Hart's Passion (Pirates & Petticoats Book 2) by Chloe Flowers Page A

order; time to check out the upper level.  
    He spun around, but his forward progress was halted by the cold gray barrel of a pistol pointed at his chest. The twisted face of a scarred, balding man, with a toothless grin met his gaze.  
    Dammit. He’d fired his last shot to save Conal. This one was too close to fight off with his sword. Perhaps, if he was quick, he could strike out at the gun, and hope to dislodge it before the bullet discharged into his chest. It was a stupid plan, but it was the only one he could come up with at the moment.
    A whisper of sound, slight as a fawn’s breath, skimmed past Landon’s ear. The man’s snarl was replaced by an odd bewildered look, the hilt of Conal’s dirk protruding from his chest. Now that was a much better plan. Landon stepped aside as the cutthroat tumbled forward down the steps. Exhaling with relief, Landon tossed his friend a grateful nod then bounded up the remaining steps, two at a time.  

    “There’s a commotion of some sort goin’ on below,” Orvis Pike slurred.
    “Probably another fight over cards,” Crowe said. “Kinda figured we’d have trouble after we opened another keg of wine.” He gave Keelan a swift lash with his belt.
    She screamed again, as the buckle bit into her shoulder. Pain seared across her back and sank its talons into the deeper depths of her consciousness. She barely felt the fine trickle of blood running down over her ribs, backside, and inside of her leg. The steely bite of the iron cuffs temporarily drew her attention from the sting of her back as she twisted her wrists within the bindings.  
    Focus. Concentrate on getting out of the manacles. Leave no room to acknowledge pain. Get at least one hand free. With the rest of the crew downstairs drunk, she might have a chance to escape if only she could get her wrists free.  

    Crowe drew the belt back, ready to deliver another blow. This little diversion made his gut clench with lust, the sting in his thigh almost forgotten. Half a dozen welts crossed the haughty bitch’s back and shoulders. Four of them, he noted smugly, had slashed her flesh. He swung the strap again, but to his surprise the buckle cracked harmlessly against the wall. Where her bloody back had been, a manacle dangled empty against the planks.  
    After managing to slip one hand from its iron cuff, she still worked furiously to get the second chain off the spike. The links fell to the floor with a metallic “clink.” Her left hand remained shackled to the wall, but now she could attempt to dodge the lashes with better success.
    The wench faced him with a glare containing such hatred and contempt, he was taken aback. He’d expected pain and fear. Submission. Instead, the small victory of freeing one of her hands had bolstered her courage; she appeared even more defiant.
    He shook his head at her, chastising. “You still haven’t learned the lesson yet, darlin’.”
    He drew back for another blow, but the forward momentum of his arm was abruptly halted. When he glanced over his shoulder to determine what had impeded the progress, he screamed. Standing behind him was a man dark and sinuous as a panther.  
    And death glinted in his eyes.  

    Landon let out a feral snarl and pulled the leather belt with his left hand, while bringing his right fist around to make contact squarely with Crowe’s jaw.
    The woman’s tormentor crashed to the floor, motionless.
    Landon stepped over the prone form and looked at the woman crouched in the shadows against the wall. His heart jerked in shock when his gaze fell on her face.
    “Keelan!”
    What was she doing here? He wanted to go to her and gather her up into his arms, but a voice of caution made him pause. Her stare was wide and wild, like a caged animal with a fevered gaze. Her breath seemed to come and go in short hollow gasps, as if it was afraid to stay in her lungs.  
    She was in shock.
    As badly as he wanted to hold her, he forced himself to stay still. He was still