Vincent watched Allison as she walked around the room, tilting his head as he observed. She seemed to enjoy pushing his buttons, or at least trying to. He laughed softly when she asked if he could keep to himself. “Oh, I never said anything about keeping my hands to myself. I just said nobody would hurt you. But, I’m glad you’re learning some respect.”

He stood from the couch and walked over to her, taking her glass. He refilled it for her, using the same scotch she had taken for her first drink, and handed it back. He let his hand linger a moment, brushing against hers, holding it a moment as he passed the glass. If she was going to push his buttons, he’d push right back. “For fun…” he mused. “Well, the men… they have their own entertainment. Gambling, fighting, drinking.” He replaced the bottle at his bar, running a finger across the entire line of bottles, following their contours. “I’m more fond of a good book.” He had a finer taste than his men, and it showed. He did not have to give up luxury to lead a crew, and that was always his philosophy. It explained all the bookshelves in his room, all of the decoration, the state of his ship.

He stared down at her as she stared up at him, locking eyes. “Now, you’re trying my patience by being so handsy,” he took a step back and moved his hands, imitating her. “I can tell you’re going to be difficult. That’s fine. If you’re going to keep being difficult, I can lead you to your cell right now.”