Chapter Twelve
Darkness greeted Abigail as her eyes fluttered open.
Her head throbbed, a pulsing drum that made the room tilt and pitch before her.
She groaned, pressing a hand to her stomach as bile rose in protest. The floor beneath her shifted with a slow, relentless sway.
She frowned, squinting hard into the black.
Where was she?
Another creak. Chains rattled somewhere nearby. The heavy thud of boots above her made her heart skip. She stood, her feet unsteady beneath her.
Her lungs seized as a fresh wave of nausea rose. No. She willed it not to be true, clenching her fists as the room swayed again to confirm her fears.
A ship.
She was on a ship.
Panic clawed at the edges of her mind. She reached out blindly, fingers scraping against damp wood.
No light. No window. Only the groan of the hull and the faint slap of water against the sides.
Each sound tightened the band around her chest until she could scarcely draw breath.
Her hands pressed to her mouth, trembling as she fought for air.
In, out. Her lungs refused to listen. Her vision swam though there was nothing to see, the darkness shifting, breathing with her.
A shuddering sob escaped before she could stop it. What had happened? Where was Eloise—
The memories struck hard, sudden and vivid.
Men in the house. Rough hands seizing her arms, the overpowering smell of sweat and gunpowder.
Eloise’s voice, high and terrified, shouting her name.
Fingers digging into her jaw, prying her mouth open.
Something wet and bitter flooding the back of her throat, and then… darkness.
A scrape came from above, and a slant of light cut through the gloom as the hatch cover slid open.
She froze, her heart beating a painful rhythm against her ribs.
Warm light flickered through the gloom, and she bit back a gasp as iron bars materialized before her.
A shadow fell over the cell, broad and unforgiving.
The shock at being locked up melted, replaced with the slow, cold bloom of dread in her veins.
Boots descended the steps, one measured tread at a time.
The man paused at the bottom, lamplight glinting faintly off the rings adorning his hand.
Dark eyes met hers, steady and unblinking, pinning her in place.
Her throat went dry. This was no rough-and-tumble bandit, but a man whose very presence radiated control and danger.
Which meant…
“Hello, Miss Ross.” Captain Thorne’s voice rolled over her like smoke as he hung the lantern on a peg.
Like a phantom, he moved across the room, each deliberate stride closing the distance between them with quiet inevitability. Damp planks pressed into her back as she stumbled back. Trapped.
He stopped in front of the cell, studying her like a hunter sizing up his prey.
Metal whispered against leather. The sound slid through the room, smooth and unmistakable.
Her pulse stuttered as he drew a dagger, turning it slowly in the lamplight, the edge catching a dull gleam before vanishing again into shadow.
“Please don’t hurt me.” The words tumbled free in a timid rush, and she shrank back against the wall.
His eyes gleamed in the dim light. Slowly, deliberately, he dragged the tip of the dagger along the edge of one of the bars.
She flinched at the harsh scrape. A cruel smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he inserted a key into the lock.
The door swung open with a groan, and he stepped toward her.
She pressed her eyes shut, willing the darkness to swallow her whole. Soft footfalls echoed through the room, each thud of his boots driving her pulse further up her throat. Her hands clutched at her skirts, her breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps.
“I must say, I expected a touch more spirit.” His boots came to a stop in front of her. “Look at me.”
The command in his tone forced her eyes open, and she stared at him with wide eyes. He gave a low chuckle, the sound raising the hairs along her neck. “You’re far more satisfying of a captive than your friends were. So frightened. So fragile.”
The words dripped with utter satisfaction, and for a heartbeat, panic threatened to overtake her again.
No.
Abigail forced herself to take a long breath. Giving into her fear would do nothing to help her. She tried to imagine how Samantha had faced this man—head held high, voice steady, defiant.
She swallowed. Defiance didn’t suit her.
But she had to try.
She lifted her chin a fraction, forcing her shoulders back, though her heart still hammered like a drum in her chest.
He barked out a laugh. “Struck a nerve, did I?”
“What do you want from me?” She forced as much steadiness into her words as she could muster.
“Oh my.” An edge of dark amusement laced his voice. “Was that supposed to be courage?”
Abigail clenched her teeth, willing herself not to tremble. He meant to intimidate her—that much was clear. The thought steeled her resolve. If weakness was what he wanted, she would deny him.
“Save your mockery, Thorne.” The venom in her voice surprised her, and she drew her spine straighter. “Answer my question.”
“So eager to get to business. Very well” The blade glinted in the shifting light as he twirled it slowly between his fingers. “Where’s your father?”
Abigail held his gaze, her jaw tight.
Thorne’s green eyes gleamed as he lifted the dagger, letting the tip hover just shy of her throat.
Abigail swallowed hard, the motion tight and painful, as if her fear had lodged itself in her chest. Her mind raced, imagining the sharp sting of steel that might come at any second.
The urge to jerk away, to fight—to do anything—took over her body, but she couldn’t move.
She stood rooted to the spot, caught between terror and the fragile thread of control she was forcing herself to hold.
Then, with a subtle flick of his wrist, he turned the blade. It slid harmlessly against a lock of her hair, brushing it from her cheek with measured intent. “Silence is not the wise choice, my dear.”
“I won’t tell you.” She glared at him, resolve flowing through her. “I will never betray him. Nothing matters more than my family, and he’s all I have. I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”
All amusement faded from his eyes, the air around them suddenly heavy and charged. He shifted just enough to close the distance between them, the dagger’s cool tip lifting her chin. “You wouldn’t know the first thing about betrayal.” This time, his words came out soft.
Deadly soft.
“Be mindful of such bold claims, Miss Ross. Loyalty…” he let the word hang in the air before turning away, “is a chain you may find impossible to bear.”
Abigail stood still as he returned to the ladder. He set one foot on the bottom rung. “I hope, for your sake, that next time we talk, you’ll have something more useful to say.”
She blew out a breath as the hatch cover slid shut.
The dim light from the lantern flickered and waned, leaving her alone in the shifting shadows of the cell.
Thorne’s chilling calm clung to her, twisting her insides with a mix of fear and awe.
Every bit as terrible as the tales had made him out to be. Worse.
For now though, she’d survived her first encounter with the dreaded pirate.
A small win. Her stomach knotted as she took in the cramped space around her.
Damp planks underfoot, iron bars cold and unyielding, the faint tang of salt in the air.
The ship creaked and groaned around her, a constant reminder that she was not on solid ground.
Her nausea surged again, and she doubled over, clutching her stomach as the room spun around her.
Straightening, she gripped the iron bars for support and willed her rebellious stomach to settle.
She needed to think. To plan. Even in the half-light, even in this cage, she couldn’t give in to panic—not yet. Not if she hoped to make it out alive.
The ship pitched down a wave, and the motion broke her last bit of control.
She stumbled to the corner, heaving until there was nothing left, bile leaving an acrid trail from her gut.
So much for composure. The great plan to stay calm, to think her way out of this?
Laughable. She could barely keep her stomach in place, much less her wits.
A hollow laugh scraped from her throat and died in the damp air. How was she supposed to stay strong when there was nothing left to cling to? No one to rescue her. No land beneath her feet. No hope at all, except the foolish sort that mocked her even now.
The hatch cover creaked. She froze, every nerve alert despite the weakness that weighed her down. Two feet came into view. Thorne again? No, this person moved with a lithe, quick-footed ease.
She squinted as the intruder’s face entered the light and let out a gasp as Samantha’s husband, Christian, lowered himself to the floor.
“Mr. Thompson?” Her mouth snapped shut as her mind raced.
Surely her eyes deceived her. Yet, he had rescued Samantha from this very pirate months before.
A glimmer of relief thrummed through her heart at the thought of rescue. “Is it really you?”
He stood stoically, his head dipping in a single nod. “Aye.”
“Oh, thank goodness!” She rushed forward and grasped the bars. “I never thought anyone would come for me.”
Silence stretched around them, the lantern’s light glimmering from his green eyes. A thread of unease wound through her. Isn’t this where he should reveal the key he’d retrieved—the one that would get her out of this nightmare?”
“I’m sorry, Miss Ross. But I’m not here to rescue you.”
“Not here to…?” She trailed off, voice faltering. “I-I don’t understand.”
“I’m here to convince you to not make this harder on yourself, to stop hiding the truth from Thorne.”
“Thorne?” Understanding sank into her like ice water. “You’re on his side?”
He nodded, the movement slow, yet certain.
“Does Samantha know?” Disbelief squeezed her chest like a vice.
Something cracked behind his eyes, but he shifted his weight and settled a hand on the hilt of his sword. “I’m sure she’s figured it out by now.”
“Why? How?” Abigail took a small step back. “He killed her parents. Almost killed her. How could you possibly help him?”
“I don’t expect you to understand.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m attempting to keep things civil and prevent unnecessary bloodshed.” The words hung in the air, heavy with implication, his allegiance clear.
“By joining a pirate?” Her voice snapped, and his face hardened.
“If I were not here, Thorne might have killed you outright. Though it may not seem like it, I am trying to keep you safe. So, please tell me where your father is.”
She sank to her knees, dropping her gaze to the dirty floor. “I’m sorry, Mr. Thompson, but I won’t tell you, or your captain, anything.”
“Miss Ross, trust me when I say Thorne can make things very unpleasant for you.”
“So be it.” Her voice wobbled, but she met his green eyes once more. “He can kill me if he wants, but I will never forsake my family.”
His gaze narrowed. “If you knew what he did, perhaps you would change your tune.”
Again. Her father’s supposed sins. Despite her convictions, the nagging doubt that had followed her all the way from Savannah wormed through the edges of her mind. “Then why don’t you enlighten me?” She ground the words out.
“All in due time, Miss Ross. If Thorne wants you to know, he’ll tell you.” He spoke as if they were having a pleasant dinner conversation, the calm ease of his tone at odds with the threat lurking beneath every word.
Abigail spread her fingers out against the wood planks beneath her, the rough wood biting into her skin as she braced herself.
Every heartbeat in her chest drummed with resolve: She might be trapped, but she was not broken.
If he thought to use her friendship with Samantha to manipulate her, he was sorely mistaken. She would not give him any advantage.
She lifted her chin. “I believe I have grown weary of your company.”
A beat of silence hung between them.
And then, a gurgle in her stomach. Not now.
She groaned, pressing a hand to her mouth.
His gaze flitted between her and the corner of the cell where she’d already retched.
He sighed. “It’s worse down below. Why don’t you come up on deck and get some fresh air.
My—” He pressed his eyes closed for a moment.
“Thorne may be barbaric, but I’m not without mercy. ”
Nothing sounded better than escaping the confines of this dark cell. Yet, any liberty she took could be held against her, used to demand her cooperation. She swallowed her bile down. “No thanks.”
A flicker of respect crossed his gaze. “You’re not as helpless as he thinks, are you?” He lingered a moment longer, then turned toward the ladder. “Suit yourself. Though, I will leave the hatch cover unlocked if you change your mind and want to come up to the main deck.”
Her shoulders slumped when his boots disappeared from view.
What had happened? She thought of the last few times she’d seen Samantha and Christian—how he’d looked at her friend like she was all that mattered in the world, how easily she’d laughed in his arms. He’d been nothing but kind to Abigail, always polite, always steady.
The memory fractured. A flash—crashing glass, the bump of wagon wheels, the distant ring of blades.
Her breath caught. The last time she’d seen them, they’d been fighting this very pirate while she and her father fled into the night.
Her heart skipped a beat. Had something happened to Samantha that night?
Wait. What had Christian said? “I’m sure she’s figured it out by now.”
Relief crashed through her, stealing the air from her lungs. Samantha had made it through that night. But what about the others?
She pulled her lip between her teeth and glanced toward the open hatch cover. She could ask Christian. The temptation tugged at her but she shook her head. No. Not yet at least. Whatever awaited her out there—questions, threats, maybe worse—was better faced later.
She drew in a long breath. One thing was certain. She would never turn her father over.
Not that she knew where he was to begin with.