Page 23 of Captive of the Pirate King
Locke goes with her immediately, without a glance back at me. And I ache inside. I ache so deeply I could cry for days.
I can’t watch Locke dancing with her, but I also can’t look away. They’re such a perfectly matched pair. The beauty of them cracks my soul. So I watch, and glower, and gulp more rum.
17
After a while, Captain Neelan calls out for a song, and several of the crew chorus for Locke. He laughingly accepts, stepping away from the girl and approaching the fire. Its orange glow lights him up, savage dark-blue shadows cutting his features even sharper, gleaming on his eye patch.
The sheer masculine power he exudes in that moment is like a tidal wave, crashing over me. Dozens of eager faces turn to him, captivated as his smooth baritone rolls across the beach. A drum keeps rhythmic time as he sings a slow, decadent ballad about sirens and secrets; and then he dips into a quick-paced shanty whose primary lyrics seem to be “rum for all.”
Everyone joins him on that one—a growling chorus of male voices, rising to vociferous heights with each repetition of “rum for all.” Locke’s voice soars above the thumping boom of the drums and the other men. At the end of the song the beautiful island girl rises on her toes to kiss him.
He sweeps a hand into her hair and kisses her back, deep and hard.
I’m sickened and excited at the same time, titillated and tortured.
“Rum for fucking all,” I mutter into my tankard, and I drain it to the dregs.
The full power of the rum doesn’t hit me until several minutes later, when my body begins to boil inside my clothes. I’m hot, so hot. I can’t bear the thickness of the wrapping around my chest, or the scrape of my shirt against my arms.
Maybe if I get into one of the tents I can strip for a while. Just for a little while. All I need is a bit of relief.
Or those trees over there—they would also be a good place to get naked.
I slide off the upturned rowboat, leaving the snoring Dez to his dreams.
Swaying, I stagger toward the cluster of tents. My head is swimming pleasantly, but I’m still burning up. I need to be naked awhile. I haven’t been naked in so long. Why is this island so damn hot at night?
I stumble against one of the larger tents, fighting with the flap until I manage to get inside. It’s empty, thankfully. My bleary mind tells me I can take off my clothes in here and be totally safe, totally fine. Except my fingers have forgotten how buttons work. I pluck at them, confused, burning hot, almost in tears.
The tent flap shifts, sweeping aside as a tall man with an eye patch ducks in.Locke, my mind registers slowly.Locke hurt my feelings. He kissed that girl.
“What are you up to, Nick?” he asks.
I have to think very carefully about each word as I form it. “Just taking my clothes off.”
“Are you now?” He approaches, gathering my hands carefully in his. “I don’t think you want to do that.”
“I do. I do want them off. I’m so hot, Locke. Please can you help me with the buttons? I’m not drunk, I’ve just—I’ve forgotten how to manage them.”
He smirks. “No, you’re not drunkat all.”
“No.” I shake my head, frowning because I think I hear a hint of sarcasm in his voice. “Now please help me with the clothes before I burn up.”
“You’re asking me to undress you?”
I nod, looking up at him with all the pleading I can muster. Why does he seem to swim before my eyes? “Locke, why are you even here? You were singing, and kissing that girl—”
“Orlah? Yes, she’s charming. I’m sure she’s a delight in bed. But I won’t be seeing her again tonight.”
“You should,” I say sourly. “You should plow her well. Or do that thing you showed me, with your tongue. Make her beg for relief.” I pitch forward suddenly, and Locke catches me against him.
“I don’t need to do any of that, Nick,” he says. “Now let’s get you to bed. You’re sleeping in Cook’s tent, yes?”
I whimper in protest as he pulls me out of the big tent and leads me to a smaller one, grabbing a lantern on the way. He shows me a pallet, and I sink gratefully onto it. But I’m still roasting in my clothes like a pig in its skin, and I moan, pulling at the fabric.
Locke stands over me, surveying me by the light of the lantern in his hand. “If I leave you here, you’re going to strip yourself naked, aren’t you?”
“No,” I lie.
