Forbidden Desire. Tina Donahue
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“I only wanted you to stop and not alert the others.”
He’d once threatened to put a bullet in her head and promised to strangle her if she didn’t answer his endless questions quickly and truthfully so he could take Diana as his own. When Canela had still offered him her flesh, he’d given her to his foul pirate crew saying they might want a savage. He was better than that.
Not any longer.
She increased the pressure on his sac.
He made an angry sound.
She wasn’t afraid. He might be able to break her fingers or arm, though not before she crushed his manhood. Her labor during these endless months had made her quite strong. “Why would you want anything from me, a mere savage? You craved Diana.”
“I still do. I dream of her neck between my hands as I squeeze the life from her. Surely, you’ve thought the same.”
“Why would you care?”
“Don’t you want to escape?”
She’d thought and dreamt of little else. “Do you?”
“What do you think?”
“That no man could be a greater fool than you are. You wear shackles, sleep in a pen like an animal, and have no pistol to protect yourself, yet you dream of escape.” She laughed quietly. “Have you prayed to your white god, hoping he would save you? Why would you ask him to help me?”
“We can band together, or you can stay here and work until you’re old and ugly. I’d say a few more years of endless labor should do it. No man will want you then, English or islander. The choice is yours.”
She dug her nails into his testicles. His breeches provided some protection, though hardly enough.
He winced.
“Tell me how beautiful I am. Make me believe you.”
“You are.” He gulped air. “My men wanted you immediately.”
She clenched her jaw. “Not them. You.” She sank her nails deeper.
He groaned.
Her smile widened. “Tell me how much you want me.”
“If you harm me, you’ll never have my answer or know what I have planned for us.”
“Us?” She gave him a hard squeeze.
He gasped.
She let up slightly. “Tell me your idea. I may listen.”
“I can’t. Not while you’re hurting me. Please stop.”
So the invincible pirate was finally on his knees to her where he belonged. “Say or do anything that displeases me and I promise to make you regret it.” She eased her grip but didn’t release him. “Tell me how we can leave.”
He swallowed loudly and sucked in air. “You know French, I don’t. Nor do the men. Only Storley did.”
The pirate who’d claimed Canela after Vincent had pushed her away, disgusted by her brown skin. Storley had died the second month here, trampled by a horse. An accident, their captors had said. Canela knew better. Storley had wanted to die. “After all this time you need me to tell you what the islanders say?”
“This is the first chance I’ve had to speak with you. I’ve tried since the bloody moment we set foot here. You must get the key to these shackles and learn where they keep their pistols.”
“So you can shoot them then me. I think not.” She let go and backed away.
“Trust me, or you’re a slave till death. That may be fifty years or more. Think you can stomach that? Alone, you can never leave. You need help from me, my men, and the other prisoners here.”
Canela edged closer. “To do what? Take the sloop the islander’s now have? The newest captives said it came from Benedict Bishop, a white merchant.”
“I have no idea of its origins. Though a fine vessel, I don’t want it. I’ll settle for nothing but Tristan’s.”
She gripped the rail. “You expect to take it when my people come here to trade?”
“What else?”
“To return to my land?”
“I’d enjoy nothing more.”
She wasn’t certain if he lied. “Why not use Bishop’s ship?”
“Have you forgotten Tristan has men watching his shores? If they see a sloop other than his approach the cove, they’ll warn the others. We need surprise on our side. With his longboats and some of his men rowing to the beach, those who guard won’t suspect anything’s wrong until it’s too late. By then, we’ll have the upper hand and can mount our attack.”
“Not until you arrive there. You need to leave here first.”
He made an impatient noise. “With your help in getting the key and the weapons, me and the others can overpower Tristan’s crew. We’ll already have defeated the islanders here. We can then sail to Tristan’s island and take it as we should have before.”
Her excitement dimmed, replaced by rage. “And Diana too?”
“I want that bloody bitch dead, same as you. Maybe you want it more. What say I let you have the honor of doing her in?”
“Let me? Without my help, what can you do? I no longer need you to agree. Tell me you understand that.”
He breathed hard. “I do.”
“Remember it well or die here, a slave for the islanders to whip and work to death.”
“Yes, yes.” He made an impatient sound. “Have these beasts discussed the next time Tristan’s sloop will arrive?”
Even though they had, Canela wasn’t about to tell Vincent. He’d used her cruelly. She’d make him pay. “When they do, I may tell you.”
“Best you make that will, instead of may. Do you know where the pistols are?”
She did. Her time spent here hadn’t only involved filthy work. Early on, she’d learned where the men stored the weapons. At first, she’d wanted to use them on herself. Soon, she daydreamed about killing the islanders. Now, she’d indulge in her fantasies about shooting Diana, Tristan, and Vincent. “I can find out. The islanders here outnumber your men. How do you hope to fell so many?”
“Do they have drink? Spirits? Ale or rumfustian?”
“No.”
“What about potions and things savages call magic? Something to put them out, hopefully for hours.”
They had a healer who mixed potions to make one sleep, the same as Simone did for her and Canela’s people. “We shall see.”
“You’ll need to do more than that or this hellhole is your future.”
Not any longer. “We can speak about this again tomorrow when the moon rises. Not before.” Confident in her new power, she padded to her enclosure.
* * * *
Vincent sneered at Canela’s retreating figure and cupped his aching balls. Wasn’t like him to cower to any woman, especially a savage, but he’d play her game to get what he wanted then make her regret everything she’d done tonight. First though, escape.
Another moment here would drive him mad.
Even growing up wretchedly poor in England hadn’t prepared him for such deprivation. His stomach growled constantly, begging for any food, even the leaves and grass he forced himself to eat so he could sleep. These island bastards worked him near to death, worse than any captain on a merchant or pirate ship.
Next to them, Tristan had been kindness itself.
Vincent couldn’t