Jack lay in the bed, eyes closed, savoring the moment and trying to will its continuance. It didn't work. With a small sigh, he opened his eyes and looked down at the woman lying beside him. She had turned at some point in the night, one hand against his chest and her face pillowed in the crook of his elbow.
"Tell me what you want, lass. You do trust me."
He smiled, running a hand through her hair. Having her come to him was the mark of a good seducer. And it'd be hell to live with her on board if he pressed his advantage now. He aimed to get his own, whenever he liked it, without the blasted politics of the women you could pick up at any bar in a pirate's town. If it meant the niceties applied, the niceties applied. He certainly wouldn't complain. Her branding had been a positive light, but discovered later. Still. He chuckled quietly, brushing her hair back again and kissing her forehead.
It was then he noticed it. It normally would have been covered by her bodice, but just enough was visible to make his eyes widen in curiosity.
He moved out from underneath her, careful not to disturb her sleep, and deftly unlaced the bodice, his eyebrows raising in horror as he did so. He pulled the slip of fabric off her with more force than he intended, so great was his anger.
"What the-" her lip curled in rage as she woke, and she slung a fist to hit him, but he caught both her wrists in one swift motion and held them over her head, continuing his study of her mutilated body as she glowered at him.
"You better have a damn good explanation, missy," he hissed, looking in her eyes, "because someone has to pay for that."
"Why do you care?" she snarled.
"There is no punishment worthy of a man who will do this to a woman." He replied, trying his hardest not to jar the angry, red and infected scabs that covered her chest and torso. "Just tell me it stopped there."
She looked him silently in the eyes, and that was his answer.
"Hell," he spat, letting go of her. He paced around the room for a moment before turning back to her, sitting cross legged on the bed for the second time in two days. She looked angry, in the face, but the rest of her looked pitiful.
He wasn't sure if it had been a sword, a dagger, or just a piece of timber off the ship, but her sides were coated in fading bruises, her wrists still swollen and red from the ropes that had bound her, and her feet as well. What skin was left was slashed and smeared with knife cuts of varying depths and lengths, looking like designs a child would scratch in the sand. He looked back in her eyes, almost pleading.
"I don't know what to do."
"There's nothing you can," she replied quietly.
He sighed. "Just tell me you know I would never do that to you." His face was almost eerie in the predawn darkness.
"Not unless you wanted the same," she smiled quietly, praying he would forget in short order.