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...
Alexandra stopped dead in her tracks and spun round. At the street entrance, a few meters away—too close—three men slowed down, but kept walking towards them. A nasty laugh rang in the silence. Alexandra grabbed Savy by the wrist and flew.
She had known that coming back to Puerto Seguro was a bad idea, but Etienne wouldn't hear anything about it. Her captain had valid reasons, for sure—material ones. They needed to refill their food and water supplies, make urgent repairs, and pretend the goods they recently plundered were legitimate merchandise. And of course, they also needed to stock up on more rum.
Alexandra took a sharp turn to the left. Savy cried out but she kept running.
The first time they came here, things turned sour after twelve hours. The last time, it took only five and caused injuries among the crew—and one dead among the dockers.
Alexandra changed direction again, trying to keep going downhill toward the harbor, toward the Lady, toward safety.
When Etienne ordered her, his First Mate, to chaperon the little princess, she had acted offended, played the outraged part, and yelled a bit to the gallery. In truth, the prospect of staying on board, far from the malevolence that was subtly but deeply anchored in the town's soul, soothed her own. However, leaving the security of their captain in the hands of O'Ma alone concerned her. Not that she didn't trust him—she simply knew that Stalker's lunacy combined with Tiago's frivolity was hard to manage. Together, they were a walking disaster of randomness. The first could pick a fight with a nine-year-old kid for making slurping and gulping noises while eating. The second would cheer and dance around, taking bets from the crowd about the number of limbs that would end up severed. In case of trouble, that would mean blood. A lot of it.
Out of breath, Alexandra stopped between two flights of stone stairs overlooking the tranquility of the somnolent harbor.
This time, she had been the one not worthy of trust, the frivolous one, the one to draw blood. She had expected the sneaky little brat to stay put, tucked into her bunk like the fair lady she appeared to be... But no! Her Majesty just had to go explore the ugly pile of houses somehow passing for a town in this lost part of the world. And now, they had to run for their lives and get away—with murder?
A voice called out in the distance and Alexandra looked up to discover four men running toward them, carrying clubs. She swore between her teeth, seized Savy's hand, and hurtled down the stairs—but not for long. Three more men had appeared below. They were climbing slowly, step by step, in a practiced and menacing way. The torchlight reflected ominously on the short blades they passed from one hand to another. Alexandra stopped once more.
"Bliad! Bliad! Tvoyu mat'!"
Savy squeezed her hand, trembling, but remained silent. Alexandra grabbed her by the shoulders. "Now girl, time to face the consequences of your actions!"
"My—?"
Savy never had the chance to finish. Alexandra let go of the princess's hand to plunge her own into her boot. She came back with a long knife.
"Here, grab that!" she ordered. "And fend for your life!"
"But I—" stammered Savy, looking more shocked than afraid.
"Trust me, little girl, these arsworms are not here to talk!"
Alexandra freed her whip and made it crack. The men hesitated, but only for a few seconds. She turned her head from one side to another, waiting for one of them to be stupid enough to come closer and have a taste of her lash. Savy let out a whimper, barely audible. The girl was maybe naive, but she knew better. Of course these men would talk, but later, once their prey had been overpowered. They would talk about who would fuck who, and in which order.
One of them plunged toward them. Alexandra's mouth twitched and she threw her arm out. The tip of the whip cracked upon the fool's cheekbone. It burst open and sprayed blood on the pavement. The man yelled, dropped his club, and put his hands over his bleeding face. Alexandra didn't pause to rejoice. These thugs were no amateurs. They had the force of habit and the power of numbers on their side. They pounced all at once.
Alexandra kicked the closest one in the stomach, missing his crotch by mere inches. She threw the man to the floor and jumped on the next. She passed her whip above his head and pushed a knee in his back. But before she could crush his trachea, her arm got pulled from behind. She let go and threw herself in the same direction, elbow first. A satisfactory snap and a cry of pain followed. Alexandra freed her arm and took two or three wobbly steps to regain her balance.
Savy cried out. Alexandra turned to see her embraced by one of their aggressors. He hugged her to him, showing his brown teeth in a savage smile, one arm around her corseted waist to hold her tight. His other hand held a knife dangerously close to her pale neck. Alexandra froze, tempted for a second to lash both of them.
She had just enough time to think that Etienne would be pissed before something heavy hit the back of her head. Shooting stars flashed before her eyes, and the world faded to black as she fell.
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