Romancing the Pirate 01 - Blood and Treasure by Jennifer Bray-Weber Page A

flogged ’cause of you.” He growled and pressed his scarred bare chest to her, leaning in within an inch of her face. “Now it’s your turn.” His breath smelled foul enough to wither a weed.
    Bull flipped her around to face the wall. Desperately she tried to get free. She stomped on his massive bear-like foot. In turn, he slammed her hard into the boards, rattling her senseless. With one hand on the back of her neck, he bunched and gathered up her dress, his feet spreading her legs.
    Oh no, no, no. Not again. No. This can’t be happening. Please, not again . A tear spilled down her cheek as she squeezed her eyes tight. She grappled for his hand at her neck and grabbed at her dress. Back and forth she clawed, but she could not pry him loose.
    A vision of four faces cleared in her mind. Four awful faces. They were drunk, loud and brutal. She had been no more than fourteen when she was dragged into an alleyway and raped. She remembered their rancid smell, the jabbing pains to all parts of her body, the grunting and guffawing. She remembered too much. She had struggled and fought against them, but there were too many. All she could do was endure every agonizing minute if she were to survive.
    But with all the fight she had in her now, she couldn’t even budge under Bull’s hold. His mass was built like a brick tower. She was reminded, once again, if she didn’t have the upper hand, she didn’t have control. She would be used up and cast aside like a worthless piece of rubbish.
    She tried to scream again only to manage a yelp, tugging uselessly down at the folds of her skirt.
    The ship rocked with another impact, lurching Bull back and loosening his grip on her. She whirled around, jabbing her knee to his crotch. He didn’t move. Thinking she had broken her knee, she stifled a mewl. He made a deep guttural sound and started for her, reaching out with his thick, dirty fingers. She braced herself, ready to deliver another kick.
    “Bull, what’s keeping ye?” A voice hollered down to them as the hatch door swung open. “We need more shot.”
    Bull lowered his arms, his black, soulless eyes boring deep into her. A dreadful grin cracked his suppurating sores, baring his blackened teeth. “Next time, bitch. Next time, I’m gonna split ya in two then drink ya dry.” He snatched up the box and lumbered up to the bedlam of the ensuing battle.
    Lianna slid down the wall. Badly shaken, she needed a moment to pull herself together.
    “Girls of your status are marked for depravity.” The words crept into her brain like a stalking nightmare. “Especially those who are fair like you.” Lianna had rushed home after the rape, bruised, bloodied and battered, sobbing to her aunt. But the bitter old woman offered no solace, instead scolding her for blubbering. “’Tis your own fault for inviting your violation. The sooner you accept that you are to be submissive to them, the better off you’ll be. And where is the tallow I sent you for? Did you lose that, too?”
    Stunned and hurt by her cold words, Lianna had denied that notion—submission. The one thing that had been truly hers, the part of her she dreamed would be her gift to a worthy man on her wedding night, had been savagely taken. She had been reduced to paltry scum, flawed and sullied. Swallowing the painful lump in her throat, she grew up that night, electing to never be submissive as her aunt advised. She had looked out her window to the moon and whispered prayers to her mother she so dearly missed.
    Her aunt had always been a bit spiteful to Lianna’s mother. She had been jealous of her momma’s free spirit and grew cynical when Madame Duchant had taken her on as a servant. More so when Madame didn’t turn Momma away upon discovering she was with child. While ’twas true they were treated kindly by the extraordinary Lady, her aunt mistakenly assumed they were living well-heeled. ’Twas a far better life in her mind than being saddled with a boorish husband,