by Landra Graf
She sprinted out of the room, headed for the deck. Nearing the door, she heard shouts, and then the whole ship went dark. The vessel lurched left. Following the course of gravity, she slammed into the wall, cursing as the hallway bulbs blinked out completely. They were still airborne, but the EMP had affected all the other systems. She pushed off the wall and pulled open the barrier separating her from her crew. Emerging from the corridor, she had to duck back in immediately to miss an electo-pulse from a hand-held coil. Shots were flying all over the place. Sheer luck they hadn’t set the boat on fire.
Bastille was straight in front of her, grappling with the electo-net, a new protective option they’d yet to employ. She dashed out, pushing aside her fear of being struck by a few volts of electricity, to help Bastille get the upper hand.
Reaching her first mate, she pushed his hands away from the mechanism. “You’ve got the line tangled around the gear.” She whipped out a balisong to cut the string attached near the bronze gear shaft. Then the net flew loose. A high-pitched whining sound rent the air as the next piece spread and encompassed the top deck. The miracle in the mesh was the rubber blended wire expanding up and out from the pole, acting as a lightning rod to catch electric pulses and dispel them before they hurt anyone or started a fire. The crew cheered.
“Fire the EMP,” Sorella hollered, but to no avail since Gustav was engaged in his own battle. She and Bastille scrambled to the helmsman’s deck. Popping open the casing at the bottom of the steering wheel, she flipped the switch for the starboard side cannon. The lighting grid under the switch burned red. It would take at least a minute for the light to turn green, giving the go-ahead.
Another explosion. Wood flew through the air, and metal screeched as a grappling hook tore through the hull. Their guest’s generosity knew no bounds, and soon three hands were using the rope to slide from the attacking ship to the Liberté. They sliced through the net and hopped aboard.
She slapped her first mate on the shoulder. “You stay here until the EMP is ready and then fire. I don’t give two shits and a giggle if they all die.” For tearing a hole in her ship, they deserved it. “I’m going to make sure those three don’t make it to Tuul.”
“Aye, aye.”
Then she launched off again, taking the steps back to the lower deck two at time, and swinging herself over the railing to bypass the last few. Landing on her feet, she moved in the direction her unwanted guests had gone, past the door to the ship’s main corridor and down the port side. When she reached the rear of the ship, they’d disappeared. Only then did she notice the smaller grappling hooks clinging to the railing. They’d gone straight to the brig dropping to it from the back of the ship.
A peek over the edge, and, sure enough…. A nice gaping hole, sliced out with an electo wand, gave a perfect view of one man, a lookout. Sorella leaned up, took a deep breath, and then, without hesitation, gripped a grappling rope with one gloved hand and swung herself over, aiming for the corner of the opening. Her aim was true, and she brought booted heels to her enemy’s chest, felling him immediately.
Her lover lay on the floor, unconscious. Fear clawed at her heart, and she charged toward him. “Ian! Wake up!”
Just as she neared him, a big, meaty arm encircled her waist and threw her back into the wall. The pain was negligible, and she drew her balisongs. “Let me make your smiles permanent, bastardos.”
No one was getting out of here alive.
His mouth was dry, and a throbbing headache radiated through his skull. He heard Sorella yelling at him to wake up. Hell, if only they were back in her bed away from the men and the fighting…. Shit! Tuul.
Ian’s eyes flew open, and he pushed himself up off the floor. No time to cry over a little pain. Then one of Sorella’s knives slid over and hit his boot, handle-first. She let out a struggled grunt, both arms wrestling for control against her attacker, a man three times her size.
He reached down for the knife. When he looked up, the bounty hunter had pulled a gun and aimed. Sorella lost her footing and fell. For a moment, time suspended and the idea of her being shot had him seeing red like one of the bulls in the fighting rings of Spain.
Charging forward, he stuck the idiot in his back, not once or twice, but four times in the region of the kidneys on either side. The gun clattered onto the floor, and the bounty hunter fell forward, failing to fire a single shot. Sorella scrambled away to avoid being pinned under the body.
He’d killed a man, taken the life of someone who may have been good or bad.
“Thank you,” she said, patting his arm. “Are you okay?”
“Yes.” He nodded and mumbled, unable to stop staring at the body or the darkened stain on the shirt where blood was pooling.
“Where’s Tuul?”
The question pulled him away from the corpse on the floor, and he glanced around the room. The cell door was swinging open, the cage empty. “When the EMP knocked out the power briefly, he ambushed me and made a run for it.”
“There was one more hunter…. Did you see him?”
“No.” Ian had been out for more than a few minutes then. She swore and ran out of the room. He followed, hoping his bounty hadn’t been captured or killed. He needed the bastard alive, even if the fool wanted to hurt everyone.
A scream came from the direction of the kitchen, and he stayed on his captain’s heels until they reached the entrance. Another carcass blocked their way. Not one of the crew though. Based on the clothes, another bounty hunter. A puddle of red near the man’s head told him all he needed to know.
In the mess of the usually neat kitchen, Ian searched frantically for Bonita and Gretchen. Then he saw the cook trapped underneath a chair, eyes wide with fear. Gretchen wasn’t with her.
A scuffling sound made Ian look up. Tuul stood at the far edge of the room, his hands around Gretchen’s throat. “You think you’ll keep me locked up, tossers? Well, that’s the last mistake you make with me. Step back, both o’ you, or I snap the filly’s neck.”
“You don’t want to do that. We’ll let you stay in a cabin until the trip is over.” He didn’t need to look at Sorella to know she disagreed with his suggestion. “Hell, even got a snipe for you. Just put the girl down, and we’ll stay right here.”
Tension weighted the air like the humidity in New Orleans on an early spring day. No one moved for a long moment, and then everyone moved at once.
“I think I’ll take my chances.” The scag uttered the last word as Sorella’s blade launched from her hand.
Ian cried out and made for the captain’s hand, but too late. Gretchen screamed, dropping to the floor. No one cared about the dead man who’d been his only shot at freedom, his only chance to finally pay the debt he owed to The Cursed for breaking him out of jail and smuggling him away from his bloodthirsty cousin.
Bastille pushed him aside. Both captain and first mate assisted the ladies while he slunk to the floor, his thoughts filled with anger, disappointment, and sadness. Helping Sorella and the crew of the Liberté meant accepting the madness of the morning, the insanity of Tuul’s mind, and the quick-fire decisions of his captain.
Sitting there, he realized no matter how doomed his future may be, the die had been cast, and there was no going back.
Chapter Fourteen
Now that Sorella had finally held true to her word and let her vengeance fly on Tuul, all signs of conflict were removed and order restored. Thankfully, her crew came away with few injuries, and once Bastille communicated to the attacking vessel that their hunters were dead along with their bounty, they’d flown off.
Time to change clothes, to wash the grime, sweat, and blood from her body. She strode into her cabin, heading straight for her vanity. Steam wafted from the pitcher through the air as she poured a measure of water into the basin bowl. Without preamble, she shoved her hands into the water, loving how the clear substance washed away the impure ones from her skin. Once her hands were clean, she shed her vest, then
her boots, and stood in her darned socks on the cool floor.
“I can’t believe you killed him.” Ian’s voice was low and came from the direction of her bed.
“Why are you in here?” She reached for a clean cloth and dipped it into the pitcher.
“This is the only place I know we can talk in private.”
“He was an awful man, if you could call him a man.”
The bed creaked as he rose and crossed the room, the spurs on his boots like death knocks spelling the end of them as lovers. “He was my ticket to freedom.”
“What are you talking about?” She put the scrap to her neck and wiped away the grime on the front and back.
“Tuul was my last job to repay my debt to The Cursed. They saved me from my cousin over a year ago. My fiancée sold me out. My black market merchant dealings were too much tarnish for her upper class image.”
She dropped the piece of fabric into the basin, shocked more than anything and angry she hadn’t take some skin or an ear from the spiteful trollop when she’d boarded the ship seeking Ian’s help.
He continued. “I owed them, and I couldn’t pay in coin…. All my assets had been seized and turned over to my bastard relation. I paid them for their favor in jobs. Bounty hunting, stealing, intelligence retrieval, whatever they needed. One last deal and I was done.”
Then numbness hit when she saw his frustrated expression as he scrubbed the beginnings of facial hair on his cheeks. Somehow, over the weeks of travel, companionship, and the sharing of a bed and bodies, she’d begun to believe they were on the same side. His words said another story, one she didn’t believe wholeheartedly. Another fact…. “You lied to me.”
“I didn’t lie. I never got the chance to tell you because you never asked; you assumed.”
She scoffed and turned to face him. Better to take the punch to the face than a knife to the back. “Really? Any chance is a good one. Maybe before you took me to bed or when I told you my sordid past?”
“Oh, it’s not like you’ve shared all your secrets. Who you are is the only one. Why The Cursed? Why Luther? Don’t think I missed the bloodlust in your eyes when Eva and I discussed him. You’re desperate to find them, desperate enough to bring a man on board you had vowed to kill.”
She threw her hands in the air. Then she put both hands against his chest and shoved. “Don’t talk about things you know nothing about.”
He barely moved two steps. “Then tell me about them. Confess, Sorella. The number of lives you’ve taken means nothing, but what does?”
“My brother!”
His mouth dropped, hard gaze softening.
Anger, revenge, justice, and killing, she dealt with almost daily. But pity? That was one thing she had never handled well. She stalked over to the porthole, staring out into the hazy gray sky, a reminder of how horrible the day had turned out to be, a reminder of how lines were blurring now.
“I was six, and they kidnapped me. He was given in my stead as the ransom. A twelve year-old trained bodyguard, my bodyguard. We were very close.”
“So it’s revenge.” He stood only a few steps behind her, speaking softly.
“Yes…. no…. I don’t know, but I want to find him. We were meant to follow orders, but I couldn’t forget him. My parents didn’t forget to remind me, either, of his sacrifice for my future. How it was so important to live up to my potential.”
“As a killer?”
“That’s wrong, isn’t it?” She’d lost sight of any moral line. She’d betrayed her family, but for reasons of her own making. At the same time, she had never seen her parents as horrible people, just people who were fighting for what they believed in. Their only mistake was giving up her brother.
“It’s wrong to trade human lives or expect someone to kill because you say so,” he said, coming closer now. He wrapped his arms around her, and she melted into his embrace. Not the best path to take, but she needed the comfort—such a foreign thing, but she’d easily become addicted to it.
“Yet you were trading Tuul for your life.” The irony wasn’t lost on her.
“I’m afraid you’re wrong. I wasn’t trading his life to them, merely his services. I’ve never known Luther to actually sell people.”
She laughed then, attempting to pull away from him, but no dice. “We’ll have to beg to differ. Nearly every crewman on board this ship has lost a relative to The Cursed and their slave trade. Disappearing acts, one and all. Can’t even track them.”
“Hey.” He nipped the lobe of her ear, awakening the part of her that still wanted him, needed him in a physical way. “I’m not saying they don’t. I’m saying I haven’t seen it happen.”
They stood, staring out the porthole, watching a flock of birds fly by. Before retiring, Sorella had pointed the helmsman in the direction of a small group of islands where they’d dock and repair before venturing toward Luther’s hiding place. She still planned on taking The Cursed out, but first she needed to determine a few things. Ian rubbed her shoulders with his hands, kneading her flesh to a state of relaxation she’d never experienced.
“I’m sorry,” she confessed, not wanting their intimacy to end and sensing in him a true fear of the repercussions of her actions. Sure, instinct told her Gretchen would’ve met death if she’d let things play out, and, truth be told, trusting someone else to manage a dangerous situation like that seemed nigh impossible. Still, guilt ate at her, and thoughts of how the outcome could’ve been changed were taking root in her mind.
“For what?” He tucked his head next to hers, resting his chin on her shoulder.
“For killing Tuul, for hiding things, for being me.”
“But I like you, and I’m sorry for not telling you what I was getting in return for the bounty. At first, I thought if I told you, you’d kill me.”
“I would’ve,” she murmured. Now…. Never.
He chuckled, a few feather light kisses from his lips touching the side of her neck. “See, you’re good at this honesty thing.”
“Then let’s be honest. What will Luther accept in Tuul’s stead?”
His arms loosened, hands grabbing her shoulders and turning her to face him. “What are you thinking?”
“You give him someone more valuable.”
“Who knows how valuable the man I already had was? I don’t know what he was wanted for.”
“Still, I’ve got someone in mind who is much more valuable than Tuul could ever be.” She smiled, a plan unfurling from her rampant thoughts.
Ian’s eyes narrowed, suspicious, and she flashed a full grin. “No.” He shook his head. “Absolutely not. Having me deliver you to him is the worst idea ever.”
“It’d get me close enough to kill him without a fight.”
“Will it bring your brother back?” He stepped in close again, resting his forehead against hers and lighting flames of desire and frustration along the way.
“I don’t care. Retribution for a life.” Her words came out labored as he started unfastening the buttons on her vest. Allowing him access to her body had been a mistake if she failed to control herself. She struggled to maintain coherent thoughts, to pay attention as he spoke again.
“Why such extremes when questions may yield different results?” He kissed her nose, and her eyes closed. Then he slid her vest off and tossed it to the side, her balisongs rattling in their holsters when they hit the floor. “Why inflict death when you’ve experienced the very act that produces life?”
“Oh,” she moaned when his hands cupped her breasts. Her mouth hungrily wanted his, but, instead, he sucked one of her nipples into his mouth. “You’re trying to convince me that killing isn’t worth it?”
He lifted his head and returned to the gentle, tender pressing of his lips on her eyelids, cheeks, and finally her mouth. “I’m just saying explore other options, and then, if needed, respond with force.”
“Where did they teach you the art of diplomacy?” She allowed herself to
look at him then, to be ‘open,’ as Bonita often described their talks.
“In ballrooms, store fronts, and dinner parties across N’awlins’,” he grinned at her as his voice dropped into the southern, French-tinted accent she’d heard in Janken’s club, “I learned the best way to survive is to refrain from the horrible practices of the dictators you wish to depose.”
“I mean to depose no one.” She stepped back, then, away from kisses and erotic daydreams.
“You were trained to be someone who eliminated people and obstacles. My president is as much a tyrant as the kaiser.”
“Yes, but I ran away so I wouldn’t have to kill him.” She kept backing away from him, traversing the room until her back lined up with the cabin door.
“Oh, isn’t ridding the world of The Cursed the same thing, except this time it’s on your own agenda? The blight of the German Empire and the United States wiped out by a weapon of their own making?”
The words were cruel, sharp, and cut like the very knives she’d trained with for the last ten years. Cold reality replaced tender feelings, and she hated it, despised the pity in his gaze mixed with an emotion she failed to recognize. “I think you need to leave.” Her hand found the doorknob behind her.
“Sorella, I—”
“No, you’ve said enough. I’ve become what they made me, what they intended me to be. Only this time, I’m killing their enemies for them, right?” She couldn’t bring herself to twist the knob as if turning it would plunge a knife completely into her heart. This man made her weak, awaking emotions in her she didn’t want to experience. Emotions made her care what he thought of her and how she appeared. He even made her care for the well-being of people she wasn’t responsible for.
“You’re not what they want you to be yet. There’s a fine line. All I’m saying is why kill at all? It proves nothing. Gives nothing.”
She thought about the deaths she’d caused. Two recent ones gave her nothing but peace because the little girl who would’ve been hurt was spared instead. Other deaths were meant as messages or occurred as self-defense. In some cases, she’d been able to disarm rather than slay or inflict enough pain to cause surrender, but it had always been simpler to destroy her enemies or problems. “It’s easier.”
