Chapter 3
Hidden. Thank God he was hidden. Rhys leaned back against the horsebox, pressed his feet down onto the deck and tried to stop his knees from shaking. It didn’t work. He drew a ragged breath, pressed harder, his fingers clutching the coarse fur of the black b***h curled up beside him. Hours, he’d been squeezed into this rectangle of space between ship’s boats and horsebox. Ever since his panicked early morning flight from steerage. Hours, with his fists clenched and his feet jammed against the deck-boards, waiting for the clamp on his airways to ease.
He’d heard his messmates line up for breakfast rations, the click of the capstan on the fo’c’s’le, a drag of anchor lines against the side of the ship, feeling a jerk as the tugs took up the slack in the tow ropes, their vessel tur
