22. Who Ruins Everything
WHO RUINS EVERYTHING
The others hadn’t returned yet. Hidden away in Marín’s office, Jack handed Cecily a length of rope and turned his back.
“Is this really necessary?” she asked as she wound the rope around his wrists.
“Yes.” He wiggled his fingers. “Tighter, darling. You’ve got to make it believable.”
“Why?”
“Because no one’s going to believe I was overtaken by a bunch of weaponless nobodies if you do a shoddy job.”
She huffed and started over, cinching the rope tighter. “No, I mean why is it necessary?”
His smirk was practically audible—or perhaps it was his ego eating up the air in the small space.
“It’ll make it better next year. If this lot can overtake Marín after all I’ve done to appear so unbeatable, the governor will be beside himself trying to make it harder for us next year.
” He chuckled. “It’s more fun for— Can you tie a decent knot? ”
“If you think you can do better—” She cut off, hearing her mistake as she said it, and she rolled her eyes as he started speaking.
“I know the uniform is distracting, but I’ll not have you forget I’m a sailor. I can do better, but I can’t very well tie myself up from behind.”
She started looping the ends of the rope together, tying the most complicated knot she could come up with. Jack sighed and turned around before she could finish.
“Maybe you should go get one of the others,” he said.
Cecily braced her hands on her hips. “It was a bad idea to have me be the one to tie you up. You didn’t teach me how to do it.”
“Well, if we’d been speaking for the last few weeks, tying knots might’ve come up sooner.”
She glared, thankful for the darkness as a furious heat crept up her neck.
“They should be back soon.” He glanced at the door, then frowned. “They should’ve been back by now…”
“What should we do?”
He sucked his teeth. “Punch me in the face.”
She grimaced. “I don’t want to—”
“You agreed to make it believable,” he snapped.
She knotted her fingers together. “But now that I’m here, after all you just said to me—”
“For the heist, Cecily. It’s fine.”
Her open hand connected with his cheek. Jack barely flinched, and there was a moment of silence before he hung his head and sighed. “Go get Killian.”
“Jack,” she whined.
“Go get Killian. I owe him, and he’ll be better at it anyway.” He shook his head. “On any other day I’d be pleased you’re so hesitant, but it’s the heist.”
“I could have done it before,” she grumbled, backing toward the door. “I don’t actually want to hurt you now, which is really your fault.”
“Can we discuss this later? We don’t have time, and it’s either you learn how to tie a knot and wound me decently, or you go get Killian.”
“Fine.” She grabbed the door latch. “But know that you’re eating up just as much time by talking as much as you do.”
Somewhere down the corridor, a window shattered.
Her head whipped toward Jack. There was no part of the plan that included breaking a window, and the others knew better than to be so careless.
Unless there was a reason.
Cecily tore into the hall, her skirt hiked up and secured behind the sheath on her right thigh, exposing the knives strapped down her leg. Jack came to stand beside her, having freed himself from his bonds. His hat was on, shadowing his eyes and leaving only the cut of his mouth and his fake scars.
The corridor was empty, but there came the sound of scuffling and raised voices.
“The others?” she whispered.
Jack shook his head and reached for the gun holstered at his hip.
Farther down, closer to the main house, a door burst open. Two figures tumbled out, one hulking and the other donning a red coat with a hat over long, luscious brunette hair.
Fiero and Morgyn looked in their direction and froze at the sight of a Spanish soldier. Spotting Cecily, Morgyn’s eyes narrowed.
And that coat—that red coat—was Cecily’s.
“Bitch,” Cecily growled, ripping a knife free. She’d cut the woman to pieces, and she was glad the coat was red because Morgyn’s blood wouldn’t show so badly when Cecily was done with her—
Jack grabbed her arm, stopping her before she could barrel forward. Shouts erupted outside, from the direction of the broken window. Fiero grabbed something off his vest, twisted it, and threw it into the office before hauling Morgyn away.
Fire exploded through the doorway in a blast of orange. Jack leaped in front of Cecily, shielding her with his body as bits of furniture and shattered glass ricocheted off the wall. She braced her hands against his chest, keeping him from falling into her as the heat pushed them back.
Behind her, the captain rushed from his office as a slew of constables and Spanish soldiers flooded in through the hole Fiero had just blown into the wall.
“Vayan!” the captain shouted, pointing toward the main house. Jack pulled Cecily out of the way as the man sprinted past, yelling commands as he and the guards pursued Fiero and Morgyn.
Jack grabbed Cecily’s hand, and they hurried to the office where Fiero and Morgyn had emerged. The entire far wall was gone, the garden swarming with soldiers—and fire.
Everything was on fire.
Jack swore, fear flashing through his eyes in the glow of the flames.
Cecily pulled him back, eager to follow Morgyn. “This way,” she said, leading him the way everyone else had gone.
Cecily’s knife a murderous weight in her hand. Leave it to Morgyn to ruin everything—especially in Cecily’s coat, that thieving bitch.
Another blast went off, and they turned a corner into a hall lined with tapestries to find it burning too, fire eating up the colorful art and coating the ceiling with smoke. Shouts came from deeper in the house, toward the front, where the others would need to pass to get back to the meeting spot.
His grip on her hand tightened. “They’ll find their way out,” he said, and beneath the shadow of his hat, his fear gave way to wild excitement. “We’ll find ours.” He looked at her. “Trust me?”
Breathless, she nodded once.
Together, they ran for the end of the hall, dodging sparks and flames. The yelling grew louder, and when they emerged into the main foyer, they found the other six pirates, strapped with weapons and fighting constables and soldiers that Morgyn and Fiero had led right to them.
Red flashed—Morgyn and that damn coat. At the sight of it, Cecily’s rage roared to life, her focus narrowing on that burst of red and the knives in her hands.
Jack stepped in front of her, his hand on the back of her neck as he blocked her view.
“Keep your head,” he ordered, having noticed the way she glared at Morgyn. “We stay together and get out of here alive.”
“Fine,” she snapped. She reached for his gun, shoving Morgyn from her mind for the sake of getting out of this house before it came down around them.
Jack fell back to her side, his hand dropping to grab one of the small knives at her thigh. A breath passed as they marked their targets, and, together, they began.
She lifted the gun and squeezed the trigger. At it exploded, he lobbed the knife. Two constables cried out in pain, one grabbing at his dominant arm, the other dropping as his bleeding leg gave out.
Cecily quickly stepped ahead and spun in front of Jack to grab his sword with her other hand as he dipped, plucking another knife from her boot, a second from her leg, neither of them missing a beat as they picked off one soldier after another.
Jack sliced through limbs, retrieving the blades as he neared those he’d thrown them into.
With his sword and gun, Cecily held off the guards charging for them, careful to leave them with wounds they’d survive—hopefully—as she and Jack cut a bloody trail toward their friends.
On the far side of the room, Morgyn and Fiero slipped out the front doors, their arms full of riches.
“They’re getting away!” Cecily cried over the din. Everything in her screamed to give chase, but there was no easy path to follow.
“Later!” Jack called to her. He threw a knife into a soldier’s throat. “Survive this and then you may pursue murder, or I will buy you a thousand coats!”
When they reached their friends, the eight of them took off for the front doors.
Killian and Fay headed the group, their faces bloody as they cut through anyone who dared step in their way.
Behind them were Greyson and Hester with axes and cleavers, then came Frederick and Maria, brandishing clubs and bludgeoning anyone who came too close.
Last were Jack and Cecily, pointed and precise with every step they took, holding off any guards who followed. Once outside, they fled through the courtyard, the house’s windows glowing with flames as they tore down the lane, through the gates, and into the road.
Morgyn was long gone, but Cecily looked for her anyway. Her eyes scanned the darkness, her ears straining for voices other than those of the pursuing soldiers.
As they ran, Jack flung off his hat and coat, leaving them stranded in the road. Then he reached for her hand, and they plunged into the haunted forest.
“Watch your feet!” Jack called. There was no trail to lead the way through the darkness. She strained to see the roots and rocks threatening to trip her, and instead watched Jack’s feet, attempting to place her steps over his as they ran.
Then—and she couldn’t be sure if her mind or the moonlight played tricks on her—the forest began to shift.
A path appeared from nowhere, the bushes and trees jumping out of the way to let them pass before snapping back into place, tangling roots and sharp rocks rising to protect their trail from the soldiers who were left to crash through the choking underbrush.
Then came the screaming. Wet, terrified, bloody shrieks that pierced the night and flushed Cecily with cold. She nearly tripped, but Jack caught her before she could tumble to the ground.
“Don’t look back,” he said, pulling her faster.
Their friends raced ahead through the tree-dappled moonlight, their forms appearing and disappearing, their laughter echoing despite the screams behind them. As the distance increased, the sounds faded, swallowed by the forest.