23. Home
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The first order of business after a heist was the presentation of loot.
Killian and Fay went first, presenting two books, both of which were ridiculously old with binding that barely held together. One was embedded with what looked like animal teeth, the other studded with shining jewels. Fay showed the inside, her fingers trailing delicately over old runes.
“They’re worth a fortune,” she said. “But a friend of mine made them and wanted them back.”
“Made them?” Maria choked. “Those have to be at least two hundred years old.”
Fay stared at her blankly. Maria pursed her lips, frowned, and shook her head, saying, “Never mind.”
With that, Frederick and Maria were next.
Frederick pulled a few weapons off his back and handed them to Maria who proudly held them aloft for all to see. Each one was beautifully forged or had some intricate design carved into the hilts. They were passed around, though Cecily took the longest to study them, awed by the craftsmanship.
“Better than books,” Killian muttered, looking only mildly impressed. High praise, coming from him.
Then it was Greyson and Hester’s turn, and they emptied their pockets of small trinkets they’d found in the governor’s office. Hester held up a delicate, gilded quill pen while Greyson showed them all a tiny, gem-encrusted ship the governor had displayed on his desk.
Greyson rummaged deeper in his pocket and pulled out two small stones, telling the others, “These aren’t part of the heist. I took these for Hester.”
Hester squealed and plucked them from his hand. They didn’t look like much, both of them hardly larger than a fingernail. One stone was green, the other yellow, and they were slightly translucent like uncut, unpolished gems.
“Gorgeous,” she breathed.
“Probably ain’t worth much,” Greyson said, though he wore a proud grin. “But I thought they were pretty and they made me think’a you.”
Beside Cecily, Jack squinted.
“They’d go nicely in a bracelet,” Hester said, eyes sparkling with delight. “Or a necklace or a ring.”
Jack slid one foot forward. “May I see those?” he asked, tentatively extending one hand.
Hester dropped them in his palm. He pulled them close and rolled them about, scrutinizing every edge. The others watched, curious, until he said with disbelief, “These are tide stones.”
“Myth,” Frederick scoffed, while Killian said, “Are you certain?”
“These are remarkably…” Jack trailed off with a shake of his head. “How’d these end up here?”
“What’s a tide stone?” Hester asked, her gaze locked on the gems.
“Rocks that control the sea,” Frederick said with an eye roll.
Maria elbowed him. “Hush. Copsons know more about treasure than you ever will.”
Frederick leveled her with a searing look. “You wanna put money on it?”
Jack ignored them. “Legend says they can control the tides, the wind, currents, even the weather, depending on the stone,” he told Hester.
He pinched the green stone between his thumb and forefinger and lifted it, letting the moonlight catch the small wave engraved on its face.
“Rumors of their existence have captivated sailors for centuries, though most stories place them in the Pacific where they were said to belong to a sea god. If these are real, they’ve come a very long way. ”
He let the stone fall back into his palm. Cecily craned her neck, peeking at the yellow stone and the swirl on its face.
“Frederick’s right,” Jack said abruptly, handing the stones back to Hester. “They’re myths. These are probably glass replicas the governor found somewhere. A bracelet’s a good idea—it’ll suit you.”
“Glass,” Frederick snorted. “Knew it.”
“You certainly did.” Something in Jack’s tone caught Cecily’s attention. He was too casual, and when he caught her staring, he gave the smallest shake of his head, like the topic wasn’t worth pursuing.
She narrowed her eyes, skeptical, but didn’t ask about it.
“Impressive haul, but not as grand as ours,” Maria said. Then she snapped her fingers at Jack. “Your turn,” she sniped. “Show us how you won.”
Cecily was ready for him to tell the others they’d brought absolutely nothing, but Jack drew a small knob of crystal from his pocket and tossed it to Maria.
She caught it. Stared. Then looked at Jack. “Are you being funny?”
“Am I laughing?” Jack asked, straight-faced.
She held it up. “You stole a paperweight. From the governor’s wife. Not jewels. Not some silly trinket. You took a rock, and not even a pretty one.”
Jack settled an arm around Cecily’s shoulders, flashing a roguish grin. “We got distracted.”
Maria gaped. “You couldn’t keep your hands to yourself so we—” She spun to Frederick and threw her arms around him. “Passions ‘o life, we won!”
“See?” Jack said while she and Frederick carried on with their celebrating. “I don’t win every year.” To Cecily, he muttered, “But next perhaps year.”
The second tradition of heist nights was that the ladies went to buy rum while the men built a bonfire on the beach. By the time they returned, their arms laden with bottles, a fire crackled in the sand, its flames taller than any of them.
As the women emerged from the forest, the men began to cheer, punching the air as their women and alcohol made for the perfect end to a night of stealing.
And perhaps it did, since Cecily found herself grinning as she made her way to Jack, the firelight turning his hair to burnished bronze.
He’d changed into his own clothes and washed away the scars, leaving only the one she liked.
All signs of Officer Marín were gone, making him into the pirate prince she knew.
Of the three bottles she carried, she set two on the ground and handed over the third. Jack bit the cork free, spat it into the sand, then took a long drink before offering it back to her.
“To a job well done,” he said.
Cecily lifted the bottle in a salute. “To the finest paperweight I’ve ever seen.” And she drank.
When she lowered the rum, she had every intention to kiss his self-indulgent smile—but then the others broke into song, and a merry shanty rose into the night. Jack’s grin widened, but instead of joining them, he took her hand and pulled her away from the fire to the far side of the cove.
Maria shouted after them, “Jack, you whore!”
“Get wrecked!” he yelled back, and Maria dissolved into boisterous cackles.
The singing grew louder, and Jack led Cecily a short way into the trees, around a bend, and onto a second, smaller beach lit only by moonlight.
“You don’t want to sing shanties?” she asked with a giggle.
“Lord, no.” Jack spun her into him, his arm locked over her chest. He took the rum from her and said, “Brace yourself, darling.”
“What— Jack!”
He tipped them into the sand, holding her tight as he bore the brunt of the impact. Her gasp turned to laughter, and Jack didn’t release her as he situated himself back against a rock with Cecily between his legs.
His chuckle rumbled down her spine, his arm firm around her middle as he lifted the rum and drank.
“I think Fay is incredible,” she mused, snagging the bottle from his hand. “The others, too.” She sipped, then set the alcohol aside. Her eyes turned to the stars.
“They are,” Jack said, and she could hear the pleasure in his voice. “They like you. You’re one of us now, you know.”
She laughed once. “Even though I’ve been horrid and sad.”
His cheek pressed against her hair. “We’ve all been horrid for our own reasons. We’d be hypocrites if we minded.”
She nestled deeper into him, warm and comfortable. “I’m glad for it.”
It felt immeasurably lovely to belong with this motley group of pirates and misfits who had walked paths as hard and unexpected as her own.
She wondered what it might’ve been like to get to know Jack in the context of his friends before all that miserable business on the Fortuna Royale.
If maybe she’d gotten to see him with others instead of being alone with him, they might have liked each other better sooner.
Even as she thought it, she didn’t miss what might have been, nor did she long for it.
After all the heartbreak that had brought her here, she was glad she and Jack had managed to fall for each other at their worst. To know someone in that way and still want them, to still be wanted—she wouldn’t trade that assurance for all the politeness and social niceties she might have been offered otherwise, had she married Oliver.
Surely there was darkness in everyone, and Cecily much preferred to see and know it outright than to wonder when it might show its face.
While she was lost in thought, Jack softly swept her hair away from her neck. His fingers were warm, her hair a silky brush against her skin, but she came back to herself when his lips touched her throat.
His name tumbled from her in a gasp, but she didn’t pull away as heat curled through her lower belly.
“Your attention drifts so easily,” he drawled in a near purr, his trailing kisses leaving her no choice but to be present here, on this beach, with him. “I didn’t bring you back here to let you disappear into your beautiful head.”
“Then what did you bring me here for?” she asked, though she already knew the answer.
A low, sensuous laugh had her tilting her head to give him better access to her neck. His hand trailed through the short locks of her hair, twisting the strands through his fingers.
He dragged his lips from her neck to her ear. “Jealousy,” he breathed. “You’ve been mine for an entire day, and yet I’ve shared you with everyone for that infernal heist. I’ve patiently coveted your time and attention, and now I intend to make good, selfish use of it.”
His hand wound into the hair at the base of her skull, and he turned her head to bring her lips to his.