Chapter 2: The Devil's Bargain
The hatch above the bilge groaned open, and a shaft of weak lantern light spilled down the rusted ladder. Hugo's boots rang on the metal rungs, each step a deliberate, unhurried rhythm that echoed through the cramped space. He descended with a canteen in one hand and a rolled parchment in the other, his shirtless torso gleaming with a thin sheen of sweat from the deck above.
Stacy perked up, her hair still draped over her bare chest. "Room service. And here I thought you'd forgotten about us."
"Couldn't forget a face like yours," Hugo said, his voice a low rumble. He crouched in front of her, unscrewed the canteen, and held it to her lips. The water was lukewarm and tasted faintly of metal, but she drank greedily, water trickling down her chin and between her breasts.
Tomas strained against his cuffs. "What about me?"
Hugo glanced at him, then back at Stacy, a slow grin spreading beneath his dark beard. "Patience. I got something better than water for you both." He unrolled the parchment and spread it across the grimy floor, weighing down the corners with a loose bolt and his boot. The map was worn, creased from years of folding, its edges frayed. Ink faded in places, but the markings were clear: a stretch of ocean, a dotted line, and an X scrawled in thick charcoal near a cluster of unnamed rocks.
Stacy leaned forward as far as her bindings allowed, squinting at the map. A slow whistle escaped her lips. "Is that what I think it is?"
"Depends. You know your wrecks?" Hugo asked, tapping the X with his thumb.
"That's the Madre de Dios," she said, her voice dropping to something approaching reverence. "Spanish galleon. Went down in 1621 with a cargo of gold bullion and emeralds. Everyone who's tried to find her came back empty-handed."
"Or didn't come back at all," Tomas muttered.
"See, that's why I like your girl here," Hugo said, jerking a thumb at Stacy. "She knows her shit. Captain's been chasing this wreck for three months. We got the charts, we got the crew, and now we got the two people stupid enough to have found her before we did."
Stacy blinked. "Wait. We didn't find her."
"You got close enough that we picked you up circling the same coordinates we've been watching for weeks." Hugo rolled the map back up, tucking it into his waistband. "So here's the thing. Captain wants this wreck bad. And I told him, we don't need to kill you. We need you to work for us. Dive, navigate, haul. Whatever it takes to get that gold off the bottom."
"Work for you?" Tomas laughed, a dry, bitter sound. "You raped her. You think we're going to help you after that?"
Hugo shrugged, utterly unbothered. "I think plenty of people have done worse for worse reasons. But that's not the offer I came to make." His eyes fixed on Stacy, hungry and patient. "Here's the real deal, sweetheart. You give me one night. The whole crew gets a turn. Uninterrupted, no stopping, no fucking complaints. And when the sun comes up, you and your boy there get a rowboat, your clothes, and a clean shot at shore. No hard feelings, no bounty on your heads."
The bilge fell silent save for the creaking of the hull.
Stacy stared at him, her expression unreadable. Then she laughed, a sharp, incredulous sound that bounced off the rusted walls. "One night. The whole crew. You want me to be the ship's cocksleeve for a few hours and then what, you just let us go? Forgive me if I don't rush to sign up for that deal, Hugo."
"I'm not asking you to trust me," he said. "I'm asking you to be smart. Your other option is we chain you to the mast and let the sun work on you until you change your mind. And your friend there watches. Again."
Tomas jerked against his cuffs. "Fuck you."
"See, I'm trying to be generous here," Hugo said, spreading his hands. "This is the friendly version of this conversation. You should hear the captain's idea. He wanted to start with your teeth."
Stacy tilted her head, studying the pirate with a calculating look. "Let me ask you something. This crew. How many of them are we talking about?"
"Fourteen, counting me."
"Fourteen." She let out a low whistle. "That's a lot of cock for one night. You're going to need to pace yourselves."
Hugo's grin widened, dark amusement flickering in his eyes. "I like you. You got a mouth on you."
"I've got a mouth on me for a lot of things," she said sweetly. "But I haven't heard anything that makes me want to use it on your crew."
He stepped closer, close enough that she could smell the salt and sweat on his skin. "How about this, then. You pass the night, and I make sure your friend gets off this boat in one piece. No one touches him, no one roughs him up. He walks away clean."
Tomas's voice cut through the silence, tight with barely contained fury. "Don't you fucking negotiate with him, Stacy."
She didn't look at him. Her eyes stayed locked on Hugo's. "And if I say no?"
"Then we find out how long a woman can last without water under the Caribbean sun." Hugo crouched down to her level, his voice dropping to something almost intimate. "I've seen it before. Three days, maybe four. Your lips crack, your skin peels. And the whole time, your friend watches you die by inches." He reached out and brushed a strand of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. "You're a smart girl. Smart enough to know I'm not bluffing."
Stacy's jaw tightened. She held his gaze for a long moment, and Tomas could see the gears turning behind her eyes. The bravado was still there, but there was something else beneath it now. Calculation. Fear, maybe, carefully buried.
"One condition," she said finally.
Hugo raised an eyebrow. "Name it."
"My jacket. The nine-pocket one you bastards took. It comes with me in the rowboat. And you tell the captain he owes me a bottle of rum for the inconvenience."
Hugo laughed, a full, genuine sound that echoed through the bilge. "Deal." He stood, pulling the map from his waistband and rolling it between his fingers. "I'll tell the captain we got ourselves a volunteer. Rest up, sweetheart. You're going to need it."
He climbed the ladder, boots ringing on the rungs, and the hatch slammed shut behind him, plunging them back into dimness.
The silence stretched. Tomas's breathing was ragged, his knuckles white around the cuffs.
"Stacy."
"Don't," she said softly. "Just... don't."
"You can't be serious about this."
"I'm serious about us getting off this boat alive." She shifted against the pole, her bare back scraping against the cold metal. "Fourteen guys, one night. I've had worse."
Tomas stared at her, his face a mask of frustration and helplessness. "Have you?"
She met his eyes, and for the first time, he saw the crack in her armor. A flicker of genuine fear, quickly smothered.
"No," she admitted. "But I've done dumber things for less." She managed a weak grin. "And hey, at least this time I'm getting a jacket out of it."