Page 29 of Bloody Black

“You want sex? Is that what you want?” I demand roughly, shoving both hands against his chest. “You want between my legs, to ravage and break something beautiful, so you can walk off and claim you were the best I’ve had?

Or would you rather capture the famed Blackbeard, scourge of the seas?

Put my head on a pike, and show off what a fearsome warrior you are? ”

My teeth bare in a gruesome grimace. “Here I am! Cut my throat and be done with it!”

I yank my dagger from its sheath and cut the bonds on his hands. Then I offer it to him by the hilt.

“See if you can kill me. Many have tried. Perhaps you are the key! If you’re wrong, I’ll live to see another day, to face yet another horror. I’ll still be standing, left to lose yet another piece of myself.”

Robb hesitates for a beat, maybe two, and takes the knife. He plucks it from my hand, palms it, and without even looking, launches it past my ear. There’s a loud thunk as it embeds into a tree trunk behind us .

“Let us get some things clear between us, Blackbeard. First: I rather like your head. I prefer it attached to your neck. So I won’t be cutting it off.”

“Second,” He’s staring at my lips, comes a step closer. “What perfume are you wearing?”

“I—what?”

Robb chuckles, low and throaty. “I want to know what perfume you’re wearing, because it haunts me.”

“I don’t know. Domino bought it.” It smells like roses, and it’s utterly lovely, I agree.

“I see.” There’s no smugness in his gaze. No triumph. Just something deep, steady, and searing. I recognize it, even though I’ve never seen it in the eyes of a man before. Wanting.

“Since we’re being honest with one another: yes, I want you. Yes, I want to kiss you, to lie between your legs, to ravage you until you break in my arms, and for you to tell everyone that I’m the best you’ve ever had.”

Maybe he thought I’d appreciate a man of honesty and action. Because a moment later, his arm snakes around my waist, and he hauls me close. For him, it’s effortless, one hard pull, and I collide with him like a wave upon the reef.

My palms flatten against his chest. Sun-warmed.

Steady. Salt-kissed skin and the faint, clean bite of clove soap.

His hands settle low on my hips, thumbs grazing the waistband of my trousers.

Deliberate, anchoring. He looks down at me, and the entire world pauses.

The waves. The wind. My war against William.

Robb doesn’t press. Doesn’t grope .

No matter. My body remembers the pain too well. A choking hand, my nightgown shoved above my hips.

Not again. Not again. I remember everything. Everything. His arm wrapped around my body is simply too much for me.

I panic.

“Stop! Don’t!” I scramble in his arms, a trapped animal, my voice shrill. “Don’t do this!”

“What?” Robb is thoroughly confused, but he’s not stupid. He knows that I’m afraid, and instead of pressing that advantage, he immediately lets me go. Puts up his hands, palms toward me.

Blind with worry, I’m so keen to get away that I stumble, falling to my knees in the sand, with my back toward him.

Never have your back to an enemy.

I roll over, yanking a hidden knife from the top of my boot and brandishing it at him. “Stop! I’ll gut you!”

He’s still standing in the same place. Palms up. Un-armed.

My heart is pounding so loudly I can’t think. I’m here, and he’s looming over me. I’m… I can’t think. To my absolute horror, I think I might start crying.

“I’m sorry.”

Maybe it’s that word, specifically. Maybe it’s the way he says it so softly.

But it gets through to me. I study Robb Maynard.

Besides his size and the fact that he says that he wants me, there’s nothing threatening.

I’m panicking because of pure imagination.

I look ridiculous, the famed Blackbeard on her ass and waving a knife at nothing.

“I’ve killed men. Your men. Many of them.” I say abruptly. Just to remind him. To re-establish to myself who I am .

“I realize that.”

“Aren’t you going to do something about it?”

“I thought we’d established what I was going to do about it.” He shoves both hands into his pockets, leans back on his heels.

To kiss you. Ravage you.

“I’d rather be hanged.”

“I won’t begrudge a woman her choices, but I do feel I’m the better long-term option.” Robb extends his hand to me. “Come on. I’ll help you up.”

I stare at his hand like it’s covered in poisonous boils. “I don’t even like you.”

“You do like me. You’ll like me even more once I have my mouth on you.”

Hearing him talk like this sends my heart into a furious race again, and heat flashes over my skin. Not just my skin; my entire body feels feverish. Itchy. Once I have my mouth on you.

Clearly my judgment remains as broken as it ever was, because I want to like him.

I cannot decide if it’s his eyes or the way that he smiles.

Warm and slow and genuine. He strikes me as a man who is patient, steady, slow to anger.

A little bit like Ben, a little bit like Teach, but better looking than both of them.

I absolutely refuse to take his hand. So I stand, without any assistance, and brush sand off my thighs. Robb Maynard, my sworn enemy, watches silently.

Behind him, there’s a sudden shout, and a clamor. Down the beach, Teach’s beard is burning—quite literally on fire—from where he leaned too close to the flames.

Everyone is scrambling, but it’s Prudence who grabs a bucket and douses him with water. His long hair and beard is dripping, sopping wet and looking drowned.

There’s a thunderclap of silence. Someone coughs. One after another, the crew begins laughing, until everyone is helpless. Samson, Holly, Prudence. Xandretta grins, row after row of black pointed teeth showing.

Even Mercy puts her hand over her mouth, her slim shoulders shaking.

“You’re all assholes,” Teach declares loudly. “No sympathy at all.”

“T’would have been a good story,” someone guffaws. “The demise of the great Edward Teach!”

“How about I kill you for laughing?” he grumbles, stomping over to a log, his beard still smoking.

“Dead men tell no tales?” Holly takes a swig of rum, and gives him a peck on the cheek.

I bite my lip to keep from smiling.

“Oh look. Here.” Robb bends down, and plucks something from the sand. When he opens his fist, there’s a small black triangle in his palm. A shark tooth so small, it could have only belonged to a baby.

I blink. “I don’t know how you even saw that.”

“You have it. I have an entire jar already.” He holds it out to me.

Feeling strangely touched, I take it, careful not to touch his skin.

“Shall we go back?” He acts as if he didn’t just proposition me, as if I didn’t humiliate myself thoroughly.

My body is still humming—nerves taut, lips tingling, his voice echoing in the hollow of my spine.

I shake my head, not to answer him, but to clear it.

For some reason, I find myself wondering if I could trust Robb, even though that is undoubtedly one of the worst ideas I’ve ever had.

Once I have my mouth on you. His words echo in my head.

That can never happen, not ever. And not just because he’s William’s man, but because my crew would never forgive me if it did.

We’re a team; we’ve all been through hell.

No one knows my agony better than they do.

Or knows their agony better than I. We’ve made a pact.

We won’t trust again; we won’t love again.

Not until we’ve gotten our revenge. I open my mouth to tell Robb no, never,

And that’s when I see her.

Prudence stands at the edge of the fire, silhouetted by the bonfire’s glow, a tin mug in one hand. She sips her rum, slow and deliberate. Watching the two of us.