A Pirate's Agony (Legends of the Soaring Phoenix Book 3) Read Free Page B

with his worst nightmare.
    “Look at him, you fools.” A tall blond man glared at the others. He pulled on his lace cuffs. “He’s obviously not a runaway slave. Must have been washed off a ship.”
    The man’s clothes were a cut above the others—silk and lace. With his arrogant disdain, he reminded Amadi of his former master, Jacque D’Aubigne. At least that blackguard was dead.
    The others looked between the man and Amadi as if studying Amadi for the first time.
    The arrogant man leaned on his horse and stared at Amadi. “But I’ll warrant he’ll bring a fine price for his strength alone.” 
    His steely green eyes stripped Amadi of his humanity. “Never,” Amadi said. Damn, his voice came out a bare whisper.
    “I don’t think so,” the man said. “You can barely stand. Soon, you’ll be at my slave auction and sold to the highest bidder.”
    He was baiting him. But Amadi was a seasoned warrior and waited. He gripped his sword and whip, prepared to fight to the death.
    “Seize him,” the man said. 
    The other men hesitated and gripped their horses’ reins. Fear and doubt flickered in their eyes.
    Amadi flashed them a smile. He was an expert swordsman, and even the Capt’n admired his skill with his whip. A trophy he’d taken from his days of horror.
    If he rushed one of the men, he might find enough strength to knock him off a horse and ride into the jungle. ’Twas a longshot. But ’twas the only chance he had.
    He stepped toward the nearest tormentor, a short, fat, man. Hard labor was obviously foreign to the slop. 
    The throbbing pain in the back of Amadi’s head and shoulder intensified. His vision blurred. He shook his head.
    “Hurry, you idiots,” the blond man said. “He’s growing weaker. What are you waiting for?”
    The skinny man puffed out his bony chest and took a step closer.
    Amadi lashed his whip and slashed the man’s cheek, drawing blood.
    The man screamed, holding his cheek, and fell to his knees.
    “You’ll pay for that,” the leader said. The promise of agony flared in his eyes.
    Amadi’s heart beat in terror. He remembered the punishments, the stench, the hopelessness.
    Two of the men rushed him. But Amadi was ready. He flicked the whip, forcing the man to drop his sword, and with one powerful thrust, he knocked the other’s blade into the sword. He shoved the man away and reached for the horse. 
    But victory was robbed.
    Another rope looped around his neck, yanking him off the rump of the horse. He sliced the rope, but a click of a pistol next to his ear froze his attempts.
    “Make a move and you’re dead.”
    Amadi hadn’t even heard the leader dismount. He had no doubt the man would kill him. Before he could decide whether death would be welcome, someone smacked him in the back of his head. Pain burst through him. He spun around and collapsed. Darkness blocked out the nightmare.
     

Chapter Three
     
    Amadi woke with a start and shiver. Cold water dripped down him. “What da hell?”
    His head throbbed dully. He lay on a dirt floor in a darkened room. Sunlight peered down through a small, round, barred window at the very top, barely enough for him to see. The stench of dried blood and human excretion churned his stomach. He moved, only to discover his hands were chained and manacles locked around his ankles. His weapons were gone. Christ, he knew where he was.
    Someone kicked him in the foot.
    “Get up,” a man said. “They’re ready for ye.”
    He recognized the voice—the skinny man on horseback. Amadi could easily break the bastard in two, but he was powerless. Until the full moon. But that was at least two days away. Being a slave, anything could happen in two days.
    He squinted; Amadi shook his head as he sat.
    “I said to get up,” the man said.
    “I’ll get up when I’m—”
    The man slammed a fist into Amadi’s mouth. Pain exploded. Blood seeped down his throat.
    The bastard grabbed Amadi’s braids and yanked. “I told ye to get up,