18. Killing Copson
KILLING COPSON
Cecily sprinted down the path, her spine tingling as the forest ghosts watched with rapt attention.
What terrible luck if they decided to appear now.
She tore past the inn and down the deserted road, her steps pounding as loud as her pulse and drowning out any sound of pursuit. She didn’t look back to see if anyone followed as she turned for the wickedest part of the city, plunging into the heart of the sinful streets like a vengeful angel.
Men called and women leered as she passed, despite the knife flashing in her hand, but she paid them no mind, searching every sign and door frame. Sweat dripped down her back—not from the heat or humidity, but from knowing she would be hunted.
The streets of Tortuga did not scare her tonight, but only because Jack Copson was worse than any drunkard or clumsy criminal in this city.
At best, she would have hours before he came for her. At worst, it would be minutes.
Cecily could make do with minutes.
Then—there. In the heart of the city was a tavern, tall and filled with windows spilling light over the surrounding buildings. She ran for the door, whispering a fierce prayer that quickly turned to thanks for the slew of Spanish sailors she found inside.
By the far wall, Hector Hein sat at a table with a glass of something dark, a king surrounded by his court. With a deep breath that did little to slow her racing heart, Cecily approached his table. She had nearly reached him when he looked up.
Surprise lit his face through the dim haze of candles and lanterns, followed by an easy, feline smile.
He settled back in his seat. “My lovely Cecily. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
She stopped at his table, blood still thundering in her ears. His crew was used to seeing her, so they didn’t pause their conversations, filling the tavern with noise even as their eyes lingered.
“Take me to Spain,” she said, panting.
Hein threw one arm over the back of his half-empty bench seat. Casting a furtive glance behind her and seeing none of her friends, he reached for his glass then gestured to the spot beside him. “Sit with me.”
She slid onto the wooden bench, keeping the tavern entrance in view. The seconds ticked by, each one like a death knell, as though Jack’s shadow had fallen over everything and would haunt her until the moment he found her.
“Is everything alright?” Hein asked, maintaining his smile.
“I want to go to Spain with you.” She tried to say it lightly, but she still hadn’t recovered her breath, her words coming with an air of desperation.
He lifted his drink to his lips and said, “Why?” before taking a sip.
“You know why.”
“What about your friend? Your captain threatened her, didn’t he?”
She glared at the door. “Make it seem like you took me. Copson won’t punish her if he has no reason to believe I abandoned.”
He considered. “I am known for many things, but I’ve never stolen anyone. My reputation—”
“Pretend you’re desperate for me,” she said sharply. “You’re good at that.”
He grunted out what might have been a laugh. “You severely underestimate my affection for you.” He took another drink and set his glass on the table. “Alright. Suppose I steal you away. I assume there would be no heist. The others will never forgive me if I don’t show.”
“Blame me for that too. What will it matter if they never see me again?”
“And I suppose I’d steal you because you’re so irresistible?” His tone was sarcastic, but his dark eyes dipped to her lips. “And you’d hide away with me for the next several days—weeks, really—on a ship.” A sardonic grin. “That’s quite a bit of inconvenience.”
Irritation flared, made worse by nerves that sang of imminent danger. She hid it with a smile as languid as Hein’s.
“Inconvenience?” It was not difficult to make her voice breathy and seductive. “I thought we were friends.”
He took her face in his hand, his thumb and forefinger bracketing her jaw while the rest of his fingers rested against the side of her neck.
“There is nothing,” he said, his velvety words hard as steel, “that I’ve ever done out of the goodness of my heart, even for friends.
And you’re asking for an awful lot—my alliances, my protection, my reputation that I’ve so carefully built. And for what?”
Desperation turned her will to ice and stone. She let her eyelids flutter, as though she couldn’t help it, as though his closeness meant anything to her. Her mind reeled, consulting a mental calendar, spinning a new plan in the space of a breath, which she used to whisper a single lie:
“I’ll be twenty in two months.”
It was the right thing to say. Hein’s eyes sparked with interest.
“If you want to play a real game with me,” she went on, keeping herself from trembling at the risky words she uttered to an unpredictable, villainous man, “then get me off this godforsaken island. Hide me. Take me to Spain.”
Hein would never have her. It would take less than two months to get to Spain, and she would be gone the moment they docked.
Then she would flee to another ship—hell, she’d swim back to England, and then she’d get her home and her life, and there would be no Jack, no prison, and all of this would fade into memory so hazy that she would convince herself she’d dreamed it.
His eyes were nearly black. “You’re sure?”
Without a moment to think, she took his face in her hands and crushed her lips to his.
She’d never kissed anyone and worried she’d done something wrong when he went rigid.
But she held tight, her eyes shut, and slowly—ever so slowly—his arm moved from the back of the bench, dropping to her shoulders and then her waist. His fingers on her chin slid to the side of her face, and he relaxed, pulled her closer, and his lips parted, his tongue searching.
It was too fast, too much to give to a man she didn’t want. She set her palms against his chest and gently pushed. Hein gave way, leaning back only enough so that their lips no longer touched.
“You win,” he whispered. By the heady look in his eyes, she wondered if he’d stop caring that she was nineteen. “I’ll take you with me… But what about Jack?”
She reached for his drink and downed what little he had left, barely keeping herself from choking against the burn. “I am not his,” she said thickly. “And I never will be.”
Hein smiled and swept a thumb over his full bottom lip. She was about to remind him of his rule, if only to swear she’d hold him to it, when a rough shout tore through the tavern.
“Cecily. Shoard.”
Her heart kicked into a sprint as the room fell silent.
Jack Copson stalked across the crowded tavern, his eyes set with fury. The top of his shirt hung open, and sweat gleamed at the base of his throat, his skin shining as his shoulders heaved with breath. His hair was windblown, like he’d run here.
Hein laughed quietly to himself, settling back into his seat with all his usual confidence. Jack strolled through the ranks of Spanish sailors and stopped before their table, glaring at Cecily.
“You—”
A uniformed sailor clapped a hand on Jack’s shoulder.
Quick as a whip, Jack grabbed the hand, yanked the sailor forward, and slammed the man’s head into the table.
Before he could fall to the floor, Jack’s knives were in his hands and flying into the throats of two more approaching soldiers.
Another came up behind him, and Jack forced him to the table, twisting his arm until the man cried in pain, then screamed as his shoulder audibly popped.
Jack turned his furious gaze on the officer, growling, “Call off your dogs, Hein.”
Hein held up a hand. “Stand down,” he called to his men. “This is Jack Copson.”
Recognition ripped through the tavern as the patrons realized pirate royalty stood in their midst. No one was safe from him—or from his father, should they choose to antagonize his heir.
Jack yanked the man off the table and shoved him toward the others. The sailor grunted loudly, pale and sweating profusely as he clutched his dislocated shoulder.
“There’s no trouble, Jack,” Hein said serenely.
“You,” Jack spat at Cecily, ignoring the officer entirely. “How clever you must think you are, sneaking away. How smart, thinking I would not find you.” He braced his hands on the table and leaned forward. “You forget yourself, and you forget who you deal with.”
Cecily considered him with an air of nonchalance, even as her insides sparked and began to ignite. Of course he’d chased her, and for what? To torture her? To get her back for whatever claim he thought he had over her?
He could go to hell.
“Oh, how I’d love to forget you,” she said. “You, my warden, my manager, who I cut when no one else could, who I have outsmarted, thwarted, and tortured, who I have humiliated when no one else dared. As though it were hard.”
Jack looked on the verge of snarling. Cecily rose from her seat, having already noted every weapon near her and how she might grab each of them when she and Jack fought. Because they would fight, and she would be done with him.
She held his gaze, returning his fury with her own as she said, “Jack Copson, I know exactly who you are. And I am not afraid of you.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Really? Running after all I said tonight was a lack of fear.”
“An abundance of hatred,” she told him.
“What would you have done, then? Fled to Spain to escape me?”
Beside her, Hein laughed devilishly. “I’d only just agreed to take her.”
Jack’s head whipped to the side, but Hein didn’t shrivel under his murderous glare. It didn’t last long before Jack faced her again, his shoulders set, his eyes dark.
“I asked you for one thing,” he said in a quiet, lethal hiss. “One damn thing. You agreed not to go into Tortuga alone.” His voice dropped to barely a breath. “And you scared me.”
In her mind, she heard Copson’s voice say, Unsuitable.
Jack’s answer. I know.
The tavern bloomed around her as awareness flooded in—every person, every candle, every chair and table coming into sharp focus along with a shroud of killing calm that slowed her heart and breath.