Page 91 of Hush Darling

Infuriated by her rejection, he toppled her to the carpet and held her throat. “Is this what you want? A monster?”

“You’re not a monster either.”

“Then why has no one ever loved me?”

The walls shook, and a loud bang rattled the ship. He was on his feet and rushing to the window.

“What was that?”

A small boat tied to the side of the ship. They were out of time.

“James, what’s happening?”

He yanked her off the floor, deposited her on the bed, and rushed to the dresser, flinging a dry shirt at her as he pulled on pants. “Put this on. Don’t move from that bed.” He snatched his weapons from the dresser as another crash sounded from above, and the floorboards rattled.

“Tell me what’s happening!”

“We’re under attack. It looks like you’re going home.”

Her eyes went wide. “Peter’s here? On the ship?”

He rushed to the bed, pressing a kiss to her lips as he slipped a key into her hand. “Lock the door behind me and don’t open it for anyone, no matter what happens.”

“What’s going to happen?”

“Just do as I say.” Swiping his tourné blade from the table, he rushed out the door and up to the deck.

Pistols fired, and men screamed. Bodies and barrels were thrown overboard while others raced into the fight. James froze at the sight of his brother battling with his crew on the lookout.

“Where is she?” Peter demanded, angling a nasty dagger with a golden blade at James.

“She’s in my bed.”

“Bastard!”

“Yes,” he agreed, glad to finally witness his brother’s outrage when he felt his revenge. “She’s ruined, and I enjoyed every second of it…brother.”

“She wasn’t yours!” Peter rushed forward and then stilled, his golden brow twitching in confusion. “What did you just call me?”

“You’re kidding. Do you really not know who I am?” Could he honestly forget him so completely?

“Black Jack,” he said, lifting his blade. “I know exactly who you are—captain of this ship and scourge of the Seven Seas.”

“Is that all I am? Look harder, Peter. What do you see?”

“I see nothing. A criminal.”

“Shame on you, Peter. You should always know the full name of a man you rob.”

“I don’t care what your name is?—”

“Hook.” He grinned when Peter staggered back and lowered his dagger. “The name’s Hook.”

Realization dawned, and his jaw went slack. “James?”

“That’s right. You probably thought I was dead—not that you ever cared to check.”

Peter’s brow hardened at the sharp criticism, and he raised his dagger again. “Don’t blame me if your life’s been nothing more than a reeking pile of driftwood and rum. It’s not my fault you wasted it envying me.”