Page 198 of Storm over the Caribbean
Triplemerde. Triplemerdewith acrottin de chevalon top.35
He was dead. He could see it in the woman’s eyes. He was dead. The only thing he could do now was pray that his employer would notice his absence and send someone to rescue him. But really, how likely was that?
He had just finished that thought when, in the distance, he heard the sound of a door crashing open.
***
I was halfway to the tied-up Frenchman when a sudden sound cut through the air.
Crash!
I froze. It took me a moment to realise what the noise had been. The door. Someone had kicked in the front door!
Thud! Thud! Thud!
And now they were entering the warehouse we’d picked as our temporary hideout. Coming towards us. Fast. I glanced sideways at Mr Ambrose, who had straightened and tensed, his revolver out and ready.
Heck! How had anybody found us? We had set up shop in an abandoned warehouse at the edge of town for a reason, dammit!
“Who the bloody hell is that?” I hissed. “Nobody should know we’re even here! Who—”
“No time to waste on thinking about it!” Kicking an empty crate across the room, Mr Ambrose took cover behind it, aiming his revolver at the door and motioning for me to do the same. “Prepare yourself!”
The distant footsteps stopped, and, for a moment, I hoped—only for the hope to be crushed by the sound of shouts and gunfire. Those, too, only lasted for a moment before the approaching footsteps started up again, this time much faster and louder.
Thud. Thud. Thud!
“Ha! Hahahaha!” Laughter exploded from behind us, and, glancing over my shoulder, I could see the bloody sod grinning maniacally. “See? That is what comes of meddling in my master’s affairs. I knew it! I knew he’d send someone to save me. You’re as good as dead, yousalauds.”36
“Can I shoot him?” I asked.
Mr Ambrose seemed to think about it for a moment—then reluctantly shook his head. “No.”
“Ha! Not so confident now that you’re afraid, are you?”
I turned to the bastard to shoot back a reply in lieu of a bullet—but before I could, the door to the room slammed open. My head whipped back around, and I watched as a gigantic, shadowy figure strode into the room, outlined against the light that fell in through the doorway.
“Finally!” A menacing growl issued from the massive man. “I’ve found you, you pirate scum!”
Facepunching Reunion
Bam!
Mr Ambrose didn’t hesitate an instant. The instant the giant figure had spoken, the muzzle of his gun flashed in the darkness—but the huge man was already on the move. With a roar, he slammed into the crate behind which the two of us were hiding, sending me toppling backwards. Mr Ambrose lunged, grabbing me just before I hit the floor. That distraction cost him. Before he could move another muscle, the giant was on us, lunging for Mr Ambrose’s throat.
In a blink, my husband brought up his leg and rammed it into the big man’s stomach. I heard a grunt, and the behemoth was sent flying. After only a few yards, he slammed into the ground with a thunderous crash.
Please stay down! Please stay down! Please stay down!
Faster than I would have thought possible, the massive man was back up on his feet. His hand went to his belt, and, a moment later, a huge blade flashed in the shadows, heading straight towards my husband’s throa—
Clang!
Halfway, the blade stopped dead, halted by the sabre that had appeared in Mr Ambrose’s hand.
“Vermin! You dare to resist?” a rumbling growl came out of the dark. “Die, scum!”
Mr Ambrose’s answer came fast, hard and implacable. “No.”
