Warning! bit of adult situations(ontly a titch) and a lot of angry Jack, who is quite rage-full. It is explained later on the chapter, so don't blame me! He is a bloody pirate...he can't always be jovial! He is prone to being a dick every now and then.

Chapter seven: A Sparrow's rage

Anya was slammed into the ground, Jack falling on top of her. A horrible realization that she was nude went through her mind, making her squirm with embarrassment and hatred for the captain.

"You were unwise to run, Princess," Jack said in a husky voice into her ear. "Very unwise,"

Anya was breathing heavily, as was Jack. She had given up as fair of a chase as possible, the many twigs and branches of the brush scraping at her bare skin, causing her to gasp in pain, and slow down, finally to falter all together.

Anya opened her mouth to let out a scream, but Jack's long fingered hands covered her lips, and warning look on his face. Anya bucked, and bit his finger, and he removed it, only to replace his hold with his lips.

She gasped at the searing heat that went from her mouth. He took advantage and violated her even more, pressing down that she almost choked. Jack shifted, suddenly aware that she was naked, and dragged his fingers down from her stomach to the sensitive curls at her loins. His digits entered her, and she let out another gasp, and bucked again; this time in an involuntary jerk of pleasure.

"Jack? Answer or I think she will have killed you!" Francis's voice floated over their heads. Jack cursed slightly.

"I got her, but please allow the princess some privacy."

Anya squirmed, still aware of his fingers. Jack looked down at her, knowing this as well. He gave her one last hard kiss, before hauling her up to her feet, taking off his shirt, and handing it to her. She put it on gratefully, and it reached the backs of her knees. Anya couldn't bring herself to look Jack in the eye, but he grabbed her wrist with a vice like grip and tramped her through the brush.

"Weren't too rough on her?" Francis asked, frowning as he saw her many cuts in the moonlight. He noticed her scarlet blush and bruised lips, and his eyes narrowed, but he said nothing about it. He knew better then to question his captain.

Jack looked over at her as they went to the rocky beach, where a small tender was waiting for them. She looked deliciously rumbled, with her hair in a dark cloud around her face, and her eyes downcast. The shirt she wore was wet, and clung to her, outlining perfect breasts and a supple waist.

They finally reached the ship, and Jack all but threw the captive into his cabin, and slammed the door behind him.

"You could have gotten yourself killed!" Jack yelled, gesturing to her body. "Or worse! Are you that stupid? How do you know anyone would help you? There are men out there who would have a woman, with or without her consent.

"Like you?" Anya asked haughtily, rising to her full height–all of 5'3–and glowering up at Jack, finally finding her words.

"No," Jack said in a low voice now, dangerously silky. "I could have done a lot worse."

"Is that how you take out your anger?" Anya cried, peeling at the wet shirt. "By forcing women? You claim that you would never touch one, and yet you violate me back there!"

"You deserved it!"

"Oh really?" Now Anya's voice was low. But there was something more shrewd lacing it then Jack could fathom. "So if I make a mess, or do this," She pushed all the maps from Jack's desk onto the floor, "You are going to kiss me? To enter me? Make me cry out, and scream? Is that your form of punishment, Mr. Foxx?"

"Its Sparrow!" Jack bellowed, advancing on her.

"Oh I'm scared!" Anya waved her hands in front of her, as if she was warding off an angry mob of flies. "You might kiss me!"

"Listen girl," Jack growled, taking her up by her shoulders, and picking her up so her feet no longer touched the floor, but rather dangled helplessly. He gave her a hellacious shake; so hard that her head was flung back and forward.

"I could shake your head clean off your body! And yes, I could rape you. I would almost take pleasure out of it, because I pretty much hate you at this moment. But if I were to hurt you, I would bloody well flog you, or tie you naked up on the mizzen mast!" Jack took a deep breath, and set down the shaken woman. "Though I can't. Consider yourself lucky."

With that, Jack strode from his cabin, leaving Anya to huddle withing her self, eyes wide with horror and something else that she couldn't name, and didn't want to. She blinked a few times, and finally sunk to the hard wood floor, shaking uncontrollably.

"You mustn't anger Jack so," Francis said gently, peeling the shirt from Anya's back, wielding a damp rag. Anya was still shaking, and flinched with every word and touch. Francis slowly started to mop up her cuts and scrapes, shaking his head. He decided not to choose sides.

"It's not my fault!" Anya cried in a small voice. "I didn't ask to be taken out of my home, and to some place I don't even know! I have never been to Russia! How could I be the bloody tzarina? Wouldn't I remember something like that? Would you have run?"

"I'm not a tzarina,"

"But would you?" Anya begged the answer from him.

"Yes," Francis said slowly.

"Its not my fault the captain has so much anger. I didn't take his goddamn ship."

"No," Francis agreed, giving her a score on that one. "But you shouldn't goad him. He has an awful temper, and as you can see, he takes it out in that way.

"But why?" Anya demanded, shuddering as Francis slid the rag across her shoulder blades.

"Because, when he was nought but seventeen–Hutt told me this–he killed a guard because he was angry at being sent to his room."

"A guard?"

"Jack was the son of a duke. They had royal guards, its no uncommon."

"And so...?"

"So his father told him to pick another way to take out his aggression. He was never blamed for the murder,"

"So his father told him to use sex to take out his aggression?" Anya's heart dropped, and she felt like a ice fist was closing on her spine.

"Yes, and no. He never really does. Its more like, when he is mad, he goes and has a whore. He never hurts them or anything, and he pays them well."

"Oh," Anya was exceedingly uncomfortable with this talk, and squirmed, arching her back away from Francis.

"Do you want these cleaned or not?" The young Hanover asked, not unkindly. "They could get infected,"

Anya allowed him to finish, and she sent him from the cabin. She dressed back into her grey gown she had been taken in, and grabbed up the quilts on Sparrow's bed. Making a small pallet on the floor as far away from the bed as she could, she fell into the most fitful of sleeps she ever had.

Flashes of people and places wrought her unfocused mind's eye. She saw things she didn't recognize, and strange people who jeered at her, and called her names. In one image, she was standing in a magnificent throne room. People were bowing to her deeply, and on their knees. A man to her left handed her something, but she could not see it. A mirror was brought to her, and she saw she was dressed in rich ermine and red velvet. Her scars were not there.

Anya was started awake by a loud curse. Jack was pouring over a map, a frown puckering his brow. She laid absolutely still, breathing in short shallow breaths, fear once again upon her. The realization that she was on a pirate ship, with pirates who could, and most likely would take advantage of her, and do things most foul.

She had not been this afraid the last time. She was merely being transported from one side of Jamaica to another. She had even befriended most of the crew. But now when she was marched by solemnly, they jeered at her as if she was a trophy they would soon hawk and profit her with rum and women.

Jack ran his fingers through his hair, and closed his eyes. Why had his rage taken him? He felt so guilty at that moment, so...ah he didn't know. He always was like this. With the whores of Tortuga, after he had them, he would demand if he hurt them. They would look beamused and say no, but he still didn't believe them, and always paid them twice more what they usually asked.

The look on Anya's face was what kept haunting him. She sheer fear and betrayal, like she never thought that of him was so vivid, that he couldn't sleep. When he saw her lying on a blanket in the corner of a room, a knot at the bottom of his stomach did another loop and tightened. Francis had told him how she had been. Shaking, and flinching at everything. And it was all Jack's fault. He had no one else to blame but himself.

But she had run! She had taken something he believed and ran with it; literally. At first, for a split second, he thought she would drown. That was until he saw her white arms powerfully pulling her to shore, against the current. He was so angry, he could have done anything. He almost did.

Why did he always feel like this? Now he had all but ruined the girl, and would never gain back her trust. His conscience would always plague him, Jack thought grimly. Just as it did now.