In the Arms of a Pirate (A Sam Steele Romance Book 2) (23 page)

“You know I like my meat fresher.” Her father chuckled. A hand landed on her back, shoved her ahead.

“He could have still been useful,” one of his men commented.

“Well, that’s true enough. He could have sucked me dry.”

While Sarah wasn’t sure exactly what he was implying, she nonetheless knew by the tone and the answering guffaws that whatever he’d meant was something disgusting. She grabbed the closest chair, dropped into it.

Just then, the musicians stood, announced they were taking a break. Their declaration was met with mixed reactions. Some of the more sober pirates grumbled. The drunker ones either didn’t notice and kept to their drinking or tossed their empty cups and bottles at the performers. Clearly, this was a common occurrence as they simply ducked to avoid being hit and stepped over the worst of it.

For Sarah, it was as though she was watching everything through the grime-coated windows. It was there, but not clear. Her mind still reeled from what her father had said.

A very young wench—at least three years younger than Sarah—stopped at her table. She giggled as she rested her forearms on the table, tried to tease her with the amount of flesh on display.

“Can I get you a drink, handsome?”

Sarah shook off her numbness. There was more she needed to accomplish before Aidan arrived and to do so she had to keep to her disguise. She deepened her voice when she answered, “Rum, please.”

She wasn’t convinced she’d be able to keep it down but it was worth the risk. When Aidan had given her some it had calmed her, settled her nerves. She could certainly use that now. Perhaps, she thought a little madly, she should order a bottle instead of a cup.

She dug into her pocket, glad Aidan had thought to give her some currency. Not knowing how much rum was worth, but wanting the barmaid gone quickly she set two coins on the table. Judging by the girl’s sly grin when she cleanly slipped them into her palm, Sarah figured she had more than enough.

“I’ll be right back,” the wench purred and deliberately rubbed her breasts against Sarah’s shoulder on her way to her father’s table.

With time working against her, Sarah ignored her revulsion and turned slightly in her seat. As the tables were staggered, if she looked to the side, she could clearly see her father. He and the rest of his men were all too pleased with the young girl’s exposed breasts and the wench appeared to love the attention until her father grabbed her round the waist, tugged her forward and bit her.

When she yelped he merely roared with laughter and smacked her backside. “You put your teats in my face I’m going to take that as an invitation.” He patted his thighs. “Why don’t you come sit here and we see what happens?”

Sarah shuddered. The girl was younger than she was, for goodness sake! He could have been
her
father as well. The fact didn’t seem to bother either one of them as she simply giggled and said, “The first taste was free. You’ll be paying for the rest.”

She turned and flounced away toward the long counter where the rum, wine and other spirits were kept.

“We know where ye’ll be spending yer coins tonight, Roche.”

Her father shot the scoundrel an amused look. “I never pay when I can take it for free.” The men at his table sniggered, sickening Sarah. “Besides,” he continued, leering. “I’ll have more than I can keep up with soon enough.”

“Ye mean when you get Grace back?”

At the mention of Grace, the woman carrying her father’s child, Sarah sat up a little taller. Here was one truth she desperately wanted. Had he truly raped her as Aidan claimed?

Roche sneered. “She thinks she can get away from me. It’ll be my pleasure to remind her who’s in control.”

“And the others?”

Her father’s eyes went colder than she’d ever seen them. He leaned forward. “Nobody bests Roche Santiago and lives to tell the tale. We’ll rape the lot, women, children, men, for those who hunger in such a way, and when we’re done we’ll see every one of their throats slit.”

“Even Grace’s? What about the whelp?”

Roche leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms over his belly. “Grace lives until the child is born. It won’t be of the same quality as the one that came from my Evangeline but nothing could be. Still, it’s a Santiago and it belongs to me.”

Sarah couldn’t breathe. It was true. Everything Aidan had told her. He’d promised not to lie but she’d never been able to accept everything he’d told her because it was all too horrible. Unthinkable.

But, Lord help her, it was true.

“Here you are, handsome.” The wench set a tall cup before Sarah. Because Sarah’s hands were trembling she waited until the girl had taken her tray loaded with cups and bottles to her father’s table before reaching for her rum.

Even with both hands she couldn’t hold the cup still.

He was going to kill Grace, the mother of his child, with no more regard than if she were an ant beneath his boot. An innocent woman,
many
innocent women and children would die if Aidan didn’t stop him.

Sarah stared unseeing into the amber liquid.

When she’d left San Salvador with Aidan, she’d foolishly hoped to have a chance to confront her father before Aidan had the opportunity to hurt him. More, she acknowledged now, she’d hoped to somehow change the course of events in order for neither side to get hurt.

Now, she recognized the naivety of her thinking. He would not be dissuaded with words; neither would he ever give up his hunger for revenge.

There was only one way to stop her father, only one way to save dozens of lives. Tears stung her eyes, grief pressed on her chest.

He had to die.

But could she live with her part in seeing it done?

*

He’d been inside
Doubloons too many times not to be recognized and so instead of going through the carved front door Aidan circled around to the back. He splashed through the refuse and muck and, if the smell was any indication, something that had died. The stench was horrid and he choked more than once before reaching the rear door.

Aidan had known Captain for many years, though the man hadn’t always been the proprietor of Doubloons. However, as its best patron, he’d decided to buy the place when the owner became too old to deal with the brawling pirates who insisted on tearing up his tavern.

Knowing Captain kept the back door locked because “I prefer to have me enemies come at me from the front rather than me back” and knowing he’d have to be loud to be heard over the chaos of the tavern, Aidan turned around and used the heel of his boot to bang on the door.

Three kicks. He waited a beat then gave two more. Another pause followed by four solid thumps of his boot. He raised his foot to repeat the process but the door opened at his back. Aidan spun round, pistol aimed. In all the years he’d known Captain and been to Doubloons, he’d never had any trouble using this back entryway, but Tortuga was, as Samantha liked to call it, “a festering pit of debauchery” and he wouldn’t let his guard down until he knew it was Captain who’d opened the door.

Captain was a giant of a man and he filled the doorway. In fact, he had to stoop in it to keep his head from rapping on the top. His face creased into a smile and he lowered his blunderbuss when he recognized who’d come knocking.

“Now there’s a face I ’aven’t seen in a while.” His smile withered and he looked past Aidan, down both sides of the building. “Ye bring trouble? Or are ye expectin’ it?”

“Hopefully neither,” Aidan answered as he tucked his pistol into his sash. “I just need to see who’s inside.”

Captain stepped back and Aidan entered the crowded room that served as office, storage, and the occasional place to spend the night. How a man Captain’s size could squeeze himself onto that narrow cot, Aidan couldn’t say.

“Who would you be looking for?”

“Santiago,” Aidan said, easing open the door that led into the tavern. The door was directly behind the edge of the counter and offered a good view of the tables and those occupying them. The stench of a room filled with dirty pirates who’d been months and weeks at sea nearly knocked him back.

“Ah, he’s here, sure enough. Came in not long ago, matter of fact.”

Captain’s thick arm came over Aidan’s shoulder and he pointed to a table by the front door. “There he is.”

Roche and two other miscreants were laughing and having a merry time. The man he sought leaned back in his chair, and from all appearances seemed not to have a care in the world. His long sleeve covered the bandage that was surely still wrapped around the wound Aidan had given him at Nate’s. It would have been nasty business getting that arrow out, but the only concession Roche made was to lift his cup with his left hand.

Cale had shot him in the back of the leg but it didn’t seem to affect the way Roche sat. The bastard had nearly killed them all, had stolen his ship, and was none the worse for it. Hatred filled Aidan’s chest. His hand curled around the grip of his pistol. For his mother, for what he himself had lost and suffered through, he wanted to draw the weapon and kill the cur before Roche knew what hit him.

Not only couldn’t he risk it, he still needed to find Sarah. Besides, he thought as his gaze leapt from table to table, there’d be more satisfaction in killing him face to face. He wanted Roche to know exactly who was taking his life.

When he spotted Sarah, his eyes bulged and he nearly choked on his breath. Bloody hell, she was at the table next to Roche! She had to know. Surely, she’d recognize her father’s voice, his laughter. Yet she made no movement toward him. Her head remained down. She had both hands wrapped around a tall cup yet, as he watched, he didn’t see her drink.

He knew something was wrong when two drunken scallywags staggered into her table on their way out and she didn’t even look up. That’s when he knew she knew. She knew her father was behind her and, judging by her lack of movement, must have heard enough to realize Aidan had been right about Roche.

Being right had never felt so awful.

“Captain? Do you see the lad sitting by himself by Santiago’s table?”

“Aye.”

“I need you to come out with me. I’ll fetch the lad, you distract Santiago, keep his attention off me.”

Captain nodded his head. His grizzly gray hair, which stuck out every which way, hardly moved. “Done.”

“There’s more. Roche plans on coming after me. Me, Luke. All of us. See if you can find out how many men he’s gathered to help him.”

Captain scowled. “Why don’t we just kill the bastard now? Blood washes.”

“He’s got me outnumbered at the moment and if I start anything here…”

“You’ll have every scoundrel and scallywag on the island after ye,” Captain finished.

“I’ve a plan, Captain, don’t you worry. We’ll get him, just not here.”

He dropped his heavy hand onto Aidan’s shoulder. Aidan had to lock his knees to keep upright. “Ye be right about that. Yer Luke’s boy. Me money’s on you, lad.”

Luke’s boy. It was how everyone saw him. How he’d seen himself. But he wasn’t and, dammit, he was going to have to come to terms with the truth. But not now. He needed to get Sarah out of there.

“You lead the way,” Aidan said and stepped aside to let the big man pass.

With Captain ahead of him, Aidan felt sure Roche wouldn’t see enough of him to recognize him. The man was nearly as wide as he was tall and he bumped more than one table as he made his way across the tavern.

Still, Aidan kept his head down as he followed in Captain’s wake. Even though the black bandana covered his hair, if Roche looked he’d recognize Aidan’s face. When Aidan reached Sarah, he leaned close and whispered, “It’s me. Time to go.”

She looked up, the first movement she’d made since he’d seen her here and his heart broke for her. Pain haunted her wide blue eyes. Her cheeks had lost all color. God, he knew all too well what it felt like to have everything he’d believed be a lie. There was a special place in hell for Roche, and Aidan couldn’t wait to send him on his way.

A shame it wouldn’t be today.

Instead, with Captain standing between Sarah’s table and Roche’s, Aidan grabbed Sarah’s arm and pulled her to her feet. A trio of musicians picked up the instruments in the corner and began to play. Perfect. He’d take any and all distractions. Positioning Sarah ahead of him, Aidan set a hand on her shoulder and guided her back the way he’d come. A few jeers and whistles followed them and Aidan increased the pace. He didn’t breathe easy until they were in the back room and he’d closed the door.

Aidan leaned his forehead against the wood and sighed as the tension uncoiled from his muscles. He ran a hand across the back of his neck, not surprised when it came away wet. He wiped the moisture onto his trousers, fought not to open the door again to see how Captain was doing.

He pushed away from the door, turned, and nearly plowed into Sarah who stood dead center in the room.

Alarmed, he turned her to face him. She wore the same haunted expression she had when he’d spoken to her in the tavern. A quick visual glance over her body confirmed she was physically fine. No blood or bruising was visible. From the time he’d come into her home, Sarah had been anything but docile. She’d blasted him with questions, screamed when he’d locked her in the cellar. Indeed, she’d even tried to bash him with a candlestick when he’d chased her onto the beach. She was innocent of many things but he’d never considered her weak. Yet standing still as a mast, unblinking, with her arms limp at her sides she looked so fragile, as though a strong wind could shatter her.