Part 1 (2/2)

Lock plunged into her, making his thrusts longer and slower, then short and fast. His lips slid into a grin as he pushed the panting woman to o.r.g.a.s.m. Her hot, wet body pulsed around his engorged c.o.c.k, and he slammed into her with several rapid thrusts that hurled him into ecstasy.

He rolled off her and sprawled flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling as he caught his breath.

After a moment, the woman stood. She gazed at him over her shoulder as she left the room, ”Sleep well, master.”

Lock nodded slightly. ”Close the door.”

Lying alone in the moonlit room, Lock considered his earlier thoughts about men and their deities. He still refused to believe in any power greater than himself. The only ent.i.ty who can change my fate is myself, he thought, and my fate is to sail again the day after next.

Chapter One.

One Month Later.

Lightning ripped a jagged streak through the sky, disappearing into the rolling black ocean. Thunder was disguised only by the crash of waves as they washed over the deck of the Shana Wh.o.r.e.

Cursing, Lock clung to the mast as another wave completely covered the fast sinking s.h.i.+p. It had taken him years to afford this s.h.i.+p. Now within moments it would be a haven for fish at the bottom of a cold, northern sea.

”She's going down! Get me off!” Karl bellowed from where he'd tied himself to the mast. Unable to free himself, the man clawed at the ropes in panic, his eyes wild as he squinted at Lock through the storm. ”Get me off!”

More angry than panicked, Lock's stomach tightened with disgust at his first mate's terror. Whether they were lashed to the boat or out at sea, they were all going to die. Still, his boots skidded on the water-slicked deck as he climbed the short distance toward Karl. Slipping the dagger from the sheath at his waist, Lock slashed the rope, freeing Karl in time for the next wave to wash the man overboard.

Lock smiled, squinting against the rain and seawater blurring his eyes. Born in violence to die in violence. At least his life had been consistent.

Lock awoke with stinging eyes, every muscle in his body aching. He first noticed the smell. Heat as powerful as in the tropics but without the warm, cleansing breeze made breathing uncomfortable. The stagnant air reeked of moldy water, rotten sc.r.a.ps, and body odor. There were no scents of a s.h.i.+p, nor was there a gentle rocking motion.

Then he remembered. The Shana Wh.o.r.e had sunk, and Lock had swum for what seemed like hours in the chilly, stormy sea, amazed each time he managed to gasp salty air and swim another stroke, defying nature herself.

He must have washed up on sh.o.r.e, but where?

He detected the sound of others breathing in the dark room, heard their snores and murmurs. He tried sitting up, but found himself bound to a flat wooden platform, bodies close on either side of him. It was then, he realized, his difficulty breathing wasn't necessarily from the heat but from the chain across his chest. He attempted to s.h.i.+ft position to relieve some of the heaviness, but he hadn't enough s.p.a.ce to move.

Throwing himself upward in his fury, he roused the men beside him who shouted and tried scooting away.

”What the h.e.l.l is it?” one of them bellowed.

”Don't tell me they started putting animals in with us now?” cried another.

”Hey, guards!” several screamed in unison.

By the time the guards stepped inside, carrying torches, Lock had yanked away several of the chains and sat up. He wound his hands around the chain on his feet and pulled until his palms bled.

The guards, dressed in leather and mail, stared at him for a dumfounded moment before two of them flew at him, their swords drawn.

Lock reached up a shackled hand, grabbed one guard by the throat, and pinned him to the wall beside him. The guard's feet trampled on a prisoner's chest in an attempt to free himself from the choke-hold.

The second guard struck Lock in the back of the head with a sword. Lock dropped the man he was strangling and jerked his elbow backwards, staggering the guard who'd struck him.

Through a gush of blood from his split lips, the guard shouted for reinforcements. Three more guards, two half-dressed from their bedrolls, charged inside, all armed with small wooden clubs. Lock jerked two of the clubs from the guards and swung them with expertise learned from years of studying weapons. Finally, several guards dragged in heavier chains and dropped them over Lock, binding him from shoulder to ankle.

He lay panting and sweat-soaked, rage tearing at his insides.

The guards, their breathing ragged, picked up their weapons and dragged themselves out of the hut, taking the torches with them. Lock had seen enough in the light to realize he was in a long, windowless room containing platforms of prisoners stacked so close together their arms and legs touched.

”Where are we?” Lock demanded.

When no answer came, his fury renewed. He was accustomed to receiving answers to his questions. Then he remembered that he had no idea how far from his original destination he was. Perhaps these people didn't understand him.

”Are you all deaf, or don't you speak my language?”

”I speak it,” came a voice from across the room. ”And you ain't getting out of here. All you did was make life harder for yourself...until you die, that is.”

”Who are those men? Slave traders?” The thought of being sold into slavery made him sick. He's spent too many years being used for his body and would sooner die than live like a slave again.

”Bounty hunters. Might as well be slavers, though.”

Bounty hunters. They sought out criminals wanted in any kingdom in the world and collected the rewards on their heads. Lock wondered which kingdom he'd be taken to. He was wanted in countless lands. Pirates were most coveted by bounty hunters. Lock had killed his share of the grubby b.a.s.t.a.r.ds in the past.

”We'll be stopping in Blue Hollow in the morning,” the other prisoner continued. ”You know what happens there?”

”Does it matter?”

”You know the agreement the bounty hunters have with the kingdoms in these parts? They can sell us to the highest bidder, if their price exceeds the one on our heads. However the rules are, we receive our stated punishment until someone buys us.”

”I'd rather get my punishment.”

”Do you know what it is? Maybe slavery would be better.”

”I'm sure mine is death, and that is better than slavery.”

”But how are you going to die? Is it something easy, like beheading or hanging? Or will it be burning alive, the lash, or disembowelment?”

”Slavery can include all of the above.”

”You're either brave or stupid. All I know is, I hope I get bought. My sentence is fifty lashes, unless someone buys me.”

Fifty lashes! Lock prayed his sentence would be so light. Fifty lashes he could endure.

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