Page 28 of The Lost Child

Fuck!

Men were pounding on the door, the hiss of blade on iron letting me know they weren’t my men. Frantically, I searched the office, tossing the cylinder on the desk. I grabbed the nearest chair and hurled it through the large decorative windows, shattering the glass completely. The chair went hurtling over the edge, bouncing once off the stern before disappearing under the waves.

My heart pounded in my chest as the pounding on the door increased. I snatched the cylinder from the desk and ran the edge against the rough patch on the underside of the desk, placed there under father’s orders.

The tip of the cylinder ignited, sending sparks everywhere. Knowing I only had moments, I leaned my body over the edge of broken windows, not having the luxury of doing it safely. Glass bit into the leathers of my chest as the fuse at the top burned down slowly. Too slowly.

Come on.

With a burst of fire, it finally ignited, sending up fire and color in a deafening explosion. It raced high into the air, high enough to be seen for miles. To be seen by my father and any other pirate back on the island.

It was rarely used because most would rather accept death than be rescued by Father and face his wrath for your defeat.

I had no such qualms.

The door burst open, and six of Macguire’s men advanced. My task complete, the cylinder fell from my fingers and into the ocean. I picked up my sword from the desk and assumed a defensive position, snarling at them.

“It’s her. His daughter, just like he said.” the one on the right barked to the other. His hair was dark and greasy, tied in a wet ponytail at the base of his neck. His clothes were tattered and covered in blood.

I shifted on the balls of my feet, trying to stay loose and limber. The man on the right looked like he’d seen too many battles; with snow-white hair and dark, fathomless eyes that were devoid of any emotion.

The man in the middle smacked the first, scowling. “ O course it’s her, dimwit. ‘Ow, many lasses running a ship do you think there are,you ninny?”

I could tell from his strawberry blonde hair that he was part of the Macguire line, likely a son. It all clicked together all of sudden; there was no real feud between my father and the Macguire clan. This had been a setup, but not for the purpose I thought.

It had something to do with me.

“Aye, let’s get on with it,” the redhead urged as the three of them closed around me. I lunged out with my sword, catching greasy hair on his chest with the tip of my blade.

He swore, but instead of backing up like I expected, he thrust forward suddenly, a dagger in his palm. I threw myself to the side to avoid it, suddenly off balance. He took full advantage, pinning me to the wall.

I screamed as the blade went straight through the palm of my hand and buried itself in the wood beyond. White hot pain shot through my veins, making it impossible to think. Impossible to see. Impossible to focus on anything but the shock and horror of seeing a knife going throughmy flesh.

Blood ran down my wrist and arm in rivulets, and the greasy man laughed. The Macguire son rolled his eyes while the older man simply continued to stare, black eyes uncaring and unseeing.

“A bit dramatic, don’t you think?” the Macguire boy said wryly.

I gasped with pain, rage and frustration swelling in my veins.

“Now she ain’t going nowhere,” the greasy pirate insisted, indignant.

My chest seized suddenly, and I dimly realized the familiar pressure had been building, but I hadn’t noticed with my pain. It fucking ached with the need to be freed, but I’d be damned if I’d let this asshole be the instrument of any relief. I tried to kick out at him, but the movement was weak. Every small twitch of my body sent a fresh wave of agony through my hand.

Macguire was talking again, but it was hard to focus.

Pay attention to the men.

“If she bleeds out, Father will take your head—”

“Daddydoesn’t want her able to hold a sword no more! He wants her declawed and happy for the privilege.”

Wait … what?

Greasy moved forward, pinning me back against the wall with his own body, his thighs against mine to keep me trapped. Who wanted me declawed? Macguire himself wanted me docile or someone else?

My brain refused to put two and two together. If it did, I’d short circuit.

Worry about that later. Fight!

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