CHAPTER SIX
The island was even foggier than the last time she’d been here, and Isabella took advantage of it as she walked behind the bloodied Dylan. He was Captain Sanders now, and she had to remind herself that the man standing in front of her was not the slimy pirate that she wanted to kill, but someone who was an ally.
Everyone obviously knew Sanders, and most shouted some curses when they saw his state. Dylan threw them all what seemed to be a cross between a grimace and a grin, limping for effect. He threw the teenagers towards the nearest guard, and Robin pretended to fall and cry out, while Simon pretended to fight. But they were overpowered by the guards real quickly, and Isabella only had a moment to watch Simon being blunted on the head and knocked unconscious before Dylan was forcefully taking her by the shoulder like he owned her.
Isabella took to her role well, a brilliant actress. She’d found an old outfit in the ship and was wearing it now—a tight black skirt that barely covered her ass and a top that was simply too tight. It was a good thing there was a long coat to cover it all, though she made sure to keep it open in the front and act confidently.
The boots that reached her knees made walking difficult, but she allowed her hips to sway and fluttered her lashes at the men that glanced her way. Robin had altered her appearance before docking, but it didn’t feel like it at all. The only indication that she was now blonde with too much makeup on her face was the reflection she afforded on the path’s muddy puddles of water. The guard walked them over the muddy pathways, down to the center of the island that Isabella hadn’t passed before.
There was a market situated here, with traders bartering goods. Isabella doubted they were legal goods, which confirmed that this was a black market in hiding and not just a slavery business. A compound with wooden fences loomed on the horizon, and they all headed there, with the guard engaging Dylan in conversation and Dylan’s Sander character answering in a foul manner. He’d enlisted Robin’s assistance to access flashes of the captain’s memories for that—enough so he could adapt to said captain’s mannerisms.
They finally arrived in the compound, where different wooden rooms were housed. They went right to the middle room, where the guard knocked before hearing enter from the other side. Dylan pushed at the door, his limp now more pronounced as he aggressively strode in. Isabella followed.
The room was filled with figurines and vases—mostly expensive-looking and not at all matching. It was like they were all crowded together just to be shown off, barely giving room for the oak table in the middle. At the table sat a middle-aged man with dark hair tied at the nape and a brown complexion. He was overweight, and it showed when he stood up at Dylan’s entrance, his stomach protruding. A gold hoop winked at his right earlobe, and his eyes strayed towards Isabella in passing interest before settling back on Dylan.
This was Henley, the man in charge of this island’s show—at least, according to Sanders when he was interrogated in the ship.
“What the hell happened to you?” he asked incredulously.
Dylan cursed and spat blood on the floor, making Henley’s nose wrinkle. Then he proceeded to tell a tale of ambush and treachery, not necessarily giving the full details but sprinkling enough of an idea to make Henley think that it was a wolf shifter gang who took up arms and tried to sink Sanders’ ship and kill his men. But he’d captured the wolf shifter’s son as revenge and had fled as soon as he could.
“Did you at least kill the ones responsible?” Henley asked.
Dylan spat again. “I killed the boy’s father. Threw that bastard’s head overboard where it could rot.”
It was amazing how much he imitated Sanders—uncanny and creepy, even. The man was handsome, blond like Dylan but with blue eyes, but there had been something slimy about him that made Isabella shudder, especially knowing he was likely a pedophile, too. Looking at Dylan now, she had to remind herself again that this was her ally and not the pirate.
Henley didn’t react much, making Isabella nervous. But finally, he sighed and grumbled along with Sanders, his tone disapproving. It was obvious that while Sanders was well-liked by the guards, Henley was neutral with him. He ordered Sanders to get himself cleaned up and get to work again tomorrow, because a delivery of a dozen slaves under ten years of age was expected two days from now.
Dylan was about to limp out of the room when the door opened again. Isabella looked up.
Dylan visibly froze.
There was a lanky man standing there, tall and fair with scars crisscrossing his face. He had slick blond hair that looked almost dirty, but that wasn’t the shocking part.
It was the familiar brown eyes that looked eerily similar to Dylan’s that had Isabella blinking.
So this was the brother—not a prisoner like Dylan initially thought, but a member of this community, based on the ease in which he entered the room. He eyed Dylan’s form in almost malicious amusement, and Isabella could tell right away that this man had no love lost for Sanders.
Then those eyes shifted towards her, and a soft chill crawled up her spine. Interest flared as he eyed her from head to foot, but it wasn’t the kind of interest that was well-meant. He undressed her with his eyes, showing her exactly what he’d do to her if he had her alone.
Forcing the bile from rising out of her throat, she smirked and turned to support Dylan, more to shake him out of his trance. The man didn’t notice, his eyes still fixed on her.
“I heard you ran into some trouble back there, Sanders,” he said tauntingly.
“Heard right…Porter,” Dylan responded. Then he ignored the man altogether and limped towards the door. Porter stepped aside.
“You didn’t introduce your friend,” Porter said silkily.
“Mine,” Dylan said.
“At least have dinner with us so we can…look at your lovely goods,” Porter said, clearly indicating her.
“No, thanks,” Dylan shot back.
When they were near the door, Porter spoke again.
“Why so odd today, Sanders? You’re usually willing to share.”
Dylan stopped, forcing Isabella to stop beside him. His body tensed, but he didn’t turn back around to face the man.
“Not in the mood,” Dylan bit out. “I lost money today. I’ll be in my ship, fucking Blossom and sleeping this stupid fucking day away.”
Then he was walking again, startling Isabella when he slammed the door shut.
They kept walking and stayed silent as they limped out of the compound, and Isabella worried at the invisible storm gathering behind Dylan’s demeanor. They passed the market with barely a glance at their surroundings, stopping only when they reached their ship, which was still docked. Once they entered the deck, Dylan dropped his limp and walked straight towards the cabin, where Isabella followed him.
He went straight for the liquor cabinet, which they had rummaged earlier but didn’t touch. Now, he took out a bottle of brandy and placed two glasses on the table, pouring the rich liquid on each. He handed one to her.
After a moment’s hesitation, she took it and took a sip. She’d never been a brandy drinker, preferring wine, and it tasted too strong on her tongue.
Dylan took his in one gulp.
“I’m going to pretend the limp gets worse tomorrow,” he said, his tone just as calm as it had been before. “And we’re gonna be docking a few more days here so I can scout the area.”
“How?” she asked. “Henley ordered you to handle a shipment.”
“I’ll pretend to get mighty drunk,” he replied. “Then fall and twist my ankle. Let’s see how well Sanders is tolerated around here.”
He knocked back another glass, making her doubt the pretend part of his plan. A hundred questions ran through her mind about his brother—but the way he looked now, with his expression closed off and the reckless charm gone, she doubted if he would be very giving with an answer.
“Any questions?” he continued, staring her down with Sanders’ eyes.
Isabella hesitated again, the question at the tip of her tongue. How did he get here? When had you last seen him?
How can I help?
The urge to comfort was strong—and unwelcome. Instead, she forced the questions back and took another small sip. Then she shrugged.
“Blossom sucks. Can I change my name?”
Silence. Then a ghost of a smile appeared on his lips, curving them.
“Do as you wish,” he murmured. “Good night.”
“Good night,” she murmured back. Behind the Sanders façade, she could see him—the charming Dylan, who wasn’t quite charming right now.
“Lock your doors,” he finished before he was walking out of the cabin. “Can’t be totally safe around here.”
The door shut with a soft click. With a sigh, Isabella went ahead and knocked off the rest of the glass.