No Rest for the Wicked by Lauren Smith

Author:Lauren Smith [Smith, Lauren]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-10-29T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

DOMINIC’S STOMACH KNOTTED with dread and primal fear as he led Andre La Roux into his dining room. Lee had already set the table for Reese, Chibbs, Dominic, and three others. He must have guessed that La Roux would try to stay. Smart man. Even this little gesture would show La Roux that his men were on their toes.

La Roux waved at his two companions, his quartermaster, Blaise Robinson, a dangerous man with any weapon, and his bosun, Curtis Whalen. Blaise was strong and young like Reese, whereas Curtis was older and more rotund, but no less dangerous. Dominic wouldn’t risk a fight while those two were on board. No matter how much he wanted to slit La Roux’s throat, he wouldn’t put his own men’s lives at risk. Only a fool would think La Roux would be easily killed. Blaise and Curtis no doubt had some way to signal the Red Lady to prep their cannons.

Dominic eased stiffly down in his own chair only after La Roux was first seated. The rest of the men in the room waited briefly before following suit.

Lee brought plates of roasted chicken and biscuits and poured wine for every man. Dominic would never have tasted an enemy’s wine, but La Roux was arrogant enough to assume no one would ever poison him. The idea had occurred to Dominic to take advantage of this, but he would have to ensure Curtis and Blaise drank as well, and they never did.

“Well now…this is a pleasant reunion, is it not, Dominic?” He caressed Dominic’s name in a way that made his skin crawl. As La Roux spoke, he curled his lip in a sneer and his skin pulled tight, making his harsh features look even more bony and unearthly. La Roux was close to forty, but he had that ancient and ageless look only a devil could acquire.

While Andre was a thinner, more wiry version of his brother Gerard, their faces, voices, and attitudes were too similar not to revive the darkest memories of Dominic’s time aboard that first ship. It had been Gerard who had hurt him, who had taken from him what no man should have. Andre had watched as Gerard took his pleasure on Dominic’s much smaller body, and he’d said nothing. As far as Dominic was concerned, Andre was as vile and wretched as his brother.

Dominic tried to bury the gut-wrenching agony of those nightmare days, but even the scent of Andre’s sweaty red brocade coat made bile rise in his throat.

“It is a pity that Gerard is no longer with us,” Andre mused as he twisted his wine goblet between his thumb and forefinger.

“Indeed,” Dominic muttered.

Neither man acknowledged the truth of Gerard’s fate, though both knew it. Dominic because he’d been there, a week after his eighteenth birthday, a smoking pistol in his hand and his dead tormentor at his feet. Andre because he’d been told a week later, too late to catch Dominic’s flight. Years had passed, and Andre had never come for his revenge, but Dominic knew it was only a matter of time.

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