Free Bring Me the Horizon by Jennifer Bray-Weber

cutlass, kneading the hilt. The gesture seemed instinctual, as his eyes lost focus on some spot on the other side of the deck, unwavering even with the constant motion of the crew milling about. “What’s his game?” he growled under his breath. “Defying orders, stealing into her cabin, lying—not like him at all.”
    “Capt’n.” Kipp tread forward with a black tricorn hat. “The longboat is ready to take ya to shore.”
    Cutler snapped out of his trance. He took the hat and nodded. “Have Cocklyn and Robin seal up the door betwixt mine and Miss DuBois’s cabins.”
    “Sir?”
    “No one will use that door ever again. Make smart with it. I’ll be along,” he said by way of dismissal.
    Kipp glanced over his captain’s shoulder at her, expression pinched with worry, before spinning on his heel, back to the waiting boat.
    Angry lines etched his face as Cutler turned to her in a slow, calculating measure to face her. “You will stay on this ship. ’Tis my order.” He plopped his hat firmly on his head. “No argument.”
    No argument indeed. No matter her strong opinion, she would not change his mind. He was impenetrable. She bowed her head a fraction in deference.
    His taut mien loosened ever so slightly. “For your safety, turtle.”
    Gracie’s heart squeezed with his sentiment. But when he lifted her chin with a crooked finger, she stumbled into his sincere blue crystals. Heaven above, she was losing herself to him.
    “I will bring back Sarah, I will.”
    If only she could believe it. Satisfied with the smile Gracie mustered up, Cutler pecked her forehead. “To your cabin, lass.” He strode away and addressed the nearest jack. “Fetch me Monk. I have words for him.”
    She headed for the hatch, but for appearances only. ’Twould be tricky, but she had other plans to see through.
     
    Cutler sat at the rear of the dusty tavern, as always, his back to the wall. He had chosen the table carefully, running off a couple of locals for the prime spot close to the foot of the stairwell leading to the bawdy rooms above.
    Just as the sun rises and sets, Cutler knew one thing about Carrion. Wherever the wretch found land, he dropped his anchor into the port whores.
    He was nearly finished with his bottle of liquor when he heard the boisterous man. “Keep it warm, Emma, you saucy pearl.”
    Heavy footsteps descended the stairs and slowed as he neared the bottom. Cutler pushed back his hat and met Carrion’s cold stare. For most, Carrion’s appearance was frightening—long shaggy hair black and greasy as pitch, eyes wild with death, wide girth and an evil smile that did nothing to soften the scars on his ugly mug. Cutler wasn’t most. All the same, he’d keep an eye on the man’s weapons strapped on his belt.
    Carrion was a calculating man and his methods of pirating and terror effective. But he was a leper amongst the brethren. ’Twas certain the brethren were pirates to their core. Nevertheless, their brotherhood had a decree to show mercy to women, children and the elderly. Carrion rarely heeded the brethren rules. He went beyond striking fear, beyond the pirate codex, beyond the pillaging, plundering, and the like. The man thrived on torture—cruel and unnecessary—giving pirates a bad reputation. Well...a worse reputation. Unfortunately, no one ever survived long enough to bring allegations against the scum to the brethren court.
    Carrion’s upper lip protruded as he rolled his tongue over crooked teeth, no doubt assessing the threat. Cutler pointed to the open chair at his table. “Join me, friend.”
    “Friend,” Carrion spat. “Ain’t no friend here.”
    Cutler waved to the serving girl for more liquor. “Bring another cup, sweetling.”
    Carrion eased himself into the chair. “Ya must want somethin’ to offer me spirit.”
    “Aye.”
    “And with little bloodshed.”
    Cutler smirked. “’Twould be your choice, of course. As well as your two lackeys at the bar.” Though they made no