by Landra Graf
She approached him as he stood, back to the wall, one booted foot propped against the steel and planking. “Are you ready?”
“As I’ll ever be. Does everyone know the plan?”
She nodded, reaching behind him to spin his spur with her finger. “Why the spurs?”
“An American pastime I was always fascinated with. The cowboys of the Midwest used these to help control their horses when riding, but I like them for the sound they make.”
“Interesting. I never learned much about cowboys. They mainly taught me about the president, his household, your country’s customs, and their expectations of me.” She took a spot beside him and nudged him with her shoulder. “Tell me something else. Something interesting.”
He wanted to tell her he loved her, to tell her he’d be ensuring they both got out of there today with her secrets intact. Instead, he told her, “I met the president’s son once.”
“You did?” She sounded genuinely shocked.
“My father was one of the richest landowners in the entire parish. Roosevelt’s son went on a tour of the States and wanted to stop in New Orleans. He likes jazz music, as I’m sure you know.”
She smiled. “I didn’t know. You’d be surprised at the lack of information we’ve been given about him over the years. At our first introduction, he barely said anything to me even while we danced. He looked at my bosom plenty and gave me a few polite comments about my dress and how he was looking forward to getting to know me better.”
Ian clenched his fists at the idea of the leering Roosevelt Jr. touching his captain. At least he could boast being her first in everything physical, not that pervert. “Trust me when I say the last thing he wants is purity. He has some deplorable tastes. When he visited my parish, he wanted to know the whereabouts of the brothels in town. In a crunch, people would come to me looking for anything and everything, and so did he. That’s the only reason I know about it.”
“Thank goodness I got out of that situation then. I’d have killed him when I found out.”
Surprising how serious she was on the topic. Loveless marriages were no doubt something she’d become familiar with. He chuckled.
“What?”
“You’re committed to monogamy?” What he really wanted to know was if she’d be committed to such a thing with him, a thought too dangerous to say out loud and not at all appropriate.
“If I pledged my future to someone, I’d expect him to be only with me. I’ve seen relationships without love or care between the spouses. I don’t want that.”
How the hell had he let himself get involved in this type of conversation? Yet not asking the next logical question seemed to be impossible. “Do you plan on getting married someday?”
Sorella froze like a mouse caught in the open. She stammered. “I…uh, that is—”
Not a hard question in his mind, but she was still struggling with her answer when the helmsman called out, “Land Ho!”
In the distance, the isle of Grimsey loomed, small, serviceable, with three other airships ported, from what Ian could make out. He left his post against the wall and headed for the railing. The island looked like a large boat in the ocean. He found himself surprised Luther could house his operations from such a location.
“Fifteen minutes until docking time. Do you want to run through the plans again…in private?” Sorella said, stroking the side of his arm with one hand.
“You’re insatiable.”
“Take happiness when you can, you’ve said as much before. Who knows what the day will bring?”
He looked down at her, needing to reconfirm just one thing. “You’ll let me take the lead, right? Luther will be comfortable with me. I’ll ease you into the conversation. This won’t work any other way.”
She nodded. “You’ve got the lead unless I receive a sign from you or Bastille telling me something’s wrong.”
“Nothing will go wrong.” If it did, they’d be in for the fight of their lives, and the last thing he wanted to do was harm Sorella and her crew. At worst, he’d have her leave if The Cursed leader refused to hear him out. “Tell your helmsman to port next to Luther’s main ship on the west side of the island. Most likely, he’s there. If not, his first mate will point us in the right direction.”
She stalked off, probably upset at him for not taking advantage of a quick coupling behind closed doors, but he needed to keep his wits intact. Her body, in all its tantalizing glory, did the exact opposite. If things went as he hoped, he’d be wrapped up in her body for as long as possible. Waiting a few hours wouldn’t hurt.
***
A swarm of moths took root in her belly, fluttering like mad as the docking rope was let loose and secured by her crewman at the post on the island. The Cursed flag ship, a massive beast bigger than hers and fully outfitted with EMP repel netting, docked to their right. Did this gang’s leader know where her brother was?
Nerves, excitement, anxiety…. Damn him for not taking her mind off things with a mindless screw. She’d needed something to distract her, but didn’t want to appear weak. Her crew had to see her as strong, impervious to emotion. Sentiment was only allowed for her men.
She’d led them in the past with strong actions. Confused by her order to stay the attack in favor of parlay, many had expressed their concerns earlier today, but they were willing to follow her lead.
Finding another way to get her men the justice they wanted would be difficult. Most were like her. Next to gold, they saw blood as the currency to repay all debts. She hoped Ian was right, and that, somehow, the worst things she’d heard about Luther weren’t true, but merely lies spread by The Cursed’s enemies, much like the propaganda spread by the kaiser and his cronies to brainwash the weak.
As Ian stood on the deck of the Liberté, waving a white flag made from some cloth Bonita had provided, The Cursed’s gangplank extended from their ship, crossing the air to join Sorella’s in an invitation. Once the narrow metal path reached her gate’s opening, the crew set about securing it for crossing.
Small metal tips were put over the front of Ian’s shoes. Having already applied hers, Sorella hastened from the helm’s deck to his side.
“Ready?” he asked, smiling as if their conversation minutes before, his dismissal of her advances, had never taken place. She loved the look in his eyes, his genuine caring for her well-being, and immediately her worry lightened, her unwarranted anger replaced with a foreign emotion, one she’d dismissed before. But the time for analyzing personal feelings would have to await the completion of their mission, the attainment of their goal. She’d shove them aside like everything else and focus on the task at hand.
“Let’s do this.”
The tips on their boots kept them magnetized to the gangplank. The air brisk, Sorella whipped the sides of her coat around her. She’d worn the trench and her vest. All three balisongs were on her person with an extra stashed in her boot, followed by a much larger knife in the trench coat’s inside pocket. They had decided on no guns the night before, but he’d winked when she’d responded that she wouldn’t travel into unknown territory without her blades.
Even with magnetized tips, the walk could still be dangerous, and they took each step slowly, planting one foot firmly before moving the next. She had a habit of attempting to slide her boot after putting it in place to make sure the magnet held. No harm in double checking.
At last they reached the other side, her lover boarding the ship first. She followed, and Bastille brought up the rear.
“Any weapons?” a man with a grizzled chin barked at her.
“Besides this boot and my hands? No.”
He didn’t like her response and pointed a rifle at her. “Open the coat.”
Ian stepped between them. “There’s no need. I briefed her on protocol.”
“I don’t care if you felt her up before crossing the bridge way, she’ll open the coat,” the rifleman replied.
She tapped her well
-intentioned protector on the shoulder, and he stepped aside. “Where I come from, men have better manners.” Spreading her coat flaps, she showed him her fully clothed form.
“In my experience, anyone can kill, lady.” He reached forward and pulled out her big knife. “What do you use this for…eating?”
“Yes, and what I eat is my personal business.” She wagged her eyebrows to imply whatever horrible thing his imagination brought up.
The rifleman tossed the blade to a compatriot and moved on to Bastille. A quick pat down yielded no results. “Your weapon will stay with us until you’re ready to leave. Proceed to the main cabin. Do you need directions?” His sarcastic tone revealed his opinion of them.
“I know where it is,” Ian replied, stalking forward.
If things did go wrong, she’d enjoy torturing that one. She smiled a full grin, and her blackened teeth did the job for her. He flinched.
Ian’s spurs clinked against the deck like a steady beat to their doom. When he opened the door to the main cabin and walked inside, a loud, booming, happy voice cried out, “Merchant, you bastard. Where the hell have you been? I expected you a week ago.”
“Things didn’t go quite as planned, Luther.”
Her pulse raced. The man she’d been hunting stood on the other side of a wood and metal door. Without thinking, her hand went to a balisong pocket. It’d be easy to let the thing fly. She’d already triangulated his location in the room based on Ian’s gaze and his voice. It would be so simple to end the whole thing.
Except that the man who had ensnared her heart reached back and put a hand on hers. He tugged it away from her weapon and wrapped it up in his own warmth. His reassuring gaze said all would be well.
“Hit a few snags. Nothing I couldn’t handle,” Ian said.
“Good to hear. The boys were starting to call you a lightweight, especially Roscoe over here. Doesn’t think anyone’s capable of getting things done.”
Ian pulled her forward through the door and into the room. “Yes, I got lucky, thanks to a lovely captain and her crew. Allow me to introduce her.”
She glanced first at the number of bodies. Three men, one behind a desk with two others flanking him. Books, maps, and nailed documents lined the walls. The leader must be a busy and methodical man to keep such close records. Even Sorella didn’t monitor things that closely.
Then she looked at Luther, finding his ebony eyes locked on hers. Chin and head covered in hair black as the smoke from the kaiser’s industrial factories, he wore leather over a grimy white shirt and gnawed on an unlit cigar, but the hoops hanging in both ear lobes were familiar. The scar running down his left cheek—a mirror to the one her brother had received when he’d interfered with one of her training sessions.
“Friend, this is Captain—”
The cigar dropped. “Sorella?” The mercenary’s eyes went soft. He shoved himself out of the chair and bustled over to her.
She struggled for her blade, pulling her hand free from Ian’s and reaching for it. He wasn’t who she thought he was. Couldn’t be. As she flicked the balisong open, Luther knocked it out of her hand. She readied for attack, completely unprepared when he grabbed her in his big, meaty arms and bundled her up in a hug, squeezing her tight. “Sister,” he cried, the word slightly muffled since his face was smashed against her headscarf.
“Sette?”
Chapter Sixteen
Ian looked at Bastille, and the first mate’s confused expression mirrored his. “Who’s Sette?” His question came out as Luther placed Sorella back on the ground and let her go.
“I am,” the large leader replied. “I changed my name years ago. Less conspicuous since I didn’t want the people I worked with to know I was Italian.”
“But they ransomed you.” His captain’s voice cracked again. Tears welled in her eyes.
“No time too spring a leak, little sister. They did ransom me, and I became indispensable for The Cursed’s head. My skills with numbers, not to mention weapons, has kept me alive all this time. When the last leader died, I took over, but instituted a few changes.”
This was a better outcome than anything Ian had expected. Yet his captain had hijacked the entire proceeding. Probably best to step back, stay quiet, and let the two siblings get reacquainted.
“Changes?” Sorella’s voice was heavy with suspicion.
The mercenary laughed. “Sit down, and I’ll tell you. Roscoe, get drinks for everyone.”
She took a seat, and Ian grabbed a chair next to hers. Their host resumed his spot behind the desk. Ironic that Bastille took a position against the far wall, his eyes on the door. Probably where he felt the most comfortable.
“Sister, despite the rumors, we are a revolutionary group. I’ve been leading a private war against the kaiser for years. Even now, I’m gathering new information that will reveal some of his future plans.”
She leaned forward in her seat, hands gripping the arms of the chair. “What about stealing people?”
“I haven’t stolen anyone. The last person to be stolen was a boy, and he’s now a well-trained spy.”
“My crew would beg to differ. Members of their family went missing, and all claim to have tangled with Cursed members.”
Both Ian’s friend and his captain frowned. Frustration filled the room until Roscoe burst in with a tray containing a pot of tea and a bottle of brandy. “Wasn’t sure what ya’d be thirsty fo’,” he announced, shoving the tray onto the desk. Cups rattled, and liquid sloshed.
“The family members?” She inquired again, and Ian wondered if maybe his earlier thoughts would prove wrong, if reunited siblings would shed blood.
Luther poured himself a glass of brandy and motioned a half-filled glass toward Ian. He reached for it and sat back. Sorella stared at him, narrow-eyed. He’d beg forgiveness if they survived this, but he wouldn’t refuse a stiff drink. The revelations of the last few minutes required liquid fortitude, and if she deemed it consorting with the enemy…. Oh, well.
“Everyone I’ve saved is safe at my facility in Iceland. They were taken for their knowledge, their skills, or because the secret police and inspectors would’ve grabbed them sooner or later. I don’t keep anyone who says they want out, but no one wants out. I provide them opportunities of a lifetime.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Ian didn’t believe him either. The island country was fairly populated and remained independent of Europe by vowing to remain neutral. It also had little to no resources to offer Germany’s power hungry dictator. “Why would they risk their non-aggressor status to hide you?”
“Et tu, Brute?” Luther didn’t look offended despite his off-hand Shakespearean remark. Hell, he winked at them. “I pay them a lot of money and keep certain items, normally unavailable, flowing into their markets freely. Pigs, goats, and sheep go a long way to opening previously closed doors. I don’t demand their loyalty for it, merely a place to base my refugees.”
Sorella scoffed. “I still don’t believe you.”
“Little sister, do you trust your first mate?”
She looked back at Bastille, who nodded at her. “With my life. He replaced you as body guard, big brother. We’ve been friends for many years.”
“Ah…. Then why not let him take the Liberté, your crew, and my man, Roscoe, to the mainland and go to the camp. Your crewmates can reunite with their loved ones, and you’ll have your proof.”
Ian saw the skepticism on her face. He prayed she’d give the idea a shot. They hadn’t even gotten to the really bad news yet, the subject probably on the tip of Luther’s tongue once this first issue was resolved.
“Fine, but they have to return in precisely two hours, or I’ll cut your damn head off.” His captain’s promise had the other guards grabbing at their coil guns.
Luther raised his hands. “Relax, men. She won’t try anything right now. Just a promise for future retribution, which I can respect. Be gone, Roscoe. Show my sister
’s man where the camp is, but watch the time closely.”
The two large men marched out the door at Luther’s command, Bastille taking up the rear. The Liberté’s first mate cast one last glance at Ian and gave another nod. That heavy lidded gaze told him he’d be held responsible for Sorella’s safety if, for some reason, she died, and he didn’t.
Once the door shut, Luther trained eyes, black beady eyes, resembling a raven staring down a dying animal, on him “Now, where’s my bounty?”
Being on the offensive came easy to Sorella, especially since her brother looked so different and she still had difficulty reconciling his grown-up face to the boy she knew. Then he’d offered everything tidy and tied up in a neat, perfect ending. Something rubbed her wrong about that.
When Luther, as he liked to be called, brought up the bounty, her stomach knotted like a tangle of ropes. They’d find out if dear brother still had his massive temper.
She copied her partner’s easy demeanor, relaxing back into her arm chair and watching as he sipped from his brandy sifter. Maybe she should’ve taken a drink, too.
“About that. I’m afraid some other hunters killed him.” The lie rolled out of Ian’s mouth like jam spread on a biscuit, smooth and unwavering. Damn him. “They attacked the Liberté, demanded we turn over Tuul. Of course, you said it yourself; the mark was dangerous. The collar got damaged in an EMP attack. Once he was released, he went crazy, and got knifed in a scuffle. So I report to you empty handed and ready for another assignment.”
This wasn’t what they’d planned. The plan had involved him telling the truth, and then handing the conversation over to Sorella so she could offer herself and her skills in return for his freedom. Since the mercenary had revealed himself, she saw the solution plain as day. If the camp checked out, she’d work for him, and he’d release any hold he had on her lover’s life.
Except Ian had gone off script.
“Wait, that’s not—”
Luther waved his hand. “I don’t care. What you’re telling me is the one person who had a working knowledge of the kaiser’s compound is dead. There’s no one else, and it took me months to get the information I had. I sent you, Merchant, because you were the suave, slick merchant who could sell anyone on anything.” As quick as he started speaking, he stopped. He changed to drumming his fingers on the desk. Then he quit nursing his alcohol and swallowed the rest in one gulp and turned to his sister. “Besides giving him a ride, what the hell are you here for?”
