Bring Me the Horizon (9 page)

Gracie closed her eyes tight, biting back her emotions. But her fear was thick, assailing Cutler in volley after volley. He all but forgot his wrath over her lies—for now. The present moment called for saving her. No one, not even Gracie, deserved Carrion’s maniacal brutality.

Cutler pulled his flintlock from his bandolier, aiming it an inch from his bloodshot eyes. “Let her go before I spill your brains.”

Carrion frowned with a heavy, annoyed sigh. “Verily, Cutler. She’s not worth it.”

He turned back to Gracie, his face but a breath from hers. For a moment, Cutler thought the foul bastard might kiss her, ushering him another step nearer. “Best not catch ya alone again, lass,” Carrion said. “I’ll be givin’ no more lessons on the ways of murder.” He lingered a beat too long, studying her face.

“Carrion.”

Carrion swiftly withdrew the knife from her neck and backed away from Gracie. She exhaled, a visible rush relaxing her rigid body.

“Farewell for the nonce.” Carrion jostled past him despite Cutler’s true aim on the scoundrel.

“Wait.” Gracie came forward, her hand out. “My dagger.”

Of all the bloody insane...

A smile crept up Carrion’s mug like the slow burn of a wick. Without removing his eyes from her, he spun the dagger to hand Cutler the hilt. If it weren’t for the danger of the situation, Cutler might laugh that Carrion trusted him over the wee girl. As it were, she simply had no merit of trust.

“Control yer bitch, Cutler.”

“She’s not mine and I’ve no use for the likes of her. All the same, neither do you. Be on your way.”

Carrion tipped the brim of his hat and disappeared out on the street.

“Thank you,” Gracie said. “Again.”

Cutler’s anger returned with the force of a hurricane. “You lied.” The words ground from between his teeth.

“I had to.”

He whirled on her, vision clouded red, gripping her arm. “Had to? Had to!”

Her face flushed, her eyes widened. “You’re hurting me.”

Cutler didn’t care. He tightened his grasp further. Hadn’t
she
hurt
him
? “You used me.”

“No.”

“You knew your sister was dead.”

“I—”

“You put me and my crew in danger for your own selfish needs.”

“But—”

“This I won’t tolerate.” He threw her arm down causing her to stumble back. Red indentions marred her skin and would surely turn into bruises. “Your sister, the gold, your affections—all lies.”

“No!”

He wanted to shove her to the wall, rant and rave and spew out his anger till there was nothing left. Diminish her into a sniveling mess. Instead, he reined in his venom and strode away. The heavy clod of his boots on the cobblestones matched his indignant mood.

“Cutler, wait.” Gracie trotted behind him, trying her best to keep up. “Cutler, let me explain. Please.”

He ignored the desperate strain in Gracie’s voice. He’d heard the same despair from Antonia when she begged to stay in London for the season. Never mind he was being hunted by the authorities. And then she set him up. Selfish bitch.

“Find your own way back to Santo Domingo, Miss DuBois.”

“I didn’t lie about the gold.”

Cutler pulled up so short, she smacked into him from behind. Not missing the opportunity, she scampered in front of him, her warm hands on his chest to keep him from leaving again. Absurd as that was.

“So you admit you lied.”

“Yes. No. But... Ugh... The gold is real. ’Tis in my cabin.”

“And I’m to believe this. You say it just to board my ship again. What designs are you up to now?”

“I speak the truth.”

“Very well, then.” He grabbed her wrist and pulled her along, perhaps a mite too roughly, all the way to the docks, and shoved her into a waiting longboat. Slapping the oars into the water, Cutler rowed them back to
Rissa
—needing the exertion to burn out some of his rage. ’Twas all Gracie could do to hold onto the boat’s sides to keep from falling overboard, as if knowing that if she did fall out, she’d anger him further.

He’d been such an idiot—believing in her, letting her in. She better have that gold. So help him. Despite the turn of events, that gold was his. For all his troubles.
All
of them.

Back in her cabin, Gracie retrieved her bag from the chest of drawers and set it on top. She rummaged through the coarse brown fabric and pulled out a large uneven lump wrapped in red silken cloth the size of a large coconut.

“Please, Cutler. Please understand.” She let the cloth slip open. Gold, clean and crisp, glinted in the light of the overhead lantern.

Cutler hissed through his teeth. The Bobadilla nugget wasn’t only real, it was larger than he imagined. What wars this would wage if anyone found out it was on his ship.

His mind reached out to grasp the significance of what it all meant. The gold, Gracie’s one truth, and her lies. There was something there he should understand, but his steadfast ire chased off any rationale into the crypts of his mind.

“Yes, I lied about Sarah,” she said. “You wouldn’t have come if I just asked and I couldn’t take the chance the gold would be enough. Or that you wouldn’t simply take the nugget and leave me with nothing. ’Twas the only way to get you to bring me to Carrion. I needed assurance.”

“I’m no pawn, woman.”

“This gold proves I was going to pay you.”

“And that you have,” he said, taking the nugget from her.

“Last night—”

“Fulfilled your obligation. We’re done.”

Pain stitched into her labored expression, her brown eyes glistened with welling tears.
Damn.
His heart constricted. He didn’t like to see her cry. Unlike Antonia’s tears of frustration, Gracie’s tears were born of defeat, and of torment caused by him. And there was no satisfaction for him in that.

A booming explosion shook
Rissa
, the floorboards rattled beneath his feet. “What the devil!” Was the
Rissa
under attack?

Despite him telling her to stay put, Gracie trailed after. He raced topside and burst through the hatch. Men darted about—not to their stations but to the port side of the ship.

Anchored between
Rissa
and Carrion’s
Sablewing
, Fox’s
Triumph
was under fire. She was vulnerable with her skeletal crew and missing a large part of her aft. Gunfire cracked as Fox’s men aimed for moving targets on
Sablewing
. Gunners were desperately rolling out guns, but there simply were not enough men to perform the task quickly enough.
Sablewing
sent another round of cannon shot into
Triumph
. Two met their mark low on her hull. The third sailed past, plunking into the bay just shy of
Rissa
. Cutler and Gracie grabbed the railing as
Rissa
rolled on the swell of water.

Another shot struck Zane’s ship. Shards and shivers rained down. Men screamed. A small fire broke out on the quarterdeck. More gunfire.
Triumph
groaned, leaning in on her gaping hole.

With most of her crew, including her captain, on shore, the ship had no chance. Cutler was helpless. ’Twas all happening too fast. Nonetheless, he couldn’t stand by and do nothing. “Make ready with the guns!”

“Richard!” Gracie pointed to the water below.

Richard rowed frantically toward
Rissa
out of the field of falling debris.

“Get that man up here,” Cutler shouted, pacing the gunwale.

Why the hell was Carrion attacking
Triumph
? What happened? What changed? Cutler shot Gracie a murderous glare. He had a damn good idea.

Whatever the motivation, the bastard was not going to get away with it.

But he already had.
Sablewing
unfurled her sails and took to the open waters beyond the Matanzas harbor. Triumph let out one last agonizing moan before she succumbed to her defeat and began to glide to the bay’s bottom. Crewmen scrambled to get their longboats into the water. Of those who fell overboard, most did not know how to swim. They thrashed and hollered, panicked to stay above the waves.

“Get a boat to those men!” Cutler commanded.

Richard stumbled over, out of breath. “Almost got caught in the crossfire,” he panted.

Cutler clapped his back. “Luck be yours.”

“Thank God you are all right.” Gracie hurried over and hugged Richard.

A fresh pang of temper flared within Cutler. Was it how they embraced? Was it how Richard whispered everything would be fine into her ear?

Cutler gave them his back, shouting more directives to save the drowning. Jack tars flailed in vain, tiring out, pulled beneath the waves to their watery graves.

Horror played across Gracie’s face as the screams quieted. “Those poor men,” she said.

The only sign of the
Triumph
remaining were the floating planks and a handful of lifeless bodies. And Cutler’s anger. Antonia all over again.

Gracie spun away from the carnage into Richard’s goddamned waiting arms.

“Aye. Turn your back so as not to witness your handiwork.” He spat the words like poison burning from his tongue.

Her brow knit, her mouth fell open.

“That’s right, chit. You did this.”

She took a step back. “Wh-what do you mean?”

“What are you talking about, Cutler?” Richard moved closer to her side.

“Your lies. Bringing us here. Pitting brethren against brethren. And over what?”

“No. I wouldn’t—”

“You knew I’d confront Carrion, just as you wanted. With your sister dead, you knew I would challenge him, and he’d take offense.”

“That’s not true.”

“Is it not? Then what? Pray tell, what did you think would happen?”

She squared her shoulders. “I didn’t ask you to deliver me my sister. Not once! I asked you, no,
paid
you to bring me to him.”

She was right. Nowhere in his recollection did he remember her asking him to save Sarah. She tricked him into believing that was what he was to do. “You wicked, conniving wench.” Heat flushed his neck, his hand ached from clenching and unclenching his fists.

“He killed my sister. I did what was necessary,” she asserted. “Don’t tell me if it weren’t Richard or Fox or Tyburn you wouldn’t have sought vengeance. To suggest otherwise would be a
lie
. Either way, you and I are alike.”

“We are nothing alike, chit. Your deceit,” he closed the distance between them, emphasizing his message, “has cost men their lives and sunk a fine ship.”

Her shoulders lost the bravado they had moments ago. Her pert nose pinkened and flared as she tried to bridle in the tears pooling in her eyes. Aye, he hit the mark.

“No, I—”

“Deny it none, Gracie.”

“You are not being fair,” Richard said, stepping between them. Ludicrous to think he could come between Cutler and his prey.

“Fair?” he growled. “Tell that to the hapless lads sinking down to Davy Jones’ locker.”

Tears flowed freely down her cheeks, her bottom lip trembling violently. He was no fool. He’d been here before and would be damned if he felt sorry for her now.

“Cutler.” Richard’s tone grated against Cutler’s threadbare control.

“And you,” he seethed, jabbing a finger an inch before Richard’s face, “sneaking behind my back.”

“Mayhap you need to retire to your cabin until you are able to regain your senses.”

“Mayhap you want to keep your tongue, Monk. Use it for something useful,” Cutler warned. “Pray God saves her for I’ll show no mercy upon her.”

He swiveled on his boot to find the nearest jack. “Edward! Get Miss DuBois off my ship and deposit her arse on the docks.”

CHAPTER 8

Gracie drew in a raw breath, her lungs tender from sobbing. The moment Edward had helped her onto the pier, she hurried, fled, really, to a group of trees just beyond the end of the docks. She hid behind the largest one, slid down the trunk, and buried her face into her knees, crying. Crying as she had when she held Sarah’s bloody, lifeless body. The pain just as intense.

What had she done? She had failed completely, that’s what. Her sister was gone. She blundered her retribution to kill Carrion. And now she had lost Cutler. She hadn’t realized how in love with him she was until he spurned her with cold malice. ’Twas as if he ripped her beating heart from her chest. How would she recover from that? If only she had been truthful with him. Gracie might still be in his protective arms. Nay, the truth would not have gotten her on
Rissa
, not have led her to his bed, not have given her a taste of loving him.

She dug the heels of her palms into her eyes, trying uselessly to staunch the flow of tears.

His accusations echoed in her head like the screams of the dying. Was she really responsible for those men’s deaths? For the sinking of Captain Fox’s ship? The guilt ate at her, chewed away at her sanity. She was destined for purgatory, if only in her own mind.

She had nothing. Not even a way to get back home to Hispaniola. What was she to do now? What lie would she have to dream up to survive? Did she even want to survive? Without Cutler, she wasn’t sure.

Someone called her name. Richard. He hurried off the docks to her refuge under the trees. He hadn’t abandoned her. She had at least one friend left. He would help her—help her pray for forgiveness. She hoped God would be listening.

“They are to be hanged at dusk.” Kipp poured another shot of rum into Cutler’s mug and passed the bottle to Zane and Blade.

The first mate never judged Cutler for his vices. He understood the need to put the devil inside, to either think more clearly or wallow in regret. Kipp was a good man and a better friend.

“How many?”

“Three of our own. Two belongin’ to
Sablewing
. And a couple of locals, including a beggar boy.”

After the deadly attack in the bay, a brawl broke out in the port streets. Soldiers intervened and arrested the pirates not lucky enough to escape. “We’ll need a diversion,” Cutler said.

“A riot,” Blade offered.

“A massacre,” Zane said.

If Cutler had a bad temper, then Zane was the master and commander of anger. The cove lived and breathed in a constant state of rage. Losing his ship sent him into the worst of his ire. ’Twas not a matter of if, but when his fuse would burn out into a savage explosion.