Pacifica

  Two men onboard were tied to the mast. Two corsarios kept guard over them. Red and Japan, from the looks of it.

  “You’re sure about this?” Adam asked when she tossed him the spyglass.

  “Course I’m sure,” she said. What did the truth matter, anyway? They weren’t changing their minds now.

  Over the surf, she made out voices.

  “Incoming!” one of them shouted. “Luc! Get up here!”

  They were forty feet away. Thirty. Closing in at a steady pace, a battering ram swinging in slow motion.

  Red—she could tell who it was now—ran for the back of the boat and hurdled over the siding. He dropped like a stone, hitting the water with a splash.

  “Again,” she said to Adam. He pressed the button on the side of the radio.

  “THIS IS THE ALLIANCE ARMAMENT,” he called.

  “Hold on!” she shouted at him.

  Her breath came in hard rasps. She hugged the guardrail, the ladder braced against her chest, just as Adam steered the warship straight into the starboard side of the Señora. The two ships connected with a crash of plastic and metal, followed by a high whine as they turned, scraping and punching their way down the hull of Luc’s boat.

  The diversion gave her the window she needed.

  She threw the ladder over the side, and swung down onto it. Her hands, wet and slick with sweat, slid on the metal rungs, but her feet held steady. She scrambled down, watching the deck of the Señora slide by. If she was going to make it aboard, she’d have to jump.

  Using her legs to push off the warship’s hull, she flung herself down onto the deck, rolling across the floor planks until she hit the steering console. In a flash, she was on her feet, knife in her hand. She sprinted toward the corsario on her left.

  “Who is that?” One of the men in the suits had seen her, but she didn’t stop. Before Japan could react, she barreled into him, sending him sprawling onto his back and then leaping onto his chest. He reached for his gun but her knife was faster, and before he could draw breath, she’d pressed the blade to his throat.

  He smiled, his one open eye sparkling with approval.

  “Marin,” he said, voice gritty. The two men tied to the mast wore suits, and grim disappointment settled between her ribs as she realized neither of them was Ross.

  “Where’s Luc?” Her gaze darted to the portal that led below deck.

  Japan kept smiling.

  She grabbed his gun from his hand. It looked new, probably one they’d gotten in the trade with the Oilers. With Red’s shouts echoing from the water, she pressed the blade even closer to his neck.

  In her place, her father would have killed this man. Luc would have killed him. Her mother would have killed him.

  She was not them.

  She held the gun up, and switched the setting to stun.

  “This is going to hurt,” she said. And then she pressed the barrel to his shoulder, and pressed the button.

  Pop. A tiny sound for such an enormous response. His body went taut as a stretched wire, and before he went slack, she raced past the two men to the stairs that led below the Señora’s deck.

  The corridor was empty. Each room was empty.

  “Ross!” she whispered as loudly as she dared. Outside she could still hear Red calling for help.

  She climbed back up on the deck, regarding the two bound men.

  “The captain of this boat had a prisoner with him. Where are they?”

  “Let us go,” said one, a man with a neat beard and skin that had never seen the sun without protection.

  She lifted her knife. “Where.”

  Reluctantly, the closest nodded toward the other ship. Before she left, she did a wide sweep of the deck, cutting every line with her knife. The sail, tacked down, fell in a heap onto the two men tied to the mast.

  If Luc got back on this ship, he wasn’t going anywhere quickly.

  The Armament warship was still coasting into the night, but not quickly. Adam had dropped the sails like she’d taught him. Below, Red had just reached the metal grate at the base of the oil rig’s supporting beam. Sliding down the ladder, she launched herself in his direction.

  Trying to swing himself out of the water proved fruitless; Red couldn’t get his leg over the edge. When he saw her coming, his moves turned wild and desperate, fingers pawing at the grate to find a sturdy hold. The gun slipped from his hand in the effort, and she dove for it, the clumsy bump of her elbow sending it skittering off the other side of the platform. By the time she’d turned back for him, he’d already shoved back into the water, swimming away into the darkness.

  She couldn’t stun him out there without killing him—he’d sink like a rock. But if she left him, he could come back, find a weapon, cause problems.

  Making the decision to move on, she climbed up the back of the other boat and stepped onto the deck. Her boots squeaked on the clean planks, and though she tried to quiet them, she couldn’t.

  No one was hiding up here that she could see. Her brother and Ross were below, with who knew who else. She came to the closed hatch that would lead down into the belly of the boat. Her hand, trembling, reached for the silver knob. Until that moment, she hadn’t truly prepared herself for what she’d do if she was too late.

  The handle turned in her grasp, then released. Turned, and released again, as if someone were preparing to come outside.

  It’ll be quick, Marin. One breath in, and it’ll all be over.

  She ripped back the door, causing the person who’d been leaning against the other side to crash into her.

  They fell together, a glimpse of Ross’s face registering in her mind one second before the weight of his body pinned her down onto the deck. The sweet smell of tar wafted out around him, and she blinked back the sudden mist that fell over her brain.

  “Ross?” she whispered, pulling the rag out of his mouth.

  “Marin?” Lifting his head, he blinked. His wrists were cuffed, his hands braced on her thigh as she sat up. She examined his face, finding a swollen bruise on his jaw and a cut on the side of his lip, but hardly caring because he was alive, and she had found him, and for once something had finally gone right.

  Moved by some force beyond her control, she wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed until the shaking passed.

  “I like your brown hair,” he slurred. “And your pretty face. Did you come to rescue me?”

  The laugh bubbled out, stretching all the tight places within her ribs with a painful kind of joy. Pulling back, just a bit, she met his eyes, bluer than any sky or sea, and sleepy from what could only be tar. He was close enough that she could feel his breath on her lips, and smell the salt in his hair. He tilted his head, and his nose brushed against hers, and she felt her hard exterior crack as warm, soft feelings she couldn’t even name came rushing to the surface of her skin.

  “You’re not dead, right?” he asked slowly.

  “No,” she whispered.

  “Oh, good,” he said. “That would make this awkward.”

  He kissed her then, sweetly, and gently, and more than a little drunkenly. His lips curved into a smile against her mouth, and even though her heart had stopped beating altogether, she smiled too, because in all the times she’d imagined kissing someone, she never thought she’d feel as happy as she was right now.

  She didn’t want to stop.

  But then she blinked, and looked beyond him, into the room, and saw the outstretched legs of a woman half hidden behind a couch, and her brother’s still form on the floor beside the exit.

  She pulled back.

  “Ross, did you…”

  He followed her gaze, head bobbling. “Your brother’s a real cabrón, you know that?”

  The word didn’t exactly sound right when he said it. She forgave him, because he was right.

  “We need to go.”

  “Whoa. That’s a big boat.”

  She turned to follow Ross’s gaze over her shoulder, to the Armament boat still drifting awa
y.

  “Did it hit us?”

  “Yeah,” she said, realizing there may have been damage to the other ship as well. The warship could be taking water. They needed to get to Adam soon.

  She gripped her knife. “One of Luc’s men is in the water. Keep an eye out.”

  He gave her a wrists-bound salute, which made her think he probably couldn’t be trusted just yet.

  While Ross kept watch, she climbed out the hatch, weapon braced before her.

  The scent of tar still filled the room, and she pulled her shirt over her nose and mouth as she rolled her feet across the plush carpet. Sensing that the worse threat was her brother, she made her way to him first, and found his face covered by his precious tar, and his eyes rolled back. She knelt beside him, searching for wounds but finding none.

  “I broke the bottle,” said Ross, weaving near the door. He was tall enough he had to duck to fit into the doorway. “Tried to think of what you’d do.”

  She pressed her fingers against her brother’s neck where his pulse beat slow but steady. Ross hadn’t killed him, and it weighed on her that this was somehow less of a relief than thinking he was actually dead.

  She glanced back at Ross, watching as he screwed his thumb between his brows, and felt her throat grow tight. Not because of the tar. Because of him. Because he had done this, and it felt like he knew now that sometimes you had to be a pirate in order to survive.

  He was looking straight at her, just like the first time when they’d met in the riots. When she’d felt exposed, like no one had ever really seen her before.

  It had unnerved her then. Now, it made her heart feel too big for her own chest.

  “I’m glad you’re here, Marin.”

  She smiled, and maybe it wasn’t big on the outside, but inside she was glowing.

  “You breathed in too much tar, I think.”

  He looked down, and gave an awkward laugh. “I’ve never been high before. Add that one to the list.”

  She snorted.

  “I’m still glad,” he said.

  She was too.

  Her gaze turned to the woman across the room, eyes widening as she recognized her face.

  “I know her,” she said.

  “Roan Teller,” said Ross. “Head of relocation.”

  “She used to buy drugs from me,” Marin said, remembering the riots, and the jars of black liquid in her pack that she’d been trying to take above the cliffline.

  The night she’d met Ross.

  Ross nodded. “I’m not sure which part of that is more disturbing.”

  She laughed. And then he laughed too, even though none of it was funny. Roan Teller, the head of relocation, was making deals with her brother.

  Ross pushed the door open wider with his bound hands. “Can you take me to the mainland? I need to speak to my father.”

  And just like that she felt something snap inside of her. Whatever connected them, they were still from different worlds. Even with the bruises and the sun on his skin, even with the clothes that looked like hers, he would always be better.

  “Let’s get your cuffs on him,” she said, nodding down to her brother. “And tie her up too. I’ve got something to show you.”

  CHAPTER 30

  IT DIDN’T take as long to find the right key to the cuffs this time. The ring was in Luc’s pocket, and once they’d fastened him to one of the immobile barstools, they turned to Roan, who had roused, and was giggling about taking a bath in oil as they tied her to a table leg on the opposite side of the room.

  Part of Ross had wondered if they should have left her behind; kidnapping a federal official didn’t seem like the smartest plan. Regardless, he told himself she would have certainly been killed if they’d left her at the oil rig. The City Patrol could sort her out once they reached the mainland.

  “What about your brother’s boat?” Ross had asked Marin as they finished.

  “Leave it,” she had said. And he knew she didn’t just mean the boat, but the people on it, and maybe even more based on the way her voice cracked at the end.

  He hadn’t realized until that moment how much he hoped she’d never go back to Careytown. She deserved more than an island made of trash.

  While he locked the hatch below deck, she sailed them to the Armament warship, where she’d told him her crew was waiting. The guy who’d helped her must have been injured, because Marin had to climb halfway up the collapsible ladder to help him down onto the deck of Roan’s boat. As he gripped the silver rail running the perimeter of the deck, Ross wondered how he’d fared as a pirate when the waves pitched him back and forth so easily.

  “Ross?”

  The stranger straightened, and in the glow of the deck lights, Ross caught the mess of his hair, and the dull glow of a dirt-streaked undershirt, and nearly buckled.

  He didn’t remember walking forward, or swinging himself up onto the siding, but the next thing he knew, Adam was before him, closer than he’d been since the riots. His mouth quirked up at the side, and Ross was overcome by a hundred different thoughts, all bouncing around within his skull:

  You’re here.

  I’m sorry.

  How did this happen?

  He saw the hardness in Adam’s expression, and the way he favored one leg, and couldn’t help but notice how different his friend looked, and how different he must have looked, and that this wasn’t just because they were beaten and bruised. It was because they were changed. It was like seeing an old friend after years apart.

  Ross reached out his hand, just as Adam opened his arms to embrace. Ross laughed, and went in for a hug as Adam immediately dropped his hands. They both stopped and grinned.

  “Crazy terrenos,” Marin muttered. She shook her head and walked toward the helm of Roan’s ship.

  “We’re crazy?” Adam asked. “She just took on two grown men with her bare hands.”

  Ross’s grin widened as he glanced after her. “You know what they say. It’s not the size of the boat, it’s the wind in the sails.”

  Adam gave him a strange look.

  “Did they hit you in the head?” he asked. “I guess so. Look at your face.” He reached for Ross’s jaw. Until then, Ross hadn’t realized how swollen it was, and when Adam’s fingers grazed it, he winced.

  “Do I look tough?” Ross asked.

  “You look like you walked in front of a city bus.”

  That was unfortunate.

  Ross wasn’t sure what to say then. There was too much to cover, and nowhere to start.

  “I’m sorry I fell out of the car.” Adam stuffed his hands in his pockets. His head bowed forward, and as if he couldn’t hold it together any longer, his shoulders started to shake.

  Ross wrapped his arms around his friend, and kissed the side of his head, and let every drop of relief and happiness pour through him. There would be time for more words, but now, only one came to mind.

  “Brother,” he said.

  Adam nodded against his shoulder. “Yeah.”

  * * *

  They sailed into the night, keeping just one light on the door to the hatch. There was no sound from within, which Marin told them was to be expected, and while Adam kept guard, Ross helped Marin work the sails.

  She’d been quiet over the last hours, even for her, and the way she gave him space whenever he passed, and avoided meeting his eyes, was making him edgy. He wondered if it had to do with the fact that he’d kissed her earlier. Maybe he’d overstepped. Maybe she thought he was too drunk to remember.

  He wasn’t.

  He remembered every one of all three seconds it had lasted. He remembered the soft feel of her mouth, and the salt on her lips, and the way her big brown eyes had closed.

  He wanted to do it again.

  “How far away are we?” he asked.

  Her gaze flicked his way, then back forward. “We should be there by morning.”

  Relocation happened in the morning. The ocean liner was to meet the first wave of Shorelings bound for Pacific
a in Noram Harbor. There was going to be music and fanfare—his mother had been in charge of the party committee.

  Time was running out.

  He moved closer to Marin. “Everything all right?”

  It was a weak question and he knew it. How could she be all right? Her brother, who’d tried to kill him, was currently tied up and passed out below deck. The island she’d called home was about to be filled with unwilling Shorelings, and because she’d helped him, she’d now have nowhere to go.

  No. She’d have somewhere to go. He’d make certain of it.

  She shifted away, and he felt his brows draw together.

  “When you talk to your father, you should tell him that Luc’s been getting weapons from the Oilers,” she said.

  He stilled, absorbing her unexpected response. Remembering the small bird on the handles of Luc’s guns. He had seen that image before. The leader of the Oil Nation—Píero—had worn the same pendant around his neck when he’d spoken to Ross’s father.

  “Tell him,” said Marin, “my brother was building an army to attack the Armament. Picker told me before he fell in a boca.”

  Her lips twitched in a way that made Ross think that had not been a pleasant conversation.

  Adam slowly made his way toward them, never letting go of something stationary. His face was a pale shade of green.

  “An army of pirates?” he asked.

  “Of Shorelings,” she said. “Five hundred, give or take a few.”

  Her words lanced every muscle in Ross’s body, making him sag against the bench. He thought of Luc’s speech to the prisoners his pirates had dragged, bound in lines, through the trash field. We mean you no harm. In the coming days there will be much to talk about. He urged their boat to fly faster, to reach the mainland before dawn.

  “He asked for Armament ships in his meeting with Roan Teller,” said Ross.

  “Roan Teller? The safety woman?” asked Adam.

  Ross nodded.

  “The tar junky,” said Marin.

  “She helped my father create Pacifica. What we thought was Pacifica, anyway.”

  Adam and Marin stared at him.

  “I need to talk to my dad,” he said. “But I don’t know if I can trust him.”

  “Why?” asked Adam. Marin gave him a look like he might be an idiot.