Free Race to World's End (Rowan and Ella Book 3) by Susan Kiernan-Lewis

at its longest, it took only two terrifying days and
nights, hiding in the bushes, running when the sound of the pirates’ screams
and taunts got closer. Unless they gave up the hunt—something he knew
wasn’t likely—he knew once they found evidence of him living on the
island, it was always just a matter of time. Exhausted and sleep deprived,
Rowan found a bush in the deepest point in the interior of the island. His
initial intent was just to rest and to wait. When he saw the men—he
always heard them—he would creep away.
    But they finally split
up.
    And he fell
asleep.
    Rowan woke to the
sensation of many harsh hands grasping his arms to pull him free of the brambles.
He didn’t bother fighting them. He’d had two days and nights to consider if
finding him meant his immediate death. Or worse.
    The terror and
agony of attempting to evade them, coupled with the fact he was starving, had left
him defeated and weak.
    “There ye are, ye
bastard!”
    “Oy! Look at the
size of ‘im! Fecking giant!”
    “He’s a white
man. Drag ‘im around and let’s get a look at ‘im.”
    Rowan waited for
the knife or the bullet that would end this nightmare. It was no use attempting
to escape—he was too weak to do it and there was nowhere to go. He hung
his head as if willing himself to descend into unconsciousness. There was
nothing he could do now.
    The rough hands
settled him on his knees in a clearing. Rowan was already bare chested and
barefooted, wearing only jagged pieces of his trousers. Amid the babel of the
pirates’ raucous voices—many of them in a language Rowan didn’t
recognize—he heard one deep, booming voice rise above the others as it approached.
    “Check ‘im for
weapons.”
    Rowan felt harsh
hands plunge into his pocket, where they found his lighter.
    The lighter Ella
had given him.
    He shook himself
out of his stupor and made an attempt to stop the man. When he opened his eyes,
he saw the tall pirate that he’d seen on deck was standing before him,
regarding him. Seconds later, he felt an explosion of pain at the back of his
head that flung him seamlessly, mercifully, into blackness.
    It wasn’t long
enough.
    He jerked
violently into consciousness with the onslaught of freezing salt water that seemed
to consume him, threatening to drown him, coughing and clawing at the water to
break the surface. Within moments, he realized he was not in the ocean, but
lying on a moving wooden deck, the river of seawater that had been thrown in
his face beneath him. He opened his eyes just before the bucket was also thrown
at his head and he attempted, ineffectively, to avoid it.
    He felt the
blackness creeping up to take him again.
    “Oy! Whydja do
that? We’re to get him on his feet, not knock ‘im out again!”
    Rowan felt a hard
kick to his side and he instinctively folded up to protect himself. He felt
himself plunged into a stomach-buckling nausea as he was jerked to his feet.
    “Look alive, mkubwa. Captain wants to see you.”
    Rowan opened his
eyes and saw that he was indeed on the pirate ship. Each side of the narrow
ship featured six small cannons jutting out of the gunwales. There was a small
staircase of eight steps that led to the quarterdeck with the pilot
wheel—and the tall pirate Rowan had briefly seen on the island.
    He allowed
himself to be half dragged up the steps. At the top, he turned his head to see
if the island was visible. It wasn’t an option for him, he knew, but it might
tell him how long he’d been out.
    They were
surrounded only by ocean.
    “So our guest has
awakened, I see,” the captain said. He stood before Rowan wearing a long black
coat over a white blouse and dark, loden-colored trousers. His high boots were
black and looked new.
    In his hand, he
tossed and caught Rowan’s lighter.
    “Interesting
device you have here, giant,” the captain said. “I wonder if you know what it
is?”
    Rowan glanced at
his lighter and forced himself not to grab for it. He gave his