Page 1 of A Captain So Callous and Cruel

CHAPTER 1

Captain Erickson

Lightning splits the darkening sky in two as the pelting rain comes down hard on us. Thunder cracks like a whip, drowning out the cries of my prisoners.

I stand on deck, watching my men scurry back and forth, loading the Trident to the brim with barrels of essentials.

Alcohol.

Flour.

Hard cheeses and molasses.

Dried beans and rice and more alcohol.

If there is one thing we stock more than water, it is alcohol for my officers and the rare drink for the hard-working crew.

The cries continue to cut through the air. I move to look out onto the docks, my eyes narrowing on the line of bought whores and prisoners from Morda.

Some will be bait for the monsters at sea.

Others…bait for men like me.

My eyes trail over the women, sodden from the water, skin blue, lips trembling as they sniffle and cry, the weight of reality crushing down on them.

I hate when they cry. I want to bark at them to stop. Yet my body responds in different ways to the sound, and the self-loathing returns in full force.

It’s their fault that I feel this way.

Their fault I have no control over my senses.

It is a demon I constantly fight to vanquish, though somewhere along the way, the demon has taken command over me.

Time does that to you.

The bracelet on my wrist reminds me that time corrupts you, makes you forget that you were ever good and pure.

It’s why I must take my son, James, home and keep him out of the sea. Let him live a normal life while I shoulder the weight of destruction my demon wields.

As my gaze darts from one crying face to the next, I feel a shiver run down my spine as my eyes connect to a pale woman, her body tall, yet rigid. She’s wrapped in a long wool coat down to her ankles. It is not cut for a woman. It does not hug her frame like the barely clothed women standing in line with her. I wonder why Kalis, my second in command, bought her.

He is my buyer at the flesh markets, and he knows what my crew desire. She doesn’t fit the typical description of the whores he selects.

As my eyes continue to run the length of her, searching for her appeal, her red hair captures my attention. Drenched and curled, it falls all around her, stark even in the darkness that’s encroaching.

Unlike the others, she’s not crying. Her stony face is hard to read, but I catch the way she turns to gaze guardedly at the officers as they walk up and down the line of them, scolding the others to shut up.

I’m not close enough to detect her fear.

Though, I want to be.

I want to look into her eyes, know the color of them, and if they’re wide and rimmed with unshed emotion.

Now that’s one we must take a closer look at, the demon inside me whispers, flooding my body with desire. My fingers itch to touch her flesh, to dig my nails into the soft skin as I?—

I shut my eyes for a moment and take a deep breath. I force myself to turn away from her—from the others. Away from all of them as they finish loading up my ship for a long and arduous journey into the jaws of hell.

For now, I push the demon down, letting the image of the red-headed vixen fade from my mind as I refocus on what needs to be done before we set sail.

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