“Ye fuck up like tha’ again, and next time I’ll aim between yer eyes,” Wentworth muttered.

Lincoln had no clue what Wentworth’s intentions were, but with Nola hidden below deck, he did not want them there. His plan was to get the other crew inebriated enough to lose interest and leave.

“Can we get you and your crew a bit of rum?” Lincoln asked casually with a fake smile across his lips, “We’ve got plenty of it.”

An uneasy feeling hit Lincoln in the pit of his stomach—their presence made him feel on edge. His old captain was a haughty lecher. He would not hesitate to take a woman as pretty as Nola for his own enjoyment.

“Nay,” Wentworth said, “we were just visitin’ Zemira and took plenty for our voyage. We were there shortly after ye left, Lincoln. We missed each other.” A slow grin formed on his old captain’s lips, making the wrinkles under his eyes more pronounced, showing off his age, and he had aged quite a lot the last decade. “You was busy while ye were there, weren’t ye?” Wentworth asked in quite an aggressive manner.

Lincoln faltered as he observed the way Wentworth moved from his own ship to Lincoln’s. It was not hostile, but he knew the man could not be trusted. It had been years since the two sailed the seas together, and one thing was certain, the old man standing before him held no loyalty towards him anymore.

“We heard a bit of commotion while we were there,” Lincoln replied, “However we fled as soon as we heard the bell chime.”

Wentworth chuckled to himself and looked over Lincoln’s shoulder. Lincoln had not realized he was gripping his fist so tightly he was drawing his own blood in his palms.

“Did ye now? That’s interestin’.” Wentworth cleared his throat. “Ye have always been a curious man, Lincoln. Ever since ye were a lil’ lad and I took ye in. Ambitious. Determined. Ye proved to me ye could be a captain of yer own ship someday. Now, look at ye,” he mocked, then cocked his head. “Wit’ the bells chimin’, ye didn’t have the slightest curiosity as to what all tha’ ruckus was ’bout, eh?”

“None of my business,” Lincoln said too quickly, then turned to Boots, who went for his sword but only hovered his hand on the hilt.

Hill, no longer able to stand on his two feet, tottered back, slammed his back against the mast, and sank to the damp floor. The lanky pirate wiped some of the blood oozing from his wound.

Wentworth’s lips curved into a crooked smile—a grin Lincoln was familiar with, which told him they were ready for an attack.

“How do you want to do this, Wentworth?” Lincoln glanced at the young boy, still shaking, covering his cheek. “Perhaps your men would be more suitable to sailin’ with us than being afraid of their own captain. Lead—not dictate, right? Isn’t that what you taught me?”

Wentworth clicked his tongue between his slightly crusty lips.

“Oh, I may be fearless, but I ain’t forcin’ them to be on me ship.” His disapproving glare turned into an amused smirk. “They’re welcome to leave the crew at any time, but we aren’t departin’ until I ’ave the siren. I’ve been offered quite a bounty for ’er.” The grin on his lips reached his eyes as he looked at the others standing behind Lincoln. “Do they know yer secret?” he rattled on, “That yer not a real pirate.”

Mazie sprinted forward with her pistol gripped tightly in her hand. Lincoln turned swiftly, stepping in front of her, and wrapped his arms around her shoulders in a tight hug.

“Don’t, Mazie. He’s tryin’ to provoke us to start a fight. He is not worth it.”

Wentworth was clear as to why he was there—they would have to fight to save Nola’s life or die trying.

Lincoln quickly drew his sword, and without a second thought, he swung it at Wentworth. The old captain shifted his shoulder to the right. The tip of Lincoln’s blade reached the top of his shoulder, grazing his coat, enough to slice through it, but unfortunately not his skin.

Wentworth drew his own sword, the blade nicking Lincoln’s thigh. His left hand flew to his new wound, and despite the pain, he continued swinging his weapon.

As Lincoln went to wield the sword above his head, Ardley kicked Wentworth forcefully against his backside, sending Wentworth hurling forward. Once he was flat on his back, the rest of Wentworth’s crew jumped aboard the Sybil Curse.

* * *

The racket above echoed through the walls. But Nola’s ears narrowed in only on the footsteps stomping quickly down into the captain’s quarters. Stopping at the entryway.

Nola felt a lump in her throat as she swallowed quietly as beads of sweat dribbled down her forehead.

As much as her heightened senses could help at that moment, she was too afraid to focus. Her ears stopped with the silence. Until a creak of the wooden floor was right next to her.

The hairs at the nape of her neck prickled.

“Come out, lil’ siren,” the intruder’s eerie voice called out. “Can’t keep me captain waitin’.”

Nola muffled a high-pitched gasp with her hand—tears rolled down her cheeks and dripped to the floor. Her eyes changed suddenly as the room got a lot darker. She squinted, trying to make sense of the space around her and where the intruder was.

The siren girl sucked her lips inside her mouth and held her breath as a pair of large boots cast a shadow by the bedside. Whoever the pirate was, he annoyingly whistled to his own tune.

“Boo!” the man barked, lowering his head under the mattress, extending his dirty fingers out to her, seizing her arm.