Muddied Waters - Coda

Chapter Thirteen - Rye Humor

"'Elp me wrap me tits."

Chelsea struggled with her disguise underneath Rafael's amused gaze.

"Find this 'umorous, do ye?" she grumbled as the pirate's lizard-like smile widened. She was having a hard time remembering what had attracted her to him in the first place.

"You will be taking the helm of El Cachorro today," he said, reminding her somewhat.

"What's the plan then?" she asked, ignoring the silent request for a thank-you.

"America, probably. I know of a smuggling operation based in Louisiana. They won't have any issue moving our cargo."

"So north we go?" Chelsea burped slightly. Something was upsetting her stomach.

"We have plenty room for more. The war in Saint Domingue rages on, we can take another ship easily."

"Seems a bit rash. They'll be on the lookout fer us after the last 'un."

"I don't think so. The English have taken Port-au-Prince, but the rebels have been less than welcoming. The Navy will be too busy to go after pirates with Hispaniola's sovereignty hanging in the balance."

"Can't tell if ye're smart'er stupid."

"Fortune favors the bold."

"So we shoot around Jamaica 'n 'ave another go."

"Yes."

"Huh," Chelsea muttered, fighting a sudden wave of nausea. She'd had a lot to drink the night before, but no more than she was already used to. Something wasn't agreeing with her.

"Are you alright?"

"Aye. Could use some water fer a change. Jonathan...the minstrel. 'E's comin' with me."

"And why would I allow that? I enjoy his music."

"Not negotiatin'."

Rafael swung his legs over the cot and stood up. "You are forgetting who is really in charge here," he warned as he bent for his clothes. "Your ship isn't really yours. You are only here because of me."

"I'm 'ere cause o' me," Chelsea replied nonchalantly, too busy buttoning her blouse and unaware that Rafael had grabbed her dagger and snuck up behind her.

"No," he breathed in her ear and laid the flat of the blade against her neck . She grabbed his wrist and turned into him, driving him against the wall of his own cabin with a hard thud, the knife poking into his shoulder enough to draw blood. Intensely disappointed at this show of boorish, juvenile behavior befitting the many misogynists she'd done business with, Chelsea continued to reevaluate the image Rafael had initially presented to her in Tortuga. He suddenly seemed smaller, and his lack of awareness at the gaffe only accelerated his slide. Not that she had ever considered there to be a budding romance between them, but she was fairly certain now that the pirate captain was a man to be exploited while he was useful and then discarded without a second thought. The arrogance of the toxically masculine usually came with a fatal inability to consider that maybe, just maybe, there were those of the fairer sex who were better at playing their cruel game. It was a blind spot Chelsea had taken advantage of to the point of it becoming simple routine, and the novelty of their tryst faded considerably. Turned out that Rafael, despite his social position, was nothing special. Just business as usual.

"That's mine," she growled as he relaxed his grip, and she wrested her dagger back.

"Relax," Rafael smiled evilly, "I'm just having some fun. Tell me, Chelsea...or is it Alix? Did you ever see yourself here, living this life?"