Cash Remington and the Rum Run (Sexy Dreadfuls Book 2) Read online

  Cash Remington

  and the Rum Run

  Celia Aaron

  Cash Remington

  and the Rum Run

  Celia Aaron

  Copyright © 2016 Celia Aaron

  All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book only. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from Celia Aaron. Please do not participate in piracy of books or other creative works.

  This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  WARNING: This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. Please store your files wisely, away from under-aged readers. This book stars an alpha male who takes what he wants. It’s full of sex and violence. It’s an erotica adventure, not a romance, and is not ‘safe.’ If you're cool with these caveats, enjoy!

  Cover art by Perfect Pear Creative

  Content Editing by J. Brooks

  Copy Editing by Spell Bound

  Other Books by Celia Aaron

  COUNSELLOR

  Acquisition Series, Book One

  MAGNATE

  Acquisition Series, Book Two

  SOVEREIGN

  Acquisition Series, Book Three

  ***

  The Hard and Dirty Holidays

  ***

  The Forced Series

  ***

  Zeus

  Taken by Olympus, Book 1

  ***

  CASH REMINGTON AND THE MISSING HEIRESS

  Sexy Dreadfuls, Book 1

  AaronErotica.com

  Twitter: @aaronerotica

  Celia Aaron on Facebook

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  CHAPTER ONE

  THE ANGRY SEA HISSES and roils beneath the ship as the harsh sun beats down on my bare shoulders. We’ve been passing bits of timber and shipping crates for half an hour, my crew keeping a weather eye open for whatever vessel met its unfortunate fate in this part of the ocean.

  “Captain!” Roland yells down from the crow’s nest and points to the starboard bow.

  I leave the helm to my second-in-command and dash down the steps, across the main deck, and up to the foredeck. A mass of wreckage drifts one-hundred yards ahead. The ship looks blasted in two. A tattered blue and white flag marks the ruin as belonging to the East India Trading Company. It barely flies above the sparkling water.

  What’s left leans badly, and has taken on enough water to sink at any moment. A few bodies float nearby, bobbing up and down on the waves that knock more water into the ship.

  I turn back to my crew of a dozen men. They wait for orders, and they shall have them.

  “What are you waiting for, you scurvy dogs?” I roar. “Get your arses in the water. I want every piece of cargo, every bit of cloth, and every morsel of food left on that ship!”

  I toss my leather hat onto the deck, and with a strong running leap, I dive headfirst into the rough waters and strike out for the wreck. Something whispers to me like a long-lost lover. Gold. I can’t so much as see a glint of it anywhere in the blasted remains of the vessel, but I can feel it. It’s in there, and it will be mine.

  The Caribbean water flows warm around me. Spring has only just begun, scenting the air with the phantom smell of faraway blooms. But all I smell is pitch and ruin as I near the hull of the ship. My men yell and splash behind me in the row boats.

  The tattered white mainsail billows just beneath the surface, blocking entry from this side. Instead of swimming around, I dive beneath it, kicking hard and strong past the splintered mast and into the bowels of the wreckage. Bits of junk—planks, empty sacks, clothing, and pieces of barrels—float all around me. I push farther down, avoiding the trap of the sail. A man’s body floats by, his dark eyes open and staring, his mouth twisted in horror. I shove him away and swim closer to the hulking vessel above me.

  Once the shadows change and the sail is at my back, I kick toward the surface until my thighs burn. I break through and take a deep breath before spinning to take in what’s left of the ship.

  The cargo hold is split wide open, and I pull myself onto the sideways keel to survey what goods are left intact. More splashes tell me my men are close.

  “Get your useless, pitiful arses in here or, so help me, I’ll whip you, one and all!”

  Cries of “Aye aye, Captain,” ring out. My crew isn’t the smartest or the fastest, but when I threaten the lash, they get shit done.

  Spilled bags of sodden grain line the hold directly in front of me. We can dry them out and sell them, making no mention of their salty contents. I add up the haul in my head. It won’t amount to much, but it’s something.

  I scan deeper into the shadows as a particularly large wave crashes against the keel. Something glimmers in the darkness. Something that calls to me more than anything else—gold.

  I jump back into the water and swim the ten feet to the drenched cargo. Pulling myself over the grain sacks, I crawl and roll until I’m past the burlap and into a sea of cannonballs, kegs, crates, and one small chest. It must have been perched atop the highest section of cargo, but now it lies on its side. The lock is busted, and a single coin shines in a sliver of sunlight peeking through the shattered boards above.

  “Well, fuck me proper.” I grin and reach for the box when another large wave crashes against the hull. The timbers creak and groan, the sounds echoing in the space. I hang on to the nearest crate as the vessel rocks back and forth, then settles down.

  When I reach for the box again, a pale hand rests atop it. I follow the hand to a lace sleeve, and then farther up until I see the shape of a small woman lying between two crates. Her pale blue eyes pin me to the spot as her blonde locks fan out in the water.

  “Help me.” Her voice is weak, and her eyes flutter closed. The pale yellow lace of her dress will fetch a nice price in Port Royal. Not to mention the woman herself—so thin and ethereal. I’ll have her sold in no time, for top coin.

  I open the chest, and my breath catches in my throat. “Bless my black heart.” The inside is lined with gold doubloons, and on top rests a deep blue gem, almost as big as a small apple. Peering behind me, I make sure my crew hasn’t seen the goods, then I tuck the chest beneath my arm. The waif moans low, the sound going straight to my trousers.

  “Lads!” I pull her to me, her pale, slight frame at odds with my corded muscles and swarthy skin.

  “Captain?” Gravy’s voice, and he’s nearby.

  “Come on in, lads. Water’s fine. Take everything you can.”

  “Aye aye!”

  I keep the small box tucked to me and clutch the other treasure to my chest as I kick away from the wreck. Her eyes remain closed, her pulse beating steadily in her graceful neck.

  I’m almost to the closest rowboat when the water near the damaged ship begins to churn. Bubbles rise and pop along the surface. I’ve seen this before.

  “Back to the ship, boys!” I hand the girl to Gravy and pull myself into the boat.

  With his one good eye, he gazes at the wooden chest I stow unde
r my feet, but then turns to the girl as Scab rows us away. “She’s a pretty thing.”

  I take her from him and lay her in the bottom of the rowboat, next to the chest. Her skin is luminous in the sunlight, like mother of pearl. I want to see all of her, the need to strip her almost overcoming me. It wouldn’t be the first time I’d ripped a woman’s clothes off, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

  “Mmm.” Gravy reaches out to touch her hair.

  I slap his hand away. “She’s mine.”

  “Apologies, Captain.” He withdraws his hand, but still inspects her slight body. I want to wring his scrawny neck.

  A rumble from the deep brings me back to the present. We have no time to waste.

  I wave my arms, motioning my crew away from the wreck. “Go. Now!”

  Finn and Goat curse and argue with each other, both men leaning over the side of their rowboat. They’re entangled with the main sail.

  “I told you to go left!” Goat yanks at the sail, trying to free the boat from its grasp.

  “You said right!” Finn stops pulling at the sail and stands. He shields his eyes from the sun and waves at me. “We’ll be out of here in no time. Sorry, Captain.”

  “Now! Finn, now!” I point to the water.

  He scratches his head.

  “That’s got it.” Goat stands and grabs for the oars.

  The bubbles stop. The waves quiet.

  “Oh, fucking shite.” I lean over and stare down into the depths, knowing what’s coming just as sure as I know my own name.

  CHAPTER TWO

  A HUGE TENTACLE, DARK green and covered with white suction cups, lashes out of the water and crashes down on the boat holding Finn and Goat. Goat turns into nothing more than a mass of blood and meat floating atop the water as the tentacle drags Finn beneath the waves. He doesn’t even get the chance to scream.

  “Row faster!” I yell as two more tentacles rise from the deep. They’re thicker than oak trunks and flail about, searching for their next meal.

  Scab rows for all he’s worth as the tentacles whip over our heads.

  “Duck!” I dive on top of the girl as one of the large appendages sweeps over the boat. It smells of rot and death. Inside the suction cups are barbed hooks. It sweeps over us again, and I catch a glimpse of a severed head stuck on one of the barbs, the face rotted to mush as the tentacle slowly feasts on it.

  Scab leans back, his arms still working feverishly at the oars to escape a hellish fate. The girl murmurs something, but I can’t make it out. My crew is yelling from the ship, screaming at us to go faster as more tentacles rise from the sea and snake through the water.

  Finally, our boat bumps into my ship. Pete tosses down the rope ladder. I look from the pale waif to the chest and back again. I can’t carry both.

  “Save me.” Her eyelids flutter open, and her otherworldly blue eyes seem to see straight through me.

  I stare at the chest, the gold hidden inside begging me to choose it instead of the girl. A tentacle slaps the water close to us, sending the boat rocking and bumping into the hull. There’s no time to hesitate as larger bubbles begin to burst along the roiling surface of the water. More tentacles shoot up and splash us with ocean spray as the Kraken makes its way to the surface. I reach for the chest.

  But then her delicate lips part and she breathes out a single word. “Please.”

  Her light eyes look nowhere else but at me, as if she knows who I am and what I want. If I hadn’t already felt her legs, I’d think she was some sort of mermaid temptress. A deep roar makes the water tremble, the very depths of the sea quaking as the beast approaches.

  “Fuck.” I grab the girl and throw her over my shoulder. “Gravy, the chest. Hold it tight. Both of you follow close behind.”

  Scab smashes his oar against a groping tentacle and shrieks as it wraps around his torso. Despite the yells at my back, I climb the rope ladder, my muscled arms making quick work of it even as the girl lies draped across me. Once at the top, I hand her off to Pete.

  “Oh, nice, Captain.” He leers.

  Fury leaps in my chest, and I glower at him. “Put her in my cabin. Don’t fucking touch her other than to lay her down, or I’ll gut you like the rotten fish you are.”

  His eyes—even the wooden one—widen. “Aye, Cap’n.”

  Gravy, the chest tucked under his arm, has managed to free Scab from the suction cups.

  “Come on boys, faster!” I yell down at them.

  Scab climbs, and Gravy grips the ladder. The tentacles find what they’re looking for—the wrecked ship. They wrap around it, affixing to the crippled vessel like a spider cocooning a hapless fly.

  Scab makes it to the top and flops onto the deck. My men crowd around, some of the greener ones saying prayers and whispering in disbelief at the monster in the water.

  Gravy is halfway up when the Kraken breaks the surface, its gaping maw open, the thousands of fangs glinting like knives in the bright sun. It swallows the wreck whole, as one of its giant eyes flicks this way and that.

  The massive black pupil stops, seizing on my ship. A tentacle breaks loose from the wreck and cuts through the water. Gravy screams as it grabs his leg.

  “Take my hand!” I reach down and encircle his wrist.

  The Kraken yanks, but I won’t let go. I almost go over the side, but my men grip my legs and waist.

  “Hand me the chest.” I reach for it even as Gravy’s hold starts to slip. The men squeeze onto my legs as I dangle off the edge, trying to hang on to Gravy, trying harder to save the treasure.

  He stares up at me, mortal terror writ large on his face. “Captain?” The slight hint of betrayal I hear in his voice doesn’t change my goal in the slightest.

  The gold will keep my men and me on the water and full up on food, rum, and women for quite some time. I can find another deckhand as good as Gravy—likely better—on our next visit to port.

  I reach farther, my men grunting with the strain. The treasure is almost within my reach. “Give it to me!” I graze the edge of the chest. I almost have it when the Kraken pulls in earnest.

  Gravy is dragged beneath the waves, the chest with him. The men haul me back onto the deck. I get to my knees and see Gravy whipped up into the air. He still has the chest, but it flies open, coins glittering in the sun.

  “Fuck!” I slam my hand onto the rail as my treasure is scattered, thrown to the abyss or swallowed by the beast.

  Gravy’s scream pierces the air and then is quickly snuffed out when he lands in the Kraken’s fetid mouth. The enormous eye scours my ship once more, and I brace for the worst. Nothing on earth or in the heavens above can stop the Kraken. I stare into its eye, all the way to its black twisted heart. My men quake in terror, but I square my shoulders. I fear nothing, the hellish Kraken included. Looking death in the eye, I kick my chin up, daring it to challenge me back. The eye blinks, the lid moving quickly, and the pupil beneath narrowing before expanding to full black again.

  Instead of attacking, the tentacles ease out of sight. The creature, apparently sated from my three men and the destroyed ship, sinks below the surface.

  The water settles, the sun shines, and no one but my crew and I know of the terror that lurks beneath the waves.

  CHAPTER THREE

  I SET COURSE FOR Port Royal. The men seem almost jubilant, relief clear in their easy movements, their lack of intensity. Meeting Death and walking away can do that to a man.

  I can’t allow such lax attitudes on my ship. I stare them down, hell in my eyes and fire on my tongue. Maybe I’m angry at losing the chest, but I don’t care. These deck hands are the worst—murderers, rapists, and deserters. They live the pirate life because they have no other choice. And I intend to work them as I see fit.

  I turn the helm and set it so the rudder sends us toward home. “Scab! Get over here.”

  He runs up the steps to the quarter deck, his good eye giving a wary glint. Scab is the best of the worst, the one sailor on my crew who I trust with th
e helm when I’m occupied.

  “Keep course heading south.” I whip off my hat and my navy kerchief and wipe my face. Salt and sweat come away on the fabric as my hair rustles in the breeze.

  “Aye.” Scab nods and takes the helm.

  I survey the sea dogs who all but wear my collars. Hard workers—and loyal—but only because they fear me. I intend to keep it that way. The Kraken is just one of the many beasts that lurk beneath the deeper waters of the Caribbean. There is no time to let up, to get lax, to do anything but exactly what I tell them to do.

  “Listen up, you lot of salty cunts!” My gravelly voice stops them in their tracks, and I eye each one of them in turn. “If I so much as think one of you is going soft, you’ll meet the same fate as Gravy. You hear me, you lily-livered squabs?”

  “Aye aye, Captain!” They yell and ready the mainsail to catch the full brunt of the wind.

  We’ll sail all night to get back to port. There, we’ll load up with rum and other forbidden goods to take to the British colonies scattered throughout these waters. But first, we’ll get our fill of drink and whores.

  I intend to get a head start on the women. Smoothing a hand through my hair, I hustle down the stairs to the main deck. The door to my quarters is shut tight, and inside lies the only treasure I managed to save from the wreck. I smile when I think of how soft her skin will be under my rough hands, how tight her pussy will be around my cock.

  Opening the door slowly, I spy her sitting on the bed. Her back is to me, and she holds something up to the light through the cabin windows. A sweet scent wafts across my nose—her scent—and my cock strains against my trousers. If she tastes half as good as she smells, I’m in for a treat. Her damp hair cascades down her back in a white waterfall, and I already know how perfect it will look with my hands in it as her head bobs up and down on my shaft.