Open Waters (9 page)

"Just kill him already!" A voice sounded from the surrounding men. A chorus of agreement and insults followed the outburst and Jane knew her time was running out.

"Just play dead," she whispered hurriedly. Then, before the boy gave any sign of understanding, Jane dropped her sword, put both hands on the side of his head, and twisted sharply. She pulled her strength with the act, so not to hurt the boy, but for all intents and purposes, it looked like she had just snapped his neck.

The boy flopped on the deck, limp. Apparently, Jane's plan had looked good enough to him after all.

"Impressive,
Captain
," Lock congratulated, with a sarcastic undertone as Jane looked up. "But that was over much too quick." He strode toward her lazily, stopping next to the boy and glancing down at his prone form.

"Shame," he stated, nudging the boy with the toe of his boot. Then he turned, seeming to lose interest, and Jane released the breath she hadn't even realized she had been holding.

But the next second, Lock whirled back around, unsheathing his sword in the process, and stabbed the boy where he lay. The boy jerked, eyes springing open in shock and pain. Jane flinched in surprise.

Lock tutted, staring down at the boy before extracting his sword from his chest with a sharp jerk. The boy gasped in pain, jerked, and gurgled for a few seconds, before he finally laid still, blood pooling around him.

Lock wiped his sword on a clean section of the boy's shirt before leveling it at Jane. "You try that again, and I'll kill your entire crew right now and slit the whore's throat for good measure."

With that, he strode away, a cruel smile once again alighting his features, as though he hadn't just killed a boy in cold blood.

He must have signaled one of his men, for the line before her suddenly parted and another crewmember was shoved into the center, huffing indignantly at the rough handling, but managing to stay on his feet easily enough. Jane's heart pained as she recognized him. Michael Jeffries, a man who had been a valued member of her crew for almost five years now. His dexterity with a blade was renowned amongst her crew, if not others as well. He was truly one of the finest on the
Tantibus,
if not the finest. This was not a fight she would win easily, but she knew she could. She had to.

No more ruses, no more plans. This was kill or be killed, with not just her own life on the line. And she had no choice but to follow the rules.

"Begin!"

*~*~*

Thankfully—although in some cases remorsefully—she had so far managed to emerge victorious in every one of the fights. Four of the seven, however, had been members of her own crew—including the first boy and Jeffries—and she had taken no pleasure in ending their lives. The rest of her opponents had been volunteer men from Lock's own crew, accusing her own men of going easy on her because really, how hard could it be to best a woman? Jane was sure the evidence spoke for itself, and yet, Lock's men continued to step forward into the executioner's ring, falling before her blade one after the other.

But she was tiring to the point of exhaustion. The last few fights had been hard-won, from which she had received several bruises, knocks to the head—which did not help her coordination in the slightest—along with multiple cuts and slashes to her torso and extremities. Her strength and ability to continue on was waning, and she wasn't sure how much longer she could last. But nor did she know how long Lock would let this go on. At this rate, she would be dead in another few rounds, and he wouldn't be able to make good on his threat from yesterday.

Jane paused at that thought. Maybe her current state had been his plan from the start. Wear her out so that when he did bed her, it wasn't as much of a struggle.

Lock's call of, "Who's next?" rose above the chatter that had arisen after her latest feat, and the body of the man currently being dragged toward the railing and tossed overboard without a care. There was to be no honorable send off for anyone aboard, even for those of Lock's own crew. Honestly, the man was an insult to pirates everywhere, which was a feat in and of itself.

"It would be my pleasure," a familiar cocky voice sounded from her left. She glanced toward the man now emerging from the crowd, sword in hand, for once feeling gleeful anticipation for the next fight.

"This I shall enjoy," Cooksley taunted.

Jane just flashed him a vicious grin and growled, "That makes two of us."

Cooksley charged immediately, not bothering to wait for Lock's permission. The clash of metal on metal reverberated across the deck as their swords met. Jane, although taken by surprise with his sudden attack, was able to bring her sword up in time to meet his blow. Metal hissed as the blades slid along each other, breaking apart only to collide together again and again in quick succession, as each opponent tried to sneak under the other's guard. Cooksley very nearly succeeded, one of his strikes missing Jane by a hair's breadth. But she gave as good as she got, nearly gutting him before he just managed to step out of range.

"This is what you were waiting for, was it not? A chance to gut me and take command? Too bad there isn't much left to command," Jane said with false sympathy. Her breath was coming in short pants now, sweat coating her forehead and plastering flyaway hairs to her face. Cooksley was definitely faring better, barely breaking a sweat, but he hadn't been at it for what felt like hours. He had the advantage, but she was nothing if not a survivor.

"Yes, a pity, it truly is," Cooksley responded, making a jab at her torso which she effectively parried, but with more effort than should have been necessary. "Guess I'll just settle for the former then."

He almost was able to gut her on more than one occasion, but in the end, it was his bravado which gave her the opening she needed. He fell to his knees gasping and grimacing in agony, her sword protruding from his chest. Blood ran down Jane's sword arm, pouring from a deep slice on her bicep, a token from the man dying before her. But as much as Jane despised the man, especially during the last few weeks, she didn't feel he deserved to suffer. So with a final swipe, she slit his throat, leaving his body to fall lifeless onto the deck.

And yet, she felt no weight lifted from her shoulders with his death, no relief, no joy. He had made his choice, had willingly joined Lock's crew, and volunteered for this fight. So why didn't she feel any better about his death than she did her own loyal crew? She should feel something, but she was just too exhausted, her brain unable to give the energy it took to create emotion for this man. Just as well, she supposed.

"I think you've had enough for one day," Lock remarked from his perch by the main mast. He motioned toward her flippantly and several crew members immediately stepped forward. She made a stand, leveling the sword toward the advancing men, but she was barely able to nick them before they wrestled the weapon out of her hands and restrained her. Exhausted, she gave little fight as they half-led, half-dragged her away.

But as they neared her quarters, the thought of what was to come jolted through her. A new surge of adrenaline—small in comparison, but still present nonetheless—coursed through her body. She couldn't let this happen, couldn't just give up, no matter how drained she felt or how hopeless it seemed.

She pulled back, taking the men leading her by surprise and scrambling out of their hold. She had no weapon anymore, no way to fight the twenty-something men that still occupied her ship and had taken everything from her. But in her weary brain, none of this registered. All Jane could comprehend was her need to get away.

She fought with all her might, striking out at the man who held her and those that came to take his place. And she felt she was winning, succeeding despite her fatigue and lack of options for escape. It didn't matter though, for she wasn't as adept as she usually was. The next thing she felt was a pain in the side of her skull just before the whole world tilted on its side and darkness enveloped her. She didn't even remember hitting the deck.

*~*~*

Waking with a pounding headache was not something Jane particularly enjoyed. Truly it was, well, a pain in both the literal and figurative forms. Worse than any hangover she'd ever experienced.

But this pain by far outshined them all. Not only did she have to deal with the headache, but also sore and paining muscles and injuries from the fights earlier that day—or had it been the day before? Her internal clock was a little off at the moment, so it was quite difficult to be sure. Though upon quick inspection, she was glad to see that her open wounds had been decently wrapped and—she assumed—somewhat treated, so she wouldn't be dying of infection any time soon. If she was lucky, that is. Not that it mattered, as she was sure there were worse ways that she would be dying when the time came.

As her mind became more aware, so did her extremities, and she attempted to sit up. That proved to be harder than she originally thought as she found herself shackled wrist-to-wrist to not only to the bedpost on the side as before, but to a hook, now decoratively set in the wall above the head of the bed.

Fear shot through Jane, thinking that the deed had already been done and that the fight that had occurred actually had very little to do with the soreness of her muscles. She only calmed a bit when another mental inspection of her body immediately dismissed that thought. And the fact that she was still fully-clothed, except her boots and socks for some odd reason, helped calm her slightly. But only slightly.

It was a deed that she had no doubt was going to come to pass. And soon, if her current position was anything to go by.

Lock was nowhere to be found in the room, which was also odd, but thankfully it seemed the man had no intention of taking her whilst she was unconscious. How noble. But not knowing when he might return gave her an uncertain amount of time to devise a plan.

That thought was what drove Jane to begin a frantic search for anything and everything that could be used in her defense and escape. Jane maneuvered her body just so, moving her foot off the bed to brush the underside where she usually kept a knife stashed. No knife.

Lock had more brains than she thought. He was apparently not taking the chance of underestimating her again. Not a single scrap of anything remotely helpful was within reach.

Jane could feel her frustration spiraling while she desperately started pulling and struggling with the manacles, hoping, praying, pleading to any deity that would listen, to just let her strength be enough to break them. But nothing came of it except a few new bruises.

She sank back, her breath coming in short pants from the exertion. There was nothing she could do, nothing at all but to wait for Lock to return and hope she could somehow overpower him and… and… then what?

It would be all for nothing. She would have over two dozen pirates to get through, and despite her confidence in her prowess, she knew that even she couldn't best them all and survive. She would be overpowered and then end up dead or right back here again. This was truly not a situation that bode well for her.

Jane didn't know how much time passed as she lay there, lost in her own thoughts and drowning in the despair that ebbed and flowed like the tide. Hope and determination filled her, only to wane as the gravity of it all washed over her once more. She could feel a few tears slip down her face, but she was otherwise completely unaware of her surroundings. Maybe it was better that way.

But after a time, she was sure she could hear voices, familiar and soothing, but it was unclear whether they were in her head or not. She couldn't make out what they were saying, nor did her mind connect who exactly it was that was speaking, friend or foe. And she couldn't seem to acquire the energy to find out.

However, her brain decided that it did want to discover who on earth was making such a fuss, especially when hands enclosed her wrists and began fiddling with the manacles surrounding them. But only bits and pieces made their way through the fog that had covered her mind.

" … 'ain… time to… the ship… "

" … wrong… what did… her… "

Then a voice, soft and silky and so achingly familiar, swept the fog aside altogether, slamming her back into the present with jarring force.

"Lioness? Come on, talk ta me," it pleaded.

Cecily.

Jane blinked, needing to know if the woman who she thought she cared for, may even love, was really here, or if it was just a figment of her own imagination and desire.

But it wasn't. As her vision cleared, Cecily's concerned face came into focus, just as beautiful as she remembered. And she felt her heart swell with the fondness she felt for the woman.

It had been an act after all.

Though the memories of her supposed betrayal, the hate and disgust that had been so clear in Cecily's eyes as she had glared at Jane still burned through her mind, she forced herself to disregard them. It hadn't been real. Cecily was here and she hadn't betrayed her.

"How did you—?" Jane babbled out, but Cecily shushed her quickly.

 "Come on, love, there's no time for tha'," Cecily stated with a shake of her head, cupping Jane's face in her soft hands. "Ya've got a ship ta take back."

It was then that Jane became aware of her freedom as she reached out to take ahold of Cecily's hands—to stop her or just to hold her, Jane didn't know yet. Her wrists were red and raw, the skin broken in places but they were no longer shackled. She was free, she had been freed.

And Cecily, encouraging Jane to get up to take her ship back, was here, by her side once more. Not the Cecily that had made an appearance when Lock had taken the ship, but the Cecily she knew and… loved.  Yes, she loved her. After all that had happened, admitting that seemed like nothing in comparison.

She was here, the Cecily who did what she wanted and took orders from no one. Who insulted and cut down Jane in order to keep her ego a normal size, and yet whispered endearments and sweet nothings to soothe the ache. The one who desired control, but was happy to give most of it up to Jane. That Cecily was hovering over her, concern hidden behind a smile that was now slowly forming on her face as Jane stared up at her.