#xanchor

The pirate captain stalked a slow circle around James, boots thudding on the soaked planks as the cutter rocked under the weight of the boarding party. Two pistols hung at his hips, a cutlass drawn lazily in one hand.

James stood very straight despite the ropes binding his wrists behind him, chin lifted, eyes cold and bright. His coat was torn at the shoulder where they’d grabbed him, but his composure hadn’t cracked once.

“Commodore Norrington,” the captain purred, savoring the title. “Didn’t expect to see you sailin’ this close to our waters. Brave? Foolish? Hard to tell.”

James didn’t blink. “Release my men and surrender your vessel. That is the only offer I’m giving you.”

The pirate threw his head back and laughed. A big, rolling, belly-deep laugh that made the men around him grin like jackals.

“Oh, he’s got bite,” the captain said, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. “I like that. Been a long while since we caught someone with a backbone.”

He stepped closer—too close—tilting James’ chin up with the tip of his cutlass.

“But you’re in no position to demand anything.”

James’ voice dropped to a razor’s edge. “And you’re in no position to underestimate me.”

The captain grinned, gold teeth gleaming. “Oh, I’m not underestimatin’ you, Commodore. I know exactly who I’ve got trussed up like a Sunday roast. That’s why my employer’ll pay handsomely.”

James narrowed his eyes. “Employer?”

“Mm.” The pirate tapped the flat of his blade against James’ cheek, just once. “A man with a grudge. A long, festering one. Said if I ever brought him the pride of the King’s Navy, he’d make it worth my trouble.”

James held utterly still. “You’ll regret involving yourself in this.”

“Naw.” The captain shrugged. “More like I’ll retire in luxury with what he’s payin’.”

He sheathed the cutlass with a soft click.

“Bring the Commodore below. Don’t bruise him too much. The man wants him alive.”

Two pirates stepped forward to seize James’ arms—rough, eager hands.

James didn’t struggle, “You’re making a grave mistake.”

The captain smirked over his shoulder. “Maybe. But it’ll be your grave first.”

He turned toward the second figure still on deck— “Or … his” He tilted his chin toward the deck behind James. Toward Gillette.

A couple of the crew turned, confused. “Captain? Thought the fancy one was—”

“Aye, he is,” the captain interrupted. “But even a peacock fights nastier if you grab his mate by the throat.” His smile sharpened. “This lad goes first. The Commodore behaves… or he gets to watch somethin’ break.”

James couldnt help himself when The words were low, commanding, edged with a rare flicker of protective rage.

“Don’t touch him!” Now he pulls against the grip of the two men holding him. A nerve touched.

The captain’s grin widened. “There it is. The tone I was lookin’ for.”

He snapped his fingers.

“Bring this one.”

Two pirates advanced toward Gillette, boots thudding on the planks, ropes already in hand.