He stood over the Old Crow, glad to be bloody well rid of the bastard.
William Stedd had been responsible for all the bloodiest acts to befall the sea the last twenty years. Fucker was likely the reason they were considered pirates now instead of what they’d been before—lost and wandering people of the sea, all their glory and gold stripped from them for a single gods-damned mistake.
The wet wheezing of Stedd’s quartermaster drew his gaze. The male sat propped against the cliff face, blood dribbling down his weak chin. A spider’s web tattoo stood out starkly against the pale flesh of his chest, a bloody compliment to the spider on his captain’s fucking throat.
“Something funny?” Trevor asked, fists clenching as a phantom breeze ripped past them.
“Aye, aye.” He nodded his head, hand pressed against the torn flesh at his side. “Captain said if ye killed him, to ask ye a question.”
“Oh, and what be that?” Tate asked, steps quietly trailing behind Trevor’s as they stepped forward in unison.
The male grinned, his teeth stained red. “How is that wee sister of yours, Lovelace?”
“I wouldn’t know. She’s no’ here, last I heard she was on Aidanburgh, visiting our auntie.”
“That’s no’ what the captain said.” Something sunk into Trevor’s gut at the prick’s words, a knowing that was cold and cruel. “Said he had a real nice talk with her while ye were out spelunking for a fucking cup,” the quartermaster spat, chest lowering slowly. “Said she looked real right and pretty in black…mourning colors, them, but they’ve always looked nice on a fem.”
Trevor turned to Tate, remembering what Taylee’d been wearing that morning when they’d each dropped a kiss to her brow. His brother’s throat bobbed, and a wild look slowly crept into his gaze.
Trevor wouldn’t remember the sprint through the forest back to the God’s Beau, but he’d hear the bloody slam of his door against the wall for years.
He’d remember the sound of Carsyn screaming, his face pressed against Taylee’s neck as he held her.
He’d even remember the strange quiet that overtook the ship as that stone cup rolled against the cherry red planks of the Beau.
Trevor did no’ want to remember any of it.
But he would.