Jackie climbed over the dune with Charles. There were two men over the crest; one was an old man and the other could have been his son. The third man she didn't recognize either, but it was obvious he was in opposition of the others.
"If I'm going to be killing an old man; the least you could do is tell me why," Jackie whispered.
"Old? That's where your moral compass kicks in?" Charles scoffed. His sources had told him that over the years she had developed a taste for killing; bringing death not because it was necessary, but because she enjoyed it. The news hadn't surprised him. The Jacquelyn he remembered had an uncontrollable temper and she loved to fight.
Charles quieted her and pointed at the man who was speaking.
"You said you'd vote for me," the bald man barked.
"I do what's best for my family," said the old one.
"I'm what's best for your family!" the first insisted. "Flint has fucked us over too many times!"
Jackie realized that Charles had a stake in a mutiny against Flint. Whatever way this man had chosen for his group to vote was against Charles's interest. Jackie didn't agree with his reasoning, but in the world of pirates it was legitimate cause.
The two men turned to leave, but Jackie had moved to block their way. She drew her sabre, careful to position herself so that her uninjured leg supported most of her weight. The young man reacted to the threat, but before he had completed drawing his own weapon, Jackie had gutted him. She stepped over the body towards the old man. He didn't even try to retreat and held his head high when Jackie attacked. He fell backwards into the sand, but Jackie held off on the finishing blow.
Charles bent down to where the old man laid gasping and lit a cigar. "This is what happens when you betray Charles Vane," he hissed in the old man's ear as he exhaled smoke.
With one last labored breath, the man fell silent.
"Thank you, Jackie," Charles said as he stood. "How about a drink?"
High on adrenaline from the kill, Jackie allowed herself to be convinced to go to the tavern and risk encountering Eleanor. The tavern was always crowded; probably the only place on the island frequented more often than the whorehouse.
Charles leaned against the post of a large doorway with one hand around the neck of a bottle of rum and the other on Jackie's hip. The rum they had been sharing put Jackie at ease after it had worked its way through her body warming all her digits. She ran her fingers playfully along his open collar, occasionally burying her face in his chest or taking the bottle for a swig. Jackie's calf began throbbing and she realized she had overworked it earlier. She leaned into Charles even more as she used him for support. He looked down at Jackie and smiled. He enjoyed her needing him and her body felt comfortable against his. Now drunk, Charles caressed Jackie's face, admiring her rugged beauty- her bright, green eyes and her face decorated with scars, but Jackie's attention was elsewhere. She recognized the blonde woman across the room not from her tightly wound, blonde, bun or her bright eyes, but the way she walked about as though she owned the place. Jackie recognized the way men stepped out of her way like they knew she was a birch. Jackie ducked under Charles's arm, but he refused to let her leave.
"Stay," he growled and grabbed her arm. His fingers dug into her wrist, but still she yanked free.
"You wanted me to stay out of trouble," Jackie said. "This is me avoiding conflict."
Charles turned to see who she was avoiding and spotted Eleanor Guthrie marching towards her office. "Miss Guthrie!" He called. The rum made him bold and Jackie's absence made him angry. Eleanor had scared off his lover and the rum demanded that someone answer for it.
Eleanor whipped her head to see who had yelled her name and careened towards Vane. She was already angered that Vane had staged a mutiny against Flint after she had invested in him and now Vane wanted to challenge her? She didn't think so.
Charles noticed that she was fuming; far more pissed off than she normal was at him, but it was too late. Her fist collided with his jaw. It hurt more than he thought it would, but then again so did Jackie's punches years ago. Charles hit her back and she fell to the floor. The hit deflated Eleanor by surprising her with the ferocity of it. Charles offered a hand to help her up, sober enough to still know it was a bad idea to beat the shit out of a Guthrie.
"Do you want to tell me what that was about?" he asked.
"You interfered with Flint's captaincy," Eleanor explained as professionally as she could. "I had an interest in it."
Charles smirked. "Sorry to hear it."
"You'll make it right," Eleanor ordered. "You'll make it right or I'll never sell another ounce of your cargo."
Charles had to stop himself from hitting her again. She was probably just like this as a kid. That's why Jacquelyn never got along with her. "Your father sells my cargo and I hate to be the one to tell you, but he'll choose profits over daughters every time."
Eleanor didn't stop him leaving, but let her anger boil inside of her. She wanted to hit him in the back of the head, but knew it would make other pirates doubt her and make managing him more difficult.
Charles walked through the streets, trying to remember where on the beach his tent was. He fully intended on keeping his end of his bargain with Jackie, but first he had to figure out where he was. When he finally found the canvas tent that the two of them had set up Jackie was already asleep. She laid on her side, curled into a little ball. Charles smiled. She looked harmless; a naïve girl in a big world. It was how he used to think of her until she proved him wrong. He put the bottle down and slid off each of his boots. He took off his gauntlets and most of his jewelry and placed them on top of his boots along with his weapons. He laid down next to Jackie and wrapped his arms around her. She stirred slightly, recognizing there was another body in the bed next to her, but fell back into a deep sleep without worry.
