by Gwyn McNamee
I turn to face him, step to her side, and put my right hand on the butt of my gun. “Who is she?” I point at her with my free hand.
His eyes beg me to stop, to leave, to move away from the woman.
Curious. Is he afraid of the pixie or protecting her?
I grasp a strand of her silky red hair, twirling it around my finger.
“Get your stinking hands off me!”
She tries to yank it from my hold by moving her head, but I tug until she yelps. The crewman lunges forward, but Rion grabs his zip tied arms, jerking him backward.
“Leave her alone!” He struggles against Rion’s grip.
Crews who have worked together for a long time are tight, often willing to defend each other, even if it means endangering their own lives. Maybe that is all this is, maybe they are romantically involved, or maybe he just has a death wish. Whatever it is, this guy is just itching to get shot.
He’s lucky none of us have twitchy trigger fingers.
“Tell me what I want to know and I will.” I tug on her hair gently again and bring it up to sniff it.
Sweet. Flowery. Almost like lilacs in summer bloom.
She tries to jerk away again, but I tighten my grip and meet the eyes of the crewman.
He huffs out a breath, frantically searching her face for direction. She shakes her head no.
“I’m sorry, Grace. I have to…”
Grace.
Finally, I have a name for the woman who is as beautiful as she is a pain in my ass.
“Darren, don’t.” Her voice finally cracks and shows signs of her distress.
“I’m sorry.” He turns to face me fully, takes a deep breath, and shakes his head. “She is the captain.”
What?
I recoil slightly, accidentally pulling her hair with me.
“Ow!” She jerks and yelps, leaning toward me to take the strain off her red tresses. “Watch it!”
She’s the fucking captain?
I look down at her, meeting her determined gaze. I clamp my jaw shut, trying to hide my shock. “Captain G.A. Albright? Well, well, well, isn’t this interesting.”
A female captain?
I should have suspected, but it’s just so…unbelievable.
Dad would roll over in his grave if he heard about this. He always said “women aren’t made for the water.” And, given what I’ve experienced in almost three decades on the Lakes, I know exactly why he thought that. How this tiny woman ran an entire freighter is beyond me, since most seamen would never see someone like her as an authority figure, but my respect for her just went through the roof.
Clearing my throat, I release her hair and take a step back. My eyes meet an astonished Rion’s, and I return to the captain’s chair. “Captain Albright, care to tell me what the A stands for?”
She sneers at me, and I’m sure she would have spit if she were close enough to hit me. “Fuck. You.”
Under normal circumstances, I would have come back with some witty retort—told her I would love to, because a lot of girls actually respond to that asshole shit—but, I hold my tongue.
I nod to Rion, and he ushers her forward until she’s standing directly in front of me.
“Well, Captain, if you would be so kind as to unlock the safe over there,” I point to the large safe in the corner of the bridge, “we will be on our way.”
Anything in that safe is icing on the cake for this job, and there’s no way we’re leaving without opening it.
“Over my dead body.” She hisses the words at me, throwing them with a fury I would never expect from such a tiny woman.
“That can be arranged.” I pull my gun from the holster and lay it across my lap, barrel pointed directly at her.
If that doesn’t get her attention, nothing will.
My radio, and our only lifeline to Preacher back at the warehouse, crackles to life. “Cap, we got a problem.”
Shit.
If Preacher thinks we have a problem, we definitely have one. He isn’t one to sound the alarm unless the house is really and truly on fire. The man rarely leaves his cave full of toys, and his concern over the approaching storm front interfering with our equipment almost forced us to call off this job, but the Marconis wouldn’t take no for an answer. This cargo had to come off before the ship reached the Milwaukee port.
I glance up at the darkening sky. A storm is usually great cover for a hijacking, but this one looks to be nasty.
Fuck. What else can go wrong?
“What is it?” I look to Rion while I wait for Preacher to relay the bad news. Rion just shrugs.
The radio crackles. “Coast Guard is on its way. We’re going to have unwanted company.”
“Fuck!” I slam my feet to the ground and crowd Grace until she backs into Rion and can’t retreat any further. “How did you call the fucking Coast Guard?”
Preacher’s jamming device prevents ships from calling over the radio for backup while still allowing us to communicate on our dedicated channel. The tech is top-of-the-line. It hasn’t failed in five damn years. No way it failed now.
So, how the hell did she manage it?
Her glare pierces me, with a smug tilt of her lips.
Holy shit. Red was buying fucking time.
If I weren’t so angry, I might actually be impressed.
“Distress beacon. Before you even got up to the bridge. I hope you enjoy prison, dickface.”
“Shit!” I scrub my hands down my face and groan.
We can usually work our way on board and get everyone away from the bridge before they realize it’s a hijacking and can activate the beacon. This one is smart. She knew something was off despite our ruse.
One final glance at the safe we will never have time to open now is all I get before I kick the captain’s chair and storm toward the door. “Bring them to the deck.”
The metal stairs creak under me, and I slam my way down them to the main deck where the offload continues. Cowering crewmembers from the ship help deposit the cargo they’re supposed to be delivering to Milwaukee onto our boat.
If I hadn’t been otherwise occupied on the bridge and had to drag Rion and Cutter away, this would have been done already with the help of the hauler’s crew.
Elijah approaches, his brow drawn down. “What’s the plan?”
I glance back at Rion wrestling Grace and Darren down the stairs. “You and Cutter take the Destiny with the cargo and hightail it out of here. Head to the cove. This time of day, it will be foggy as hell and with the storm rolling in, you can disappear there and lie low until you can make it back to the warehouse. Rion and I will leave on the Calista and meet up with you later.”
He nods and takes off, yelling something to Cutter as he heads toward the starboard side of the ship, where the Destiny is anchored.
Turning to our captives, I meet Rion’s gaze. A question darkens his eyes.
He knows as well as I do, the second we leave the deck and get far enough away for the jammer to stop working, Grace will be on the radio, telling the Coast Guard exactly what we look like and which direction we left in.
Our plans have been well and truly fucked. Board, tie up the crew, unload, and get the fuck out. It’s worked flawlessly for years. By the time the Coast Guard finds them, we are long gone and safe.
Damn woman fucked up everything.
My throat burns as acid rises from my stomach.
I have to do it.
“You…” I point to Darren. He jerks slightly, and Rion shoves him toward me. “You are going to be left with the rest of the crew. We will try to call them off, but if the Coast Guard comes, you’ll tell them nothing. The distress beacon was a mistake. Everything is fine. You know nothing. Do you understand me?”
He doesn’t respond, just glances at Grace.
Grace snort-laughs. “What’s to keep him, or me for that matter, from telling them everything we know?” The edge in her voice hangs in the air.
She doesn’t grasp what’s happening here.<
br />
What has to happen.
The words I have to say sit like rocks in my throat.
It has to be done, War. So, do it.
I swallow past the regret and unease and turn to her. “Because we are taking you with us.”
“No!” Her knees wobble slightly, and her pale skin turns even more ashen.
Darren cries out. “No, take me instead!”
Gallant. But no.
“You do nothing for me. She, on the other hand, is an insurance policy. If we get away and get the cargo where it needs to go without interference, I will release her, unharmed, within forty-eight hours. If, on the other hand, you don’t shut your trap and the Coast Guard finds us, I will kill her before I ever surrender or let her go. Do you understand me?”
My words cut through him like knives. His shoulders sag, and he nods, his entire body shaking and his lip quivering.
When my eyes connect with Rion’s, the shock and sympathy there darken his brown eyes. He knows what it means for me to do this.
Fuck.
Lie. Steal. Maim. Destroy.
Do whatever it takes.
Except this.
I’m breaking the only rule. I’m taking a fucking hostage.
2
Grace
Forget the fact this bastard is a good-for-nothing, cock-sucking pirate, he’s also the kind of guy Mom warned me to run from. Tall, muscular, and tattooed. The man now holding me hostage is trouble with a capital T.
Trouble.
Of course, I had pictured more the slam-me-against-the-wall-and-fuck-me-so-hard-I-can’t-walk-tomorrow trouble, and not the pull-a-gun-and-hijack-my-cargo trouble.
How did I let this happen? Am I too naïve?
This is my first time as solo acting captain. Maritime school can’t truly prepare you for something like this, and it isn’t exactly something we normally have to worry about in the Great Lakes. During school and my required time on the water, I always had Dad or someone else to help guide me and make sure I wasn’t fucking things up. Having the degree, the captain’s license, and the required training doesn’t seem to mean much in a situation like this.
I shouldn’t even be here.
I’m basically an accountant, for fuck’s sake, a number cruncher who runs the office, not a true captain. If I had my way, I wouldn’t have even gone to maritime school. Getting licensed was just to appease Dad, to give him the peace of mind that one of his children would be able to take over the family business.
If he hadn’t dropped dead last week, and if we wouldn’t go bankrupt without this haul because Dad managed to dig us into a financial hole, I would be sitting in my office, sipping a cappuccino and handling the books for the business, instead of being held captive by Captain Fucking Swashbuckler and wondering how I could have been stupid enough to let terrorists of the sea board Dad’s ship.
Pirates.
Fucking pirates.
This man is no Blackbeard, Long John Silver, or Captain Jack Sparrow. There are no peg legs, eye patches, or parrots. And I sure as hell don’t have treasure chests overflowing with gold doubloons deep in the ship’s hull.
All they’re getting are a bunch of pallets full of boxes of machine parts that need to get to Milwaukee.
Why the hell would they want that?
In certain markets, I guess they have their value, but pieces of metal are certainly not worth risking prison time to steal—or to take someone hostage, for that matter.
We should have been safe out here.
These are the Great Lakes, not the damn coast of Somalia.
I had no reason to suspect anything nefarious. It’s not like they were flying the Jolly Roger when we saw them and they requested assistance. Smoke billowed from the engine; we had to stop. I couldn’t, in good conscience, float on by, waving wave and pretending I hadn’t seen them in distress. There isn’t any way any of us could have known it was a setup.
Right?
Maybe a more experienced captain would have sensed something off though. I put the entire crew at risk, not to mention my livelihood. All because of my damn bleeding heart.
At least I realized something was amiss early enough to set off the beacon.
Was there more I could have done?
Standing here on the deck, with stiff plastic cutting into the skin on my wrists while I try to work my way out of the zip tie confinement, I guess it does me little good to wonder what I could have done differently. At this point, it’s moot.
Get your head in the game, Grace.
They’re going to take me. And once I’m off this ship and in their hands, who knows what they will do.
Rape? Murder?
It’s probably all on the table with these thugs.
The beast of a man who held a gun to my head and tied me up looks especially menacing. If any of these guys will hurt me, it’s probably him.
Then again, the guy who was just talking to Cap a minute ago appeared clean-cut, yet the way he carried himself seemed more like he was straight out of prison, and the other guy, the man with the reflective aviator shades, has that calm confidence people with no conscience and no soul exude. And not being able to see his eyes only makes him more ominous. So maybe he’s the real danger here.
Who am I kidding?
The real danger is the guy they call Cap.
He had the nerve to hijack my ship, threaten me with a gun, and flirt with me at the same time.
Asshole.
I twist my wrists and shift my hands, trying to loosen the bindings.
“Hey! Stop that! You’ll only hurt yourself more if you keep trying.” The big guy’s hands swat at my wrists, halting my lame attempt at escape.
I would kick him in the nuts if I could get my foot that high.
How is it even possible for a human being to be this large?
I strain my neck to look up at him, and he scowls at me. “Keep your eyes forward, princess.”
Darren elbows me in the ribs.
“What?” I whisper, hoping to avoid detection by our babysitter, but the big guy whips his head around and glowers at us.
“You two, shut the fuck up!”
I toss Darren a warning look. The last thing I need is him setting off one of these guys and someone getting shot. Thus far, we’ve avoided bloodshed, and I’d like to keep it that way.
Dad will haunt me for eternity if I let someone get hurt on his ship.
Please forgive me, Daddy…
Cap emerges from the hold, all swagger and hard, mean looks. He motions the big guy over to him at the rail. We get another cautionary look from the guy who looks like the Hulk before he moves over to join Cap.
Darren doesn’t waste any time. “You can’t let them take you.”
“It’s not like I can stop them.”
Every self-defense class in the world tells you not to let a kidnapper move you. Fight tooth and nail, because your chances for survival go down dramatically if you are moved from the location of your abduction.
But do I have a choice?
They need to get away fast, that much is clear.
Would they really hurt me? Kill me? Kill the crew?
If I fight, would they let me go, think it wasn’t worth the hassle?
I doubt it. I’m their insurance policy.
“I have to, Darren. If I don’t go, who knows what they’ll do. I can’t risk them hurting you and the rest of the crew, and I don’t think they will hurt me if I play along. They say they will let me go if you do what they told you.”
He scoffs and anger flashes in his eyes. “And you believe them?”
Fair.
Can you really trust the word of a pirate? Or the instincts of an accountant with zero experience dealing with criminals and almost zero captaining ships?
Anything I do is probably the wrong choice.
Let them take me—insane. Defy the people with the guns and power threatening to kill you and your crew—even more insane.
“Just do what they ask. G
et the Coast Guard off their backs if they come. We have insurance for the cargo; it’s not worth our lives.”
Darren grumbles low and shakes his head. “Your life will be in their hands. That’s not okay.”
A lot of it is basic macho male protective instinct, but I’ve never been one to need protecting. I can mostly take care of myself…when there aren’t burly pirates threatening me with guns.
If that giant hadn’t snuck up on me from behind, I might have managed to get Mr. Tall, Dark, and Angry under control up there on the bridge.
Yeah, right, Grace. You were practically peeing in your pants and almost blew chunks twice.
“Grace, I won’t let them take you.” His words, said in anger or maybe frustration, or both, aren’t even close to whispered.
The Hulk whips around and bares his teeth. In five colossal steps, he’s in front of Darren, his enormous barrel chest at Darren’s face level. “I told you to shut the fuck up.”
My chief mate, the man whose job it is to watch my back, sucks in a deep breath and squares his shoulders. “You’re not fucking taking her.”
The swing comes so fast, Darren doesn’t stand a chance. The Hulk’s colossal fist collides with his jaw. Darren rocks back but somehow manages to remain on his feet. He shakes his head to try to clear it, and the Hulk pulls his arm back again.
“Stop!” Cap grabs the Hulk’s arm, preventing him from striking Darren again.
Thank God.
Another hit like that might have killed him.
The Hulk turns and leers at Cap, but the man just glares right back. Some unspoken order passes between them, and the Hulk drops his arm and stalks away from us and toward the starboard side of the ship where one of their boats is waiting.
A brief flash of relief crosses Cap’s face, then he stomps over to the rail after him.
Darren groans next to me.
“Are you okay?”
He nods slowly, clearly still rocked from the shot he just took. “Shh.”
He’s right.
The last thing we want to do is draw any more attention to ourselves or bring any further violence.
I keep my eye on Cap, and he leans over the rail, his strong profile pinched in contemplation, looking down at something on the water. When he turns to face us, his eyes, grayer than the approaching storm clouds, meet mine, and the hint of compassion and amusement I saw there earlier has completely vanished.
