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...
Barnabé tore off his powdered wig and threw it on the floor. With both hands and a sigh of satisfaction, he scratched his head through his greasy hair to calm the lice bites for a while. His scalp radiating with relief, he picked up the grey-white embarrassment and, deciding to send the stupid dress code to hell for a while, left it hanging on his pinkie. He put his index back deep inside his left ear and pressed the right one against the thick door. He closed his eyes, but it was as useless as before. He couldn't understand a damn thing amid the muffled gibberish. However, he was sure that La Choza was enjoying this meeting a great deal.
And indeed, for the second time, the Harbor Master's booming laugh shook the walls. A few moments later, a sudden draft of air hit Barnabe's face. He opened his eyes to realize that the second panel of the door had flown open two inches from his nose. He straightened and put the wig back in a hurry. He felt the little black bow holding the ridiculous pony tail brush his ear, but didn't lose any time pushing it back where it belonged.
The tall brunette exited the office with a grim countenance. Barnabé clenched his jaw on a disgusted grimace. First Mate? How could a woman even be allowed on a ship anyway, other than sharing the captain's bed? And to be second in command, the lass had to be quite talented. The short blonde followed, her face drained of all color, eyes wide. Another freak of nature! Barnabé almost spat at her feet when she passed him. He would have died rather than let this so-called doctor touch him. Filthy witches!
He took a peek inside the office. La Choza was staring at the third woman, eating her alive with his eyes. Smiling wildly, Barnabé bowed to his oblivious master and double-locked the office door behind them. He carefully pocketed the key, grabbed the pistol he kept tucked into his belt and turned around. Unable to remain still, he stood guard anyway, taking great pleasure in the situation.
"What on earth did you just do?" the blonde yelled.
Facing the window again, hands resting on the boyish hump of her ass, the twiggy woman remained silent.
"You just disposed of Savy like she was a stray dog!"
Despite painful breathing, Barnabé couldn't refrain from smiling. He rubbed his aching chest with two fingers, cringing when he hit the bruise that was surely marking his skin already. He frowned and shot a dirty look at the tall bitch responsible for this outrageous maiming.
It should be you inside!
The blonde was hilariously red now, and paced the little antechamber frantically, clenching her tiny fists like she was restraining herself from strangling her commanding officer.
"You know exactly what's going to happen! What is already happening inside of this... this... torture chamber!"
Trust me, you have no idea!
The brunette remained silent, still as a statue.
"I refuse this! Do you hear me, Alex? I refuse to let her be... toyed with by this monstrosity!"
It was useless—like talking to a figurehead. Suddenly, the short woman grabbed the tall one by the arm and turned her around. "Do you hear me, bitch?"
She was a full head shorter, but she didn't seem to care, and slapped the cold, inexpressive face of her mate.
Barnabé gasped even louder than the said "bitch"—and burst into laughter when she retaliated. She pushed her raging friend hard in the chest, knocking her off of her feet. The cocky fighter crashed into a chair, two feet away. He heard her skull hit the wall, but she didn't faint. Barnabe laughed even harder seeing the stupid look on her face, distorted by pain, tears running down her cheeks. Yet, she refused to give up, shook her head twice, and, legs shaking, she stood back up to face her "friend".
Before she could open her mouth again, the brunette started to scream at her. "It was the only way, don't you see? The little brat owes me! She owes Etienne, too!" Her hands flew up, clenched in fists. "Everything is her fault! She must pay for her stupidity!"
The little blonde took a step forward. "What the hell are you even talking about?"
Barnabé had a flash of the women rolling around on the floor, pulling hair, and biting each other. He put his free hand in his pocket to accompany the pleasant reaction of his body. He was starting to imagine torn clothes and a show of sweet, fleshy parts, when the door behind him exploded, wood splintering all over the antechamber. Something hit him in the spine and threw him between the women's feet. His wig and pistol rolled away, right under the armchair that had flown through the room.
Barnabé felt like he was trapped under a burning beam, his upper back crushed in agony. Fighting against pain, grunting, he pushed on his arms to roll over, but his legs didn't respond. Fear overwhelmed him. He looked up, eyes pleading for help...
Just in time to see a boot race toward his nose.
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