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one,” Ollie replied.
    Frink backhanded Ollie in a fit of explosive rage. “You bloody wastrel! That is the last time you’ll interrupt me!”
    Ollie clenched his fists. Frink raised his cutlass, prepared to strike. Percy warned Ollie off and stepped forward. “Ollie had nothing to do with this. I hit the girl, Captain. You heard her scream. If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s a blithering woman.”
    Frink turned on him, stared hard, and then growled a curse. The captain would find no fault with his actions. In fact, he expected Frink to applaud them.
    The captain howled with demented laughter. “That be the difference between us, Sexton. I like a woman to squirm and beg. You’ve always been won over with soft-spoken words and promises. Today, spawn, you’ve won me respect.”
    Turning toward his men, Frink yelled above the din to men who clamored to fight off the last of the Octavia ’s crew. Fire burned on the bow, lighting up the night, casting Frink in sinister contrast to those who struggled to survive. Wood snapped and crackled, increasing the expectancy of everyone present.
    â€œYou know’d the law when you signed, Sexton,” Frink reminded him. “Your disobedience has cost me on more than one account. You’re a damn good pirate, one with an insatiable appetite I’ve yet to see quenched. And,” he added, “you’re a man who’s outlasted his turn more than once with the cat.”
    Frink sneered as if that one act of defiance irritated him. Then he raised his cutlass high. Warily, Percy eyed Frink, prepared to act should the captain attack.
    A cacophony of voices rent the night, some bloodcurdling, some victorious. Sounds of shattering glass and busted wood echoed in the air as men tossed provisions to and from the Octavia to their ship, the Striker . Percy held no illusions. Frink was a frayed rope ready to snap. Like a male bird preening for a mate, the fiend paced left, then right. A captain’s life became forfeit if his authority ever came into question. Frink, better than any other, knew how tenuous his position as captain could be if he did not face down any threat to his command, when it was made. And Percy had always been viewed as a threat.
    â€œShe looks a wee bit small. Pretty, too. Were you fighting over her?” he asked.
    â€œWould it make a difference?” Percy answered. “She wanted nothing to do with either of us.”
    Frink smiled a wicked purposeful warning. “No? I suppose not. This one is made of finer stuff than we’ve ever seen. Will she survive? No matter. These women never do. So to say whether or not your attempts to bed her before me were worth it or not, well … we shall never know.”
    Pure evil, Frink raised his cutlass again to anyone who would listen. “Captain Collins forfeited all rights to parlay by aiming his guns at our ship!”
    The Striker ’s crew gathered around Collins. Percy knew the only thing on the minds of these men was the booty in the Octavia ’s hull. No matter what occurred next, they would not be denied their share.
    Frink pivoted on his heel and pointed his cutlass at Percy’s neck. “You’ll rue the day your mother spawned you, Sexton. I should have had you pickled for your insolence the first day I laid eyes on you. This isn’t the first time you’ve tried to steal me wench, nor the last, I wager,” he added. Scratching his wiry-haired chin, Frink stared at Constance pensively, then leaned forward and lowered his voice. “You’re a good man in a fight, but you’ve got a bleeding heart. I was looking forward to having the wench watch me conclude me business with Captain Collins.”
    Spinning around, Frink moved quickly past Collins. One look proved the Octavia ’s captain was seated and helpless, a revolting sight to the most stalwart stomach.
    â€œWhat do you say, Collins?”