Page 19

Betts

Poor Eze hasn’t recovered his color since he stepped inside the circle at the all-call meeting.

I don’t want to be lumped into the group of terrifying women who live rent-free in his head, so I won’t punish him further.

He went from the son of the Island Queen to a war under Magda’s command to piracy.

Watching the tall, strong man stoop to placate me is humbling.

I don’t blame him for yearning to go home. I just can’t lose his leadership skills on the boat. I planned to make him quartermaster and Greenhorn master of sails when Chub left. Now what am I going to do? I can’t hold them hostage on the boat. I’d get the blackspot in seconds flat.

“Thank you for your help,” I say softly to the map because the words I want to say are trapped in my throat.

Any other captain would clap him on the back and wish him fair weather, but I don’t have the ego to replace him quickly and move on.

I’m tired of processing loss. Focusing on the practical matters—like manning the boat—is easier than facing my abandonment issues.

“You must understand why our location must never be drawn on a map. My mother had all of us swear to it. If the slavers ever found us…” As his words trail off, I search his face for clues that he has more he wishes to share or if he’s shutting down.

The pain written on his face is a tale as old as the sea.

He didn’t leave business on that island.

He left a someone . While it’s true he swore never to tell the island’s location, someone on that island earned his protection.

I’ve seen it a hundred times in brothels, taverns, villages, and boats across the Caribbean—old salts who let the other half of their soul escape them because they were blinded by promises of gold, jewels, and the thrill of adventure.

While it’s better for me if his someone moved on in his absence, I hope with all my heart they can be together.

He deserves it, but I can never tell him I’ve guessed his secret. Instead, I stick to the present and our trip across the Caribbean Sea. The voyage will be easy, which in pirate terms means long, boring, and agonizingly long—especially if the crew remains at odds with me.

“I would never ask you to betray your deceased mother and the haven she created for her people. I promise never to write or tell another living soul of its location, but I must ask…with all this secrecy, why bring the boat there? Isn’t it risking someone following us or one of your hearties telling the secret of their knowledge?

Just because they aren’t at the helm doesn’t mean they—"

“I trust this boat,” he snaps, appalled I would call his hearties into question.

The heat in his words warms my heart, not my temper.

Even if he’s pined after someone all these years, he’s had family here to support him.

“What we have is the true definition of hearties— family chosen by the heart . And I trust you, ma’am, to dispatch anyone who doesn’t honor our code. ”

“I appreciate that,” I say, covering his giant hand with mine.

And just like that, all is forgiven. No apologies are needed.

The miracle of pirate culture joins us as more than coworkers but true hearties .

There are no secrets on the boat, but affairs outside of the boat are respected as none of our collective business—unless someone is being bullied or abused, then watch out.

“Relieve Greenhorn from the helm and verify that we are indeed heading west,” I say in my captain-voice after we stare at one another for a pause. “That nutmeg doesn’t know his nose from his arse sometimes.”

“Aye, aye, Captain,” he says, rising from his chair.

He knocks over the pawn we designated as the hidden island and sets it beside the map as he steps away.

He traverses the tiny room in one step but pauses at the door.

“Thank you again. This means more to the men from my village than you can imagine. Some of us left too quickly, and…some days I wonder what my life would be like if I had one more day…this visit is closure, healing, and well…just thank you.”

He leaves, shutting the door behind him before we can comment on his cryptic words. I was right about leaving someone behind. Chub will be pleased with how fast the nutmegs get the boat to the island. Eze will push them harder than a battering ram. Blimey, he would have made a great quartermaster.

What are the chances that Magda’s old crew would hunger for the sweet trade? There’s Boom and Sharps…but they never sailed…they handled the cannons and weapons… Should I train Gunter at the wheel? Or maybe Leo, since he has four arms? Or will they choose island life too…

If it’s secluded and inclusive…I may sail into the sunset alone…

Can I sail this boat alone? Or will Flint sit silently beside me as he does now?

“Anyone else you plan to take from me? A heads up would be lovely, so I know how many greenhorns I must hire and train.” I refuse to cry in front of Flint.

An embarrassing tear escaped during his childish wishing on a star stunt, so I can’t allow another.

My reputation as a fearsome captain depends on my keeping a straight face.

“I never meant to take your crew from you,” Flint says, leaving his seat to take the one Eze just vacated.

“Then what was your game? Why didn’t you let Chub go? It makes more sense for you to disappear in Mexico once we dock than to drag us to an isolated island, where the inhabitants shoot men like you without a second thought.”

He opens his mouth to rail at me but shuts it without a sound.

I guess he never considered that the islanders wouldn’t accept him.

I try again with a gentler tone. “Yes, you are Other , but you are still an Englishman—colonist—landlubber—whatever. Men who dress, look, and speak like you do tore them from their homes, stuffed them into boats, and took them to a nightmare of torture. They barely escaped with their lives.”

“Visiting the island wasn’t for me,” he says, reaching for my hand.

I bounce out of my chair and backtrack until my back hits the wall.

I wish I wore more clothing. A chill runs down my spine.

Goosepimples break out over my arms in alarm.

I know that expression. He wore that soft look a heartbeat before I kissed him.

That was the heat of the battle—or at least that’s what I told myself—I have no reason to seek comfort in his arms today.

I’m vulnerable when I’m this exposed. Dressing indecently on the boat doesn’t bother anyone…

or didn’t until the passions stirred between Flint and me.

It made sense when I faced a morning of swabbing the decks and mending the ratlines.

Why did I tuck us into this tiny room? Why didn’t I follow Eze out the door?

“You look as frightened as the rabbits back home. A rabbit is—”

“I know what a rabbit is,” I whisper, the sound barely louder than the thundering of my heart, “and I don’t appreciate the comparison.”

“Visiting the island—Chevelle in particular—isn’t for the crew, Chub, Catalina, or me.” He rises from his seat and drapes his jacket over the back of it. With each name, he steps toward me. My instincts flatten my body against the wall. I press my sweaty palms against the cool planks.

“Then why?” I barely get the words out between pants. He reaches his arm over me and leans so that my breasts brush his chest with each labored inhale. His scent of salt, cedar, and something uniquely him threatens to drown me in lust. My lashes fan downward to watch his hand lift from his side.

“For you,” he whispers, against my lips.

“I’m taking you to her to make your wish come true.

Then we’re sorting out our crew and dropping off Chub and Catalina in Mexico.

Next, you’re going to wish on another star, and I’m going to make that wish come true, too.

Can you guess what happens next? It’s not a secret.

You will wish a third time, a fourth. For the rest of our lives, I’ll work my fingers to the bone to make your wishes come true. ”

“Wishes? I thought you said you didn’t hear my wish?” Bile churns in my stomach as his sweet words wash over me. It’s sweet words and promises of forever that took my tentacles…wait…

“All I heard was tentacles ,” he says with a smile that I want to wipe off his gob and mount to the mast. “If the lady wants her tentacles back, I will go to the ends of the earth to find a witch who can restore her tentacles.”

Bastard is as serious as the plague. He’s pretty smug about it, too. I may want the carefree lifestyle I had under the sea—before I was traumatized—but I love my body the way it is. He may be Other and feel differently, but I’m fine as a human.

“Listen clearly, for we are only having this conversation once,” I sneer through clenched jaws.

“I am whole as I am. Tentacles, legs, stumps, or pegs I fashion myself as legs do not define me. Before you acted like a puddinghead on my behalf, you should have asked me to clear the waters. I love my body and who I am. I wished for fewer problems, like when I had tentacles. The wish wasn’t to change me but to give me a day off!

Now you’ve taken half the mateys with enough sense to cover for me! ”

“I love your body too. I just—”

“Thought it could be better? What’s in it for you? Oh, I get it. You’ve been obsessed with Magda’s journals, so I bet you want to be the next Captain Teeth. Is that it? With tentacles, I’ll be a replica of my sister and confined to the sea most of the time. You can play Teeth and be the captain—”

“It’s not like that at all,” he says, stroking a finger down my cheek. I slap his hand away and glare at him. Bastard smiles so wide, his eyes squint. “I want us to be us —not Captain Betts and lowlife, philanderer Hybris. I want Flint and Bettina to be an us .”