The deck thundered with cannon fire as they unleashed a full broadside, splintering against the Covadonga’s stern. Cries and screams drifted across the sea.

The next volley took the Hesperians’ mizzenmast.

At the front of the quarterdeck, Fitz drew a pair of pistols. “Prepare to board!”

Half her attention on turning The Morrigan to bring her alongside, Vice drew her rifle from the quarterdeck’s gun rack and flicked open the breach block—loaded and ready.

“Hooks! Cover!”

Her team hurried over, ducking against the rail.

Grappling hooks thunked over the Covadonga’s rails, and The Morrigan’s crew hauled on the lines, drawing the ships closer.

She flashed Knigh a grin. “I’ll see you on the other side.” When we have that treasure. She turned to join her team, but he caught her arm, spinning her to face him.

His look alone would have been enough to make her pause—eyes dark below lowered brows, nostrils flaring, jaw knotted. He opened his mouth and closed it again, his breaths loud and fast. He swallowed. “Be careful.”

She laughed. “Oh, you don’t know me at all.”

He leant closer, his soap and cinnamon scent cutting through the sulphurous smoke. “I say that because I do.”

His hand tightened on her arm, his eyes intense, and for a moment, all she could do was stare back. What did it matter to him if she was careful or not? Unless he cared …

She scoffed, but it came out as a half-hearted effort. She lifted one shoulder in a shrug and cocked her head, forcing a grin in place. “You worry about this ship, I’ll sort out that one.”

“Vee—”

Gunshot whistled overhead, and they both flinched. A puff of splinters rained from the spar.

He released her and steadied the wheel as they pulled up alongside. “Please?”

That look, the lines creasing between his eyebrows—she’d seen them on Perry plenty of times. Concern.

He did care.

Why the hells did a pirate hunter care about her?

Wild Hunt damn him, this was not the place or time to puzzle over his own personal brand of insanity.

Winking, she clapped him on the shoulder. “Try not to get shot.”

Rifle in hand, she crouched beside her team as another shot flew overhead. It missed Knigh by only a foot, making him duck. She peered over the rail—who the bloody hells was aiming at the helm?

There, a tall man behind the Covadonga’s mizzen, loading a gun, not entirely hidden by the remaining stump of mast.

“Cover,” she ordered her team, levelling her rifle and cocking it. With a long, deep breath, she aimed.

Shots rattled left and right, smoke drifting in the breeze, as Saba, Effie, Wynn, Lizzy, and Aedan obeyed.

Vice exhaled, sights lining up with the rifleman’s ducked head while he concentrated more on reloading than staying out of view. She squeezed the trigger.