Chapter 9, Sarah

  I see her the second she steps back onto the deck. I push off the railing and close the distance fast, cutting her off before she can slip away again.

  "Enough of this shit," I say, planting my feet. “How do you know my name, and what do you actually want with me?"

  She doesn’t stop or even slow down. I brace for a fight, an argument, anything. But the pirate just tilts her head, like she’s amused. I think I have the upper hand. Then she moves. Not around me, just… angled. A sidestep so small it barely registers except suddenly, I have to adjust. I match her without thinking, keeping my eyes locked on her, determined not to lose ground.

  She steps again, precise and fluid, and I shift to match. It’s so natural, so effortless, that I don’t even realize I’m moving backward until the deck slopes slightly beneath my heels.

  A step down. Then another. And then… wood against my back. A beam. My stomach clenches. What the fuck? I snap my head up, and Roberts is standing in front of me, between me and the way back up. How did I get down here?

  I was supposed to be backing her into a corner, demanding answers. Instead, she herded me here like a damn sheep. The realization hits hot, crawling up my spine. She didn’t push me. Didn’t even touch me.

  She just moved like she had somewhere to be and I followed. Roberts cocks her head, smug as anything, like this wasn’t even difficult for her. My jaw clenches. My pulse hammers against my ribs, hot and restless. I hate how easily she turned the tables.

  I exhale sharply through my nose, tilting my head. "That was slick."

  Roberts raises her chin. "What was?"

  I gesture vaguely at the stairs, at the open space around us. "This. You, herding me down here like a damn sheep."

  Her mouth curves, slow and knowing. "It seemed like you wanted to talk."

  "I do." But somehow, the lines I rehearsed are gone. All I can think about is how it’s even hotter down here than it was in the direct sunlight. The air feels thick, heavy, pressing in on me.

  She looks at me, patient, expectant.

  But the longer I stand here, the more I feel the heat creeping up my neck, fogging my thoughts. My mouth is too dry. My head spins.

  Instead of demanding answers, I let out a weak, breathless squeak. "Water..." Gods, I sound pathetic.

  For a second, I think I hear a trace of something almost empathetic beneath her amused laugh. Then, smoothly, "Come with me," she says. I follow her down the passageway.

  "Wait here," she tells me, opening a door and leaning inside, one hand braced against the frame.

  "Sonya, can I get some more of that coconut—oh, you did. Alright, thanks. And two cups?—Right then. You’re the best."

  She swings back into the passageway, shutting the door behind her. We head back the way we came, up onto the main deck and the air hits me like a cool wave. But it barely cuts through the heat still clinging to my skin.

  Roberts doesn’t slow as she moves toward the back of the ship, weaving past crew members, and I follow, my legs unsteady beneath me. She halts abruptly, and I almost slam into the back of her. Before I can step away, she plants a firm hand on the shoulder of a passing sailor.

  "Check that knot again. No wind today doesn’t mean you can get lazy—she won’t warn you before she snaps free." She releases them and moves on without waiting for a reply, already calling out to another.

  My reflexes are slowing fast. The heat is suffocating, my head pounding, my mouth dry as sand. I don’t move in time before she shouts, far too close to my ear. "Matteo! That better not be a hole in my sail. Sheath your blade when you’re climbing or I’ll make a hole in your hide!"

  The sudden bark of her voice shatters through my skull. The world tips, just slightly. For a second, I think I’ve got myself, but my legs disagree. My balance tilts, vision edged with heat-haze, and then her arm catches me.

  "Aw, come on, love," Roberts murmurs, her voice still close to my ear, but softer now. "Almost there." We descend the staircase, and Roberts pushes open a heavy door, reinforced with iron fittings.

  I step inside, hesitating as my eyes adjust to the dimness. The room is large and quieter, but no less suffocating. She crosses the space, moving with purpose, but I barely register what she’s doing. Because I know exactly where I am.

  Even before I take in the ornate crown moldings, the polished wood, the massive desk, the even larger bed. Even before I notice the opulence and the richness of the finishings, the small luxuries a captain affords herself.

  Something heady, intoxicating. Like sun-warmed skin and leather. I must be delirious.

  Suddenly, light floods the room. I blink against the glare, vision reeling as the dimness is peeled away in an instant. Roberts has thrown open two large doors to a private deck at the back of the cabin, and the space beyond makes it feel like an entire wall has vanished.

  Roberts lowers herself into the chair behind the desk, framed by the expanse of deep blue water beyond the open doors. For a moment, it looks like her desk is floating in the sea. Like she’s not just captain of a ship, but ruler of the ocean itself.

  My eyes are fixed on the spot where she’s gestured for me to sit opposite her, but I make no move to follow the command. I’ve sat in chairs like that before in the army. Across from commanding officers and others with the power to decide my fate with a few words.

  You don’t sit in a chair like this unless you’re about to be reprimanded, given orders you won’t like, or asked to take a promotion you didn’t want. None of those things ever ended well for me.

  My weight shifts between my feet but my body feels locked. Roberts tilts her head, watching, assessing me.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  "Or don’t," she muses, wiggling the stopper free from a ceramic jug and pouring two cups. "Coconut water."

  She slides one across the desk toward me but leaves her cup untouched, the weight of her gaze settling over me. It feels too heavy for me to meet, so my eyes drop to her mouth instead.

  I take in the fresh split in her upper lip, swollen and red, stark against sun-warmed skin. But there are older ones too. Faint, silvery lines that whisper stories from a lifetime of fighting. One at the corner of her mouth, another disrupting the smooth arch of her eyebrow.

  Then she lifts the cup, lips pressing to the rim, and my focus drops to the slow tilt of her wrist, the way her throat flexes as she swallows.

  My own throat mirrors her movement, bringing attention to how parched my mouth truly is. I take my first sip and gods it’s good. I drink it down with desperation, well aware that Roberts’ eyes are still fixated upon me. I shutter my eyes and take a slow breath, steeling myself before matching her gaze.

  "You know my name." I blurt it out, a little too eager.

  Roberts hums, tapping her index finger lightly against the desk. "I do."

  "How?"

  She tilts her head slightly, like she’s considering how much effort she wants to put into this conversation. "Could’ve sworn you told me."

  I shake my head. "I didn’t."

  "Didn’t you?"

  I sit forward. "No."

  She exhales through her nose. Not quite a laugh, but close. "You’ve been through a lot, love. Maybe you just don’t remember."

  A sharp prickle climbs up my spine. She’s lying. I can feel it, but it’s so effortless, so smooth that I can’t grab onto it.

  I keep my voice steady. "That’s not it." I grit my teeth. "I don’t like games."

  She sets her cup down. "Sure you do. You’re just not winning this one."

  I push back from the desk, pulse racing as my chair scrapes against the floor. I should leave. I should march right out that door.

  But that’s exactly what she wants, and I need answers.

  "Why did you pull me out of the water?"

  She lifts a brow. "Would you rather I hadn’t?"

  "That’s not an answer."

  "It’s the only one you’re getting."

  I clench my fists and force myself to sit back down. I could push her, press harder. But if I learned anything from my years in the army, it’s that officers don’t respond to force. You get more out of them when they think they’re the ones pulling the strings.

  So I slow my breathing, loosen my hands, and try a different approach.

  "You don’t strike me as the type to save drowning strangers for no reason."

  She shrugs. "Maybe I was feeling charitable."

  I let the silence stretch between us. Give her time to fill it.

  "You were holding something shiny when you jumped. It burned up—nothing left of whatever it was. You won’t tell me, but it doesn’t matter, because I scoured every inch of the sea floor in that cove and found nothing."

  She leans back, drumming her fingers once against the desk.

  "I don’t like returning empty-handed. You survived the impossible. And you can fight."

  Her gaze flickers over me, assessing, before she exhales like this whole conversation is tired.

  "We’ve been over this, love. You must’ve really hit your head."

  "I remember. I just—"

  It’s true that we’ve been over this. She told me what she saw, or at least the version of it she’s willing to admit... but there’s something else, something she’s not telling me. So I shift tactics.

  "You know my name," I say, watching her carefully. "But I don’t even know if yours is real."

  Roberts’ lips twitch. Not quite a smirk, but entertained.

  "Captain Roberts not specific enough for you?"

  I fold my arms, grounding myself. "I just don’t buy it. The Captain Roberts I’ve heard of commands a fleet of over a hundred ships and has outsmarted the crown for decades. So where’s your fleet? And why are you wasting your time on me?" My voice sharpens.

  That gets a reaction.

  It’s subtle, but it’s there. The faintest shift behind her eyes, something other than the cool, unbothered, unimpressed countenance she normally displays.

  She leans sideways, resting an elbow against the desk like this conversation has ceased to be interesting.

  "I am the one and only Captain Roberts. Ask anyone on this ship. Hell, visit any tavern and you’ll hear bards sing of my feats and appearance… in far more detail than I would like.”

  She tilts her head, "Gods, you really haven’t been anywhere, have you?" She almost laughs, but doesn’t. "Where have you been?"

  "No one on this ship will even look at me, much less talk to me." I say through gritted teeth.

  Roberts shrugs. "Try making yourself useful."

  My eyes burn with the threat of tears I refuse to allow. I press my nails into my palms, willing the feeling down, down, down.Then something flies toward me. I snatch it out of the air on instinct. An orange. I haven’t had one since I was a kid.

  I look up, confused, but Roberts is already standing. "Listen, love," she drawls, like she’s doing me a favor, "You’re on my ship now. And if you want to stay that way, I’d start thinking about what you bring to the table. I’ll show you where you can sleep tonight.”

  She doesn’t wait for me to follow as she moves through the cabin door and back out onto the deck. I trail behind, listening to her talk like nothing just happened. Like she didn’t just gut me open with a few sharp words and then toss me a goddamn piece of fruit.

  "This ship wasn’t built for comfort," she says, gesturing toward the passageway ahead. "So I had to make some adjustments. More individual rooms for the officers. Keeps the peace. I had to rebuild half the damn thing to make it work, but it was worth it."

  She’s pleased with herself. It’s obvious, the way her tone shifts ever so slightly into something bordering on pride. I can still feel the heat behind my eyes, the hollow weight in my chest. How can she be such a bastard one second and then act like it’s nothing the next? And why is it getting to me?

  I’ve been spoken to harshly before. I was raised in it, trained in it. From the religious school to my time as a soldier, I’ve had worse words hurled at me, orders barked in my face, insults, dismissals, punishments. But none that cut like this. Nothing has ever felt so goddamn personal and I don’t know what to do with that.

  Roberts swings the door open, and for a brief, foolish second, I think she’s letting me go. The room is small but clean, the first real privacy I’ve had in… I don’t know how long. There’s a narrow cot in the corner, a wooden chest at the foot of it, a wash basin on a sturdy little table. No prying eyes, no one to make me feel like I’m a nuisance. Just a place to rest, to breathe, to think.

  My body registers the promise of comfort before my mind can catch up. The ache in my limbs deepens, my skull feels heavier on my shoulders, and I imagine sinking onto that cot, closing my eyes, shutting everything out.

  I’ve been awake for more than a day. And not just awake… relentless, running, fighting, falling, drowning, clawing my way through one impossible thing after another. My body screams for stillness, for silence, for something solid beneath me that doesn’t shift with the waves. Just one moment to breathe, to let my mind catch up to the reality-shattering chaos of the last twenty-four hours. But that moment never comes.

  "Well?" Roberts’ voice cuts through the moment. "Had your look? Good. Let’s go."

  I blink. "What?"

  She jerks her head toward the door. "You’re not staying here. You think I’m giving you the day off?"

  The disappointment is swift, sharp, and stupid. Of course, she wasn’t handing me privacy or rest. She was just showing me where I’d sleep… if I earned it. I square my shoulders, forcing myself not to show disappointment. "And where exactly am I going?"

  "The galley."