CHAPTER 40: [40] HOW TO START A WAR BEFORE BREAKFAST

The acrid smell of burning hit Pierre’s nostrils before he’d even opened his eyes. Smoke. Something was definitely on fire.

He rolled out of the silk-sheeted bed, bare feet hitting the polished wood floor of the Captain’s cabin. The smell intensified—a vile cocktail of charred oats and burnt rubber that scraped the back of his throat.

Great. Our first morning on the ship and we’re already sinking.

Pierre pulled on his shirt and stepped into the common area. The galley was shrouded in a gray haze, and at its center stood Alyssa Hardy, welding a wooden spoon so tight it was more scepter than utensil while glaring at a cast-iron pan that was belching thick, greasy ropes of black smoke.

Her platinum hair, usually immaculate, was hastily twisted into a bun that was already losing the fight, shedding loose strands over a face smudged with soot.

She looked like she’d been wrestling with the stove and losing badly.

"What in the name of—" Pierre started.

"Don’t." Alyssa’s voice was sharp, defensive. She didn’t look up from whatever disaster was unfolding in the pan. "I’m handling this."

"Handling what, exactly? Setting the ship on fire?"

"I’m making breakfast." She jabbed the wooden spoon at the smoking mass in the pan. "It’s... it’s supposed to be oatmeal."

Pierre peered over her shoulder. In the pan, what might have once been oats had become a bubbling, tar-like substance. It hissed. A small pop sent a black fleck spattering against the stove. He was pretty sure it was evolving.

"Alyssa. That’s not oatmeal. That’s a war crime."

"Oh, this is precious."

Raven emerged from the narrow corridor that led to the ship’s head, her hair damp and her skin flushed from washing. She wore the same clothes as yesterday—the low-rise jeans and that ridiculous excuse for a top—but somehow managed to look like she’d stepped out of a magazine while Alyssa looked like she’d been attacked by the kitchen.

"Princess here decided to play house, did she?" Raven leaned against the galley counter, arms folded beneath her chest, that familiar smirk playing at the corners of her mouth. "How domestic of you."

Alyssa’s knuckles went white around the wooden spoon. "I was trying to contribute to the crew."

"By poisoning us?"

"I followed the recipe exactly!"

"What recipe?" Raven moved closer, peering into the pan with exaggerated curiosity. "The one for making charcoal? Because if so, congratulations. You’ve achieved perfection."

"It’s not that bad—"

"Alyssa." Raven’s voice dropped to a mockingly sweet tone. "Darling. That thing in the pan is moving on its own. I’m pretty sure it’s achieved sentience."

Pierre looked down at the pan. The bubbling mass did seem to be shifting in ways that defied the laws of physics. Or at least the laws of cooking.

"You know what?" Alyssa slammed the wooden spoon down on the counter hard enough to make the brass fixtures rattle. "I don’t need this from some half-dressed thief who probably doesn’t even know which end of a spoon to hold."

"Half-dressed?" Raven’s eyebrows climbed toward her hairline. "Says the woman who spends her afternoon running through a Naval base in her underwear."

"That was different. That was—"

"Humiliating? Yes, I imagine it was."

"You don’t know anything about it."

"I know enough." Raven picked up a piece of what might have been bread from the counter, examining it like it was a scientific specimen. "I know your daddy made you do his little walk of shame because you couldn’t handle one, what did you call me again? Oh yeah. ’A little dockside whore.’"

Alyssa went rigid, her pale green eyes narrowing to slits. "What did you just say?"

"You heard me."

Oh, hell.

Alyssa’s shoulders, which had been slumped in defeat, suddenly squared. Her spine went ramrod straight. Her chin lifted, and the petulant frustration in her eyes hardened into something sharp and dangerous. She took a step toward Raven, her hands clenching into fists.

"You want to repeat that?"

"Which part?" Raven didn’t back down. "The part about your daddy issues, or the part about you being completely useless in any situation that requires actual competence?"

That did it.

Alyssa lunged.

Pierre caught her around the waist and was surprised by the wiry strength in her thrashing. He didn’t budge. Her thrashing was wiry and strong, but it was like a gale wind beating against a sea wall. He simply absorbed the impacts, holding her fast.

"Let me go!" Alyssa thrashed in his grip, her elbow catching him in the ribs. "Let me at her!"

"Raven, back off." Pierre kept his voice level, though Alyssa’s struggles were making it hard to maintain his grip. "And Alyssa, stop trying to commit murder before breakfast."

"She started it!"

"I finished it," Raven said cheerfully. "Princess here just can’t handle the truth about her precious daddy."

Alyssa went nuclear.

She twisted in Pierre’s grip with a fury that caught him off guard, her nails raking across his forearm as she broke free. Before he could react, she was moving toward Raven again, this time with the wooden spoon raised like a club.

Pierre stepped between them, catching Alyssa’s wrist as she swung. The spoon stopped inches from Raven’s face.

"Enough." The word was not a request. "Both of you. Stand down. Now."

For a moment, the only sound was Alyssa’s ragged breathing and the continued bubbling of whatever was dying in the pan behind them. Raven’s grin had faded, replaced by something more calculating. Alyssa stood frozen, the wooden spoon still trapped in Pierre’s grip, her chest rising and falling like she’d just run a marathon.

I should have just chose the fucking bounty hunter path.

"Good." Pierre released Alyssa’s wrist and stepped back. "Now, let’s try something revolutionary. Let’s act like adults."

He moved to the stove and turned off the burner under the smoking pan. The bubbling slowly subsided, leaving behind what looked like the remains of a small volcanic eruption.

"Captain’s meeting. Right now. Both of you, sit."

"You can’t just—" Alyssa started.

Pierre pulled out one of the curved benches from the table. "Sit. Down."

Alyssa’s mouth opened, then closed. She moved to the bench and sat, her spine straight as a mast, hands folded in her lap like a proper lady. The effect was somewhat undermined by the soot smudges on her blouse and the murder still simmering in her pale green eyes.

Raven took the opposite bench, sprawling across it.

"Right." He looked between them. "Let’s establish some ground rules. First, no one tries to kill anyone else before noon. I need at least that much coffee in me before I start dealing with homicide."

Raven snorted. Alyssa’s expression didn’t change.

"Second, we’re all on this boat together for now. That means we need to figure out how to work together, or we’re going to end up as fish food."

"I can work with anyone," Alyssa said stiffly. "As long as they show proper respect."

"Respect is earned, Princess," Raven shot back. "Not inherited."

"Third rule," Pierre continued before Alyssa could respond, "we need to establish what we’re actually doing here. Raven. Orellia Village. What’s the plan?"

"Business opportunity, remember?" Raven reached into her pocket and pulled out a rolled piece of paper, setting it on the table between them. "The whole reason we went to that town."

"How much?" Alyssa leaned forward slightly, her curiosity overriding her anger.

"Six million Cori."