There is nothing worse for a pirate than dying on dry land. Except, maybe, swinging two feet above it.
When their captain is imprisoned, facing the gallows, the men and women of the Lady Lesya's crew will try everything to break him out--even if it...
The counter was spotless, the old wood waxed and shining under the candles' dying light. Joseph could almost see the reflection of his tired but satisfied wrinkled face in it. He would soon be tucked into his bed, a prospect he had been craving for a few hours already. He tossed the filthy towel into a bucket hidden under the counter and took a last look over the room.
Gabrielle had almost finished sweeping the stone-tiled floor. Joseph watched her work for a while, greedily. Age had taken its toll on her face and she wasn't exactly beautiful. A very tight corsets tried to create the illusion her cleavage was something worth looking at, but her wide hips and vast, plump ass were the most delectable Joseph had ever seen. He remembered how he had tried to make his way inside of it when he hired her, but also how Gabrielle's knee had made him bend over.
After such a painful rejection, he had kept his distance, happy enough with the view. Restraining himself to massage his groin—this would have to wait—he sighed and resumed his inspection.
All seemed to be in order. The tables had been cleared and wiped down. The chairs and stools, scattered around during the evening, had returned to where they belonged. The candles had been blown out or replaced on top of each wax mountain. There was just one more thing to do, and Joseph would finally get a well-deserved rest.
Tonight, Francis had chosen a table at the very center of the room to pass out on. His cheek was resting in a puddle of his own drool, but he didn't seem to care one bit. His face was pure drunken bliss. It broke Joseph's heart to wake him up and send him back to a mean wife every night. But as he had no desire to see that woman ever again, and as she would surely come asking for her husband sooner or later—yelling and making threats—he had no other choice.
His hand was two inches from Francis's shoulder when the front door burst open. Joseph caught a glimpse of a short but impressive dark-skinned man standing in the frame. He had just enough time to make out thick arms crossed over a large chest—and that was it.
The door slammed loudly against the wall, bounced back, and shut in the man's face.
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