedric turned his face toward the cool breeze of the ocean air ruffling his hair.

Cursing, Mr. Evans stood and hobbled toward the broken rafter. He stared up at the hole, one arm wrapped around his waist. A ghostly wince crossed his face.

“How do you get out of this cabin?”

“You fly,” Cedric muttered, adding a faint chuckle, and coughed.

Mr. Evans marched over and crouched down, bringing himself eye-level with Cedric. He whipped his arm out, closed his hand around the handle of the penny knife, and jerked it from Cedric’s side. As Cedric cried out, Mr. Evans pressed the blade against Cedric’s throat.

“I asked you a question,Captain.”

“And I gave you an answer.” Cedric lifted his chin, exposing his neck.

He knew the cruel capability of Mr. Evans—a man who wouldn’t hesitate to end a life—but he also knew Mr. Evans expected Cedric to beg, and that was satisfaction Mr. Evans would never enjoy.

Another round of cannonballs ripped through the hull, and the ship listed, rolling to the starboard. Mr. Evans stumbled, falling toward Cedric, but braced himself against the wall, keeping the blade pressed against Cedric’s throat.

“I suggest you figure out your escape route quickly,” Cedric said. “There isn’t much time.”

The breeze chose that exact moment to gust through the window, and Mr. Evans, a smile pulling the corner of his mouth, turned toward his right. Lowering the knife, he crawled toward the window and leaned through the opening. He peered down, then lifted his head, staring at several dots in the distance.

“I’ve found Mrs. Dubois!” He glanced back at Cedric. “I’ll wager I could reach her before the Navy does. Would you care to make a bet? No?”