Page 80 of An Imperfect Scoundrel

“They will kill you… they don’t care if you’re a man or a woman. The punishment for theft is death.” He leaned closer, dropping his voice. “I can’t save you from this fate. I’m sorry.”

“Apologize to my brother,” she spat, slamming her palm against the cage. “You’ve murdered the two people he cared most about.”

“Two people?” Cruel laughter crawled from the doorway, and Mr. Evans appeared, an evil grin stretching his face. “Captain has murdered hundreds. You’re nothing to him.”

He approached Captain Shaw, whispered in his ear, then pointed toward the aft of the ship. With a nod, Captain Shaw turned and exited the cargo hold, leaving her alone with Mr. Evans.

“Good afternoon, Dubois,” Mr. Evans said, adding a ridiculous bow, and strolled over to the cage. “I hope you find your new lodgings uncomfortable. You’ll be staying below deck for the remainder of your journey aboard our ship… which shouldn’t be too much longer.”

“Why didn’t you tell him I was shoveling coal?” she asked, peering at him through one of the squares.

“While you’re in my company, I expect you to actexactlyas you did with the captain,” he continued, ignoring her question.

The implications of his dark tone threw her, and she took an unconscious step away from him.

“As a prisoner awaiting death, I cannot imagine why you’d believe I had any motivation to follow your orders,” she replied, jumping backward as he lunged for the cage, his hand snatching at the air.

She wasn’t certain how far Mr. Evans’ arm could stretch—and she had no intention of finding out—but she was quite certain, judging by the ruddy color spreading through his face, he would kill her if he could reach her.

“Do you think yourself protected in this iron cage?” he growled, retracting his arm.

With a dark leer, he shoved his hand into his pocket. A jingling sound followed, and Alana’s heart, thudding rapidly, nearly ripped from her chest.

Did he have a key?

Retreating to the rear of the cage, her gaze darted between Mr. Evans, the open cargo hold door, and the two prisoners at the far end of the room, whose gaunt faces shared twin expressions of shock.

Mr. Evans removed his closed hand from his pocket, held out his arm, and smiled. One by one, he opened his fingers, starting with his pinkie, and revealed three gold coins, which he flung at Alana, laughing as they struck her and scattered across the floor.

“I look forward to our night together.” Turning, he glared at the other two prisoners. “I do hope there’s screaming.”

His threat swirling around her, he left the cargo hold and closed the door behind him.

“What did you do to Mr. Evans?” asked one of the men in the far cage. He’d stuck his arms through the squares, resting them on the slats, and leaned forward, staring at her through one of the openings. His companion, upon hearing the question, joined him, copying the same standing pose.

“I haven’t done anything,” she replied, walking to the side. “I was serving the captain.”

“How did you end up here?” the second man asked.

“I was accused of theft.”

“Why would you steal from pirates?”

“I didn’t.”

“Didn’t you listen?” the first man chastised, glancing at his companion. “Mr. Evans knows she’s innocent. He withheld the information.”

His gaze shifted back to Alana. “Do I have that correct?”

“You do, Mister…”

“Woodford,” the first man pointed to himself. “And this is Mr. Annesley.”

“Are you the only two left?” she asked, indicating the empty cells between them.

“We are.” Mr. Annesley jerked his head toward the door. “We were fortunate enough to be assigned to Mr. Hayward. He’s ensured that our captivity has been bearable.”

“Judging by the visible bruising and cuts,”—Mr. Woodford indicated her throat where Mr. Wickes’ blade had sliced into her skin—“I’m surmising you didn’t have the same experience with the captain.”