Hooked On You Read online

  HOOKED ON YOU

  By Wren Mingua

  Special thanks to Clive

  for providing me with some pirate inspiration.

  Chapter One

  Captain Algar the Scar was hardly a sexy pirate. In fact, in the real world, there was probably no such thing. He was hirsute and smelly, and he looked like he had emerged from the murky depths of a putrid bog. A filthy curtain of hair rippled down his back, and the strands were matted together by clumps of dirt and grease. He reeked of onions and rotted corpses, and the pungent smell of sour body odor wafted from his nether regions. A curly black beard engulfed half of his grungy face, and the unwashed hairs of his beard looked slightly pubic.

  His ratty visage was enough to deter any romantic prospects, which is why he was, at present, in the company of a whore. She was a voluptuous redhead with heaps of breast meat practically popping from her bodice. When he saw her for the first time, Algar erupted with a guttural grumble of approval, and he knew he had to have her. A few silver coins were exchanged, and the redhead followed him up to the brothel's velvet room, which was reserved for the most esteemed patrons.

  The redhead straddled him, crushing him under the weight of her ample body. Though he liked his women large, he wasn't exactly a large man himself. He tried plucking at the strings of her bodice, but to no avail. She was practically sitting on his lungs, and he couldn't reach her, let alone breathe.

  “Whatchu waitin' for, Cap'n?” the redhead chimed. “Are you gonna remove my clothes or wot?”

  “I'm... working on it.” Algar pushed her a bit further down his body and tried to sit up, which gave him a bit more leverage. Alas, his second attempt at removing the bodice was also unsuccessful. She was tied up so tight, he was convinced that only a master of knots would have any chance of disrobing her.

  “Damn and blast!” he cursed.

  “Aww.” The redhead reached down and gave his filthy hair a ruffle. “Are you havin' a bit of a struggle?”

  “You could say that.” He squinted his eyes and plucked at the knots as carefully as he could, which yielded no results. “Arrrr.... to hell with it!” Algar pushed her off of his body and rolled her on her back. Before she landed on the bed, he swatted her on her tremendous arse, which made the redhead erupt in a fit of giggles.

  “So, why are ye strugglin' with my clothes so much?” the redhead asked. “You look like a man who'd know his way around a bedroom.”

  “I guess... it's been awhile since I've been with a woman,” he admitted with a frown.

  “You've heard of bodice ripping, haven't ye? You could just rip it off. I wouldn't mind.”

  “And tear your lovely garment? I wouldn't dream of it!” Algar slipped his hand under her petticoat and made his way to her knickers. When he reached the rim of her frilly undergarments, he flashed a yellow grin.

  Before he could peel them off, the redhead asked, “Hey... do you smell sumfin?”

  “What?” If she was catching a whiff of his body odor, he would hardly be surprised. His stench surrounded him like a ferociously fetid fog.

  “I dunno.” She shrugged her meaty shoulders. “Smells like smoke or sumfin.”

  Algar sat up and took a deep breath. “I don't smell anything.”

  “I do,” the redhead insisted. “And it's definitely smoke.”

  “Damn!” Algar hissed. He jumped out of the bed and started pulling on his breeches, which he had removed upon entering the room. When he peered out the window, he was hardly surprised by what he saw.

  The building was on fire.

  “Damn, damn, damn...” Algar's curses continued. “I told them not to!”

  The redhead sat up in bed. “Wot? Wot izzit?”

  “It seems the whorehouse is on fire, Love,” Algar announced, as calmly as he possibly could. “I think my men must have set the place ablaze.”

  “WOT?!” The redhead flew out of bed and slipped her feet into a pair of dingy slippers. “Then we sure as hell need to get out of here!”

  “Agreed.” Algar slipped his arms through the sleeves of his patchwork coat and followed the redhead out of the brothel. As soon as he was outside, he saw members of his crew rushing back and forth. As they were currently in the process of pillaging the town, they were carrying all manner of treasures and knick-knacks.

  “Can I keep the silvers?” the redhead asked. She extended her palm, where she held three tarnished silver coins.

  “They're all yours, Love,” Algar said. He turned around to observe the brothel; half of the building was already engulfed in a pillar of flame. As soon as the redhead dashed away, Algar screamed, “WALLACE!”

  A toothless, bald, dopey-looking pirate approached. He had a finger lodged in his nose, and his other hand was clutching a bag of gold. “What, Cap'n?”

  “Wallace, I expressly told you not to burn the brothel!” Algar exclaimed. “And what did you do?”

  “I dunno.” Wallace shrugged his massive shoulders. “I burned the brothel, I s'pose.”

  “Yes. You burned the brothel,” Algar said with a roll of his eyes. “Now, where are these lovely ladies supposed to work?”

  “I dunno.” Wallace shrugged again. “Anodder brothel, I would reckon.”

  “Wallace, put out this fire!” the captain demanded. “Right now. On the double!”

  “Aye aye, Cap'n!” Wallace tried to salute him, but he ended up clobbering himself in the head. “Ow!”

  When Wallace was gone, Algar spotted another crewmate across the way. He had a woman, a screaming blonde, tucked under his arm. When Algar saw what was happening, he stormed over to the misbehaving pirate and slapped the back of his head.

  “Willie!” Algar shouted. “Boatswain Willie Chafe, what on earth are you doing?!”

  Willie looked down at the woman in his arm, who was kicking and screaming and pummeling. He had marks on his arm where the woman had tried to bite him. Algar was silently impressed by her pluckiness. “I found dis woman,” Willie finally announced.

  “And what do you intend to do with that woman, you numbskull?”

  “I, uhh...” Willie looked sheepish, like a little boy who got caught with his hand in a cookie jar. “Keep 'er, I guess.”

  “You wanted to keep her?!” Algar clicked his tongue in disapproval. “What have I told you about that, Willie?”

  “I dunno.”

  “We don't hurt women,” Algar insisted. “We don't rape them, we don't kidnap them, we don't harm a hair on their pretty little heads.” Algar pointed at the woman, who was trying to sink her teeth into Willie's arm once again. “And that means, of course, we don't keep women against their will!”

  “We don't?!”

  “No. We don't.”

  Willie dropped the girl, who fled the scene as quickly as she could. As Willie headed off in search of permissible loot, Captain Algar rolled his eyes.

  His crew was hopeless.

  Utterly hopeless.

  Chapter Two

  As the pirate ship left the dock, a peal of thunder split the sky. The tremendous rumble made the entire ship tremble, and water hammered the deck. The rain was a fortuitous thing for the town they had just plundered, as it would surely put out the fire in no time.

  “Wallace!” Algar shouted.

  A few seconds later, Wallace appeared at his captain's side. His bald pate glistened in the rain. “Aye, Cap'n. Wot izzit?”

  “We need to set sail for our next destination. Do you have the map?”

  His addlepated crewmate's reply was temporarily postponed by another roar of thunder. “I think so.”

  “Well... where is it?”

  Wallace fingered all of his pockets, but to no avail. He even peered into his shirt, which was as filthy as its wearer's face. “No. Don't think I have i
t af'r all.”

  “I know you have it, Wallace,” Algar insisted. “Think! Where would you put it?”

  “Umm...” Wallace looked down the length of his body, and suddenly it dawned on him. There was a bulge in his pants that didn't belong to him. “Oh. Right. I think I put it in me trousers.”

  “Ohhhh Wallace!” Algar dragged a hand across his smudge-covered face. “You didn't!”

  “I think I did.” Wallace slipped a hand down the front of his breeches and pulled out a slightly smelly slip of cloth. “There's the map, Cap'n. 'Twas the safest place I could think of, really.”

  With some reluctance, Algar took the treasure map from his crewmate. He pinched it between his thumb and forefinger, then he returned it to Wallace. “Take it to the first mate and tell him to plot a course. If you have any sense at all, don't tell him where you've been storing it.”

  “Awight, Cap'n.”

  As Wallace waddled off, Algar went to look for Gush, a gorilla-like pirate with mountainous biceps. He located Gush on the bow of the ship, where he was using the rain to rinse the blood from his sword. Nearby, several other pirates were transporting loot to the hull.

  “Gush,” Algar addressed him. “I need your help with a... delicate matter.”

  Gush looked up at the captain and cracked his knuckles. Delicate was pirate code for cracking skulls, which was something Gush was quite good at. “Aye. Lead the way, Captain.”

  As soon as Gush sheathed his sword, he followed the captain to the deepest level of the ship, where they stowed their prisoners. It was a dark, dingy room that reeked of mold and blood and iron and vomit. At the far end of the room, two men were bound and gagged. One of them, a broad man with a handlebar mustache, was trying to squirm his way out of his confines.

  Algar strutted over to the mustached man and loosened the rope from his mouth. “John,” he addressed the prisoner as calmly as he could. “You've been down here for two days now. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

  “Yeah.” John spat at the captain's feet. “Piss off.”

  “Are you telling me you don't regret your actions?” Algar asked. “You don't regret that you tried to kill me?”

  “Not really.” John made another attempt to writhe out of the ropes, but it was no use. “He who kills the captain claims the ship. If you don't want another knife in your back, you might wanna rethink that policy.”

  Algar gave his shoulder a light rub. The knife wound was two days old, but it still plagued him with pangs of pain. “But the men are loyal to me, John,” Algar said. “They would never try to kill me... except for you, of course.”

  “Yeah.” John spat again. “And I'd do it all over again if I could!” A fly was crawling around in John's bushy mustache, tangled up in the sticky hairs.

  “You know the punishment for traitors?” Algar exchanged glances with Gush, who was rubbing his palms together in anticipation.

  “I do,” John said. “It's death.”

  “Yes. Exactly.” Algar clapped a hand on John's bulky shoulder. “You were a good man, John, and I hate to see you dead. Really I do. It pains my heart to have to kill you.”

  “Yeah right.” John snorted, which almost sucked the fly into his nose. “You jes do what you have to do.”

  Algar turned to the beast standing next to him. “Gush?”

  “Yes, Captain?”

  “Take this man up to the deck and... make an example of him.”

  “What would you have me do to him, Captain?” Gush asked, hoping for a little guidance.

  “Let's see...” The captain slid another glance in the traitor's direction. When he saw John sneering at him, it helped him make his decision. “I would say... disembowelment might be fitting.”

  “Aye,” Gush agreed. He grabbed John by the soiled collar of his shirt and hoisted him to his feet. “Anything else, Captain? Would you like me to flog him first? Knock out his teeth? Cut off his--”

  “No,” the captain cut in. “Disembowelment is fair enough.”

  “No... wait... Captain... please!” John's confidence dissolved as Gush started dragging him off. “Please! Come to think of it... I'm sorry, actually! Don't do this! I'll lick your boots! I'll shine your--”

  John's voice faded as Gush hauled him away. When they were gone, Algar turned his attention to the other man in the room, a wiry man with thinning hair, a missing front tooth, and a ratty red beard.

  “Well, well, well...” Algar had his hands on his hips as he strutted toward the other prisoner. “If it isn't my sworn enemy, Captain Randal Bartholomew Carbuncle-Smythe. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.”

  “You can gloat all you want,” the prisoner said. “I'll still have the last laugh.”

  “And what's that supposed to mean, Captain Randal?” Algar knelt beside his enemy and looked him square in the eye. “We captured your ship. Your crew is dead. Care to explain to me how you could possibly have the last laugh?”

  “Oh, I will have the last laugh,” Randal assured him. “I can promise you that.”

  “Don't make ridiculous claims. It only makes you look pitiful.”

  “Oh, I'm not pitiful. Not in the least. Haven't you heard the rumors?” Randal went on. “Of entire ships disappearing? My enemies vanishing into thin air? There are forces in this world you know nothing about, and I know how to manipulate them.”

  “Ooo,” Algar gave a mock shudder. “Spooky. Are you trying to scare me? Because it's not going to work.”

  “Release me,” Randal entreated him. “Release me, and I'll spare you.”

  Algar threw back his head and erupted with an immense guffaw. “Are you serious? You'll spare me? I hate to inform you, but that's not how it's going to work. You're my captive. You're at my mercy.”

  “You don't know what I can do,” the captive captain threatened.

  “Oh... so what are you? A magician now? A bloody magician?!” For several seconds, Algar was possessed by laughter. “You are a genuine laugh riot, Captain Randal. You should really endeavor to leave this world with your dignity intact.”

  “If I'm leaving this world, you'll be leavin' it too,” Randal promised him. “And you won't see it coming.”

  A few seconds later, Gush returned, looking slightly more blood-spattered than before. He had a bit of entrail clinging to his boot, a telltale sign of the task he just performed. “Oi, Captain. I've returned,” he announced.

  “I can see that, Gush. And I'm glad, because I'll need your help with Captain Randal. But first...” Algar laid a hand on his hip and glowered at his enemy. “Do you have any last requests before I kill you?”

  “No,” Randal barked. “Not really.”

  “Are you certain of that?”

  “Well...” For a moment, Captain Randal had a far-off look in his eye. “I sure would like a chicken leg.”

  “A chicken leg,” Algar repeated emptily.

  “Aye. A chicken leg. Or a shag, if you think it might be possible.”

  “A chicken leg it is, then,” Algar announced, and left in search of his enemy's last meal.

  * * *

  Captain Randal devoured the chicken leg. He snarfed the meat, suckled the bone. Seeing as it was his last meal, he knew he should have taken the time to savor it, but it was just too tasty.

  They were standing on the deck, all three of them: Randal, Gush and Algar. As they waited for him to finish the chicken leg, Algar asked, “Is it to your liking?”

  “Aye. It is.” Randal picked the bone clean, not unlike a starving dog. Then he tossed the bone to the deck and wiped his face with the tatty sleeve of his coat.

  “Are you ready?” Algar asked.

  “I should be askin' you the same thing!” Randal said with a chuckle.

  Algar gave Gush a nod, and his Herculean crewmate started tying up their enemy yet again. He tied a giant rock to Randal's feet, which would ensure he would sink to the bottom of the ocean.

  “I cannae walk the plank if my feets is tied together!” Randal complain
ed.

  “Yer not walking the plank,” Algar corrected him. “We're just going to toss you overboard. Now, I'll say it again... are you ready?”

  “Oh, I'm ready alright. Are you ready?” Randal repeated.

  “Ready for what?”

  “Your curse.” Randal tried to square his shoulders, which was nearly impossible when he was all tied up. “I curse you... I cast you into the void! I curse you, Captain Algar, with a lifetime of misery and pain. I curse you... damn you... into the oblivion!”

  Algar chuckled at the enemy captain's lunatic tirade. “Are you done?”

  “Oh, I'm done alright!” Randal exclaimed. “And I'll see you on the other side... in Hell!”

  “Well, that was predictable,” Algar said with a roll of his eyes. “Gush... any time you are ready, go right ahead.”

  Gush hoisted Randal to his shoulder and started carrying him to the side of the ship. When he tossed him into the water, there was a scream and a tremendous splash. Algar rushed to the side of the ship and watched the captain sink.

  “He killed my mother, you know,” Algar whispered. “It was a long time ago, but I never forgot it. Ahh... there's nothing quite like the sweet taste of justice, is there? …Is there?” When he got no reply, he looked around for Gush, but he was already gone.

  The captain was alone.

  Little did he know, the curse had already taken effect.

  Chapter Three

  Lily and Miranda were as close as two sisters could possibly be, and yet they couldn't be more different.

  Twenty-three-year-old Lily could appropriately be described as a bombshell. She had shoulder-length blonde hair, and her bangs had been dyed a baby pink color. She was a barista at a local coffee shop, where she got hit on an average of three times a day. She was also a well-subscribed “makeup guru” on youtube, which meant she knew everything there was to know about Urban Decay and Mac and Inglots—and basically every cosmetics company known to man. She had a boyfriend, but there was nothing in the world she could possibly love more than Sephora. And the Twilight series.