“Me asustó,” Alanna whispered.
“Is it over? Are they gone?” Marie was on the verge of hyperventilating, her wide eyes peering over the edge.
“No,” Flynn muttered. “Keep your head down.”
“Where in the blazes did you get those?” Her gaze widened on the automatic weapons.
A shuffling turned them to see another mercenary limping around the corner, a large knife handle sticking out of his thigh. Marie yelped. Alanna froze against the edge of the tender. The gunman grunted, raising his rifle to fire, but Flynn put several rounds into his skull.
“Wh-wha…” Marie began, but then became a mess of babbling incoherence.
Flynn grabbed the gunman’s weapon. He pressed a switch on the wall, and the back lift opened. Water lapped against the yacht’s hull, slivers of light glancing off the surface in the darkening sky.
Alanna stared at the knife handle in the dead man’s thigh. The carving knife.
Alfred.
“Where’s Al?” Marie started sobbing. “We can’t leave them,” she pleaded.
Flynn looked for something on the upper deck, perhaps a way to get to the rest of the crew. Maybe they could all escape on the tender. Unlikely, but they had to try something.
A thick hand closed around Alanna’s throat, and wrenched her off her feet. She clawed at her neck, but the iron grip only tightened.
Flynn spun around. “No!”
A rifle appeared out the side of her blackening vision.
“Drop it,” ordered a hoarse voice.
Flynn’s gaze narrowed, but he set both rifles on the deck. When his desperate, crestfallen gaze fell on her, she wanted to cry. Alanna kicked, desperate to hit something painful, like the monster’s groin. Each squirm sent splinters of pain shooting down her body.
“Lozano thinks you’re interesting,” he continued. “He wants to question both of you. But I don’t want to go through all that extra effort.”
The world bottomed out.
This is it.
But it wasn’t her own life she mourned. It was the loss of the man in front of her. His frame wide, full of integrity, and visibly defeated. The one who had risked everything for her, made her believe in herself again.
The one she wanted to share her soul with.
I’m sorry, Father. I let you down.
The rifle in her side vision knocked sideways. Marie yelled. The man released his grip on Alanna’s neck and she fell to the deck. Coughing and wheezing, she scrambled away on the floor. A massive beast growled at Marie. He punched her in the jaw, knocking her backward into the tender.
In a split second, Flynn charged across the space and barreled into the monstrous beast. Stampeding through him, both tipped off the edge of the boat into the water.
FLYNN’S PURPOSE HAD NEVER BEEN clearer. His whole future stared at him, her rounded eyes steeling his resolve. She was the one that mattered. The future queen.
The ogre sneered; his trigger finger tightened.
This is it. Flynn braced himself for the end.
Marie lunged from the tender. She knocked the gun out of the beast’s hand. Alanna dropped to the floor.
Flynn didn’t think, just let his reflexes do the work. He charged forward, faster than he thought possible, his shoulder ramming the guy square in the gut. The air whooshed from his lungs, the momentum carrying them both over the boat’s edge.
The sea engulfed them, their weight dragging them down. Flynn refused to let go. The man was huge. Strong. Furious. He jerked against Flynn’s arms, the man’s howls muffled. Finally, an arm came loose, and his jagged fingernails clawed Flynn’s face.
Flynn shook him off, and focused on the image in his blurred vision. A glimmer by the man’s combat boot caught his attention, and his heart stopped. Just as the long, serrated knife swung by his neck, Flynn reared back and gripped the man’s arm with both hands. He twisted it—hard—like the skin burns the bullies at school tortured him with as a child.
The man screamed, bubbles erupting from his mouth. The knife slipped from his fingers. He bucked to get to the surface
Flynn took a foot to the stomach. Blinking through the pain, he caught the man’s ankle, and yanked.
Drown the monster.
Flynn swam down, using every ounce of his energy deeper into the ocean. The guy’s movements turned erratic, as he used up his remaining breath.
A few more seconds would do it.
If Flynn didn’t run out of air first.
The outer edges of his vision dimmed. Black specks danced in front of his eyes, and he fought the instinct to kick for the surface.
As if a switch flipped, the man’s body suddenly went limp.
The gunman’s face was pale, almost translucent. His round eyes stared into the emptiness beyond. A tiny bubble trickled out of his mouth and danced toward the light above.
Flynn dared to look up.
Follow the bubble.
The tunnel narrowed. The waters were so dark he couldn’t tell where the yacht was. He grappled for the surface, muscles twitching, panic setting in. As the last pocket of air in his lungs was syphoned, something dropped into the water. The splash revealed the surface. Flynn reached for it, but his fingers only grabbed more bubbles. Salty sea invaded his lungs. The lifeless stare of a bullet-riddled body sank over his head.
The world went black.
Marie hadn’t moved, but there was no time to spare.
God, let her still be alive.
Alanna raced to the equipment cabinet for the scuba equipment, and ripped off a small air container from a BCD vest, with an attached mouthpiece. It was the last line of defense in an underwater emergency. It would get her to Flynn, and both back to the surface.
She turned, and something bit through her shoulder. Splashes shot up around her. She ducked and moved away. Bullets rained down on the tender garage from the upper deck. Alanna aimed the weapon in that direction and fired, casings scattering across the deck. The assailant stopped firing from the sundeck long enough for her to see his masked-form reloading.
With trembling hands, she aimed her rifle at his head.
Click.
Her heart dropped to the ocean floor.
More shots ripped through the air. Alanna flinched.
She waited for the pain. The stinging spears to pierce her body, but they never did. Just the stabbing throb from the shoulder wound.
The masked man from the upper deck toppled over the side, hitting the lower deck railing before splashing below.
Her whole body went numb. In the deteriorating light, Marcus’s face appeared at the sundeck railing. He saluted her with a single finger to his forehead.
Alanna released her breath, which came out in a sob. She dropped her empty rifle.
Help Flynn.
Picking up the spare oxygen container, she approached the edge of the deck where a rope was coiled.
Rope.
Stinging barbs radiated from her shoulder as she wrapped its length around her elbow and palm. It hurt much worse than nearly getting her fingers severed, but she refused to look at it.
Just as she was about to dive in, a hand broke the surface almost thirty yards off. It disappeared under a wave, and then was replaced by someone’s torso with a light blue shirt—face down.
Flynn.
Every sound in the world faded away.
She dropped the oxygen container and dove in. Shrieking at the pain from her wound, she streamlined her body and butterfly-kicked forward. Each stroke ripped at her soul, her lungs aching. No matter how hard she swam, it wasn’t fast enough. Every drag on the water, she winced and prayed.
No lo mates. Let him live. Por favor, let him live.
The second her fingers touched him, panic took over. The chill of his skin nearly burned her, and his limbs were limp. She flipped him onto his back, forcing his head up while she treaded water to stay afloat. When a small wave splashed onto his face, he didn’t even flinch. His eyes stayed closed.
“Dammit, Flynn! Wake up!” She pounded on his chest with her good arm. The force sent him under, and she fought to bring him back up.
Her muscles cramped, and her lungs wheezed. She looped her arm under his shoulder, and began the return trek to the yacht. Each sidestroke was heavier than the last. Halfway to the boat, her lungs burning with every breath, she had nothing left. A wave lapped over her head and coldness enveloped her.
It would’ve been so easy to give up. Just allow the darkness to pull her down, and sleep. Water had been her place of peace, had brought her the most joy in her short life.
Would it be such a terrible way to go?
An image of her mother flashed before her eyes, her beautiful dark hair vibrant in the wind. Then her father, his arm around the queen’s waist. The wrinkles around his eyes were gone. Tulio and André knelt in front of them, grinning.
Alanna smiled. They were all so full of love, and her heart ached.
Little Alejandro emerged. His boyish grin was contagious. He reached out, something in his palm. The crystal rose-shaped music box—that once had been sitting on her dresser—glimmered in the light engulfing her family.
She reached for it, her outstretched fingertips blue. They passed through the crystal music box. Alejandro’s hand wrapped around hers, much stronger than she expected, and pulled her forward.
“GOOD GOD, GIRL. YOU PULLED him all that way?” Someone hoisted Alanna onto the boat and set her to the side. Marcus had already hauled Flynn’s body onto the deck and hovered over him. She couldn’t quite tell what he was doing, but she vomited seawater with half her lung.
Her chest burned. The rope was still looped around her chest, but she didn’t have the strength to remove it.
“One, two, three, four, five…”
Marcus worked over Flynn, urgent and harshly. Is he…what…CPR?
“No! Flynn!”
Alanna scrambled to her knees, legs weak, and crawled over to him. He was pale, clammy, and his lips blue. Marcus exhaled into Flynn’s mouth, and then resumed compressions. The Thai crewman was out of breath with every count a higher pitch than the previous.
Alanna’s mouth covered Flynn’s. She breathed into him, hard. Expelling every ounce of air she contained. Again. And again. The pattern continued. Marcus pumped Flynn’s chest, then she breathed.
Come on, Flynn. Don’t leave me.
Water suddenly flooded her lips. Flynn’s body convulsed.
“Turn him on his side,” she croaked. They moved him to his shoulder, her own screaming in protest, and patted him on the back. More seawater expelled from his lungs.
Tears flowed down her face, but she didn’t bother to stem them. All her limbs shook, yet she kept rubbing his skin. Touching him was her only grasp on his existence. That he was truly alive.
“Quite impressive, Princess.”
Her tears dried instantly at the familiar voice behind her. Purple-Tie leaned against the stairwell, his rifle and lopsided smile pointed at her. Only this time instead of his suit and lavender tie, he wore the same black fatigues as the other mercenaries.
Her pulse punched at her eardrums. Her gut turned to iron.
Marcus reached for his weapon, but Purple-Tie fired. Alanna flinched as shards of wood decking showered them. The Thai vet stepped back, his hands in the air.
“Don’t even think about it,” the mercenary spit out.
Alanna struggled to her feet, and moved in front of Marcus and Flynn, spreading her arms to make her body as wide as possible. If they were ordered to bring her to Lozano alive, he wouldn’t fire. It was the only way to keep Flynn safe.
Purple-Tie cocked his head. “Valiant effort. But it’s time to go. If you come without a struggle, I’ll let these two live.”
Alanna listened to her heart pounding in her ears. The offer was tempting. She glanced at Flynn, still unconscious, but clearly breathing. Any chance to let him survive was worth it. But from Purple-Tie—or Julius, if she remembered his name accurately—nothing was sacred. Experience had taught her that horrible lesson.
“All right,” she said much calmer than she felt, and stepped forward.
“Lanna, don’t!” Marcus yelled.
Julius’s eyebrow lifted, and his smiled widened.
“No more bloodshed,” she continued, each step slow, her eyes glued to Julius’s goatee. “I’ll go with you.” With her arms spread wide, each step drew her closer to him. She pulled off the rope and let it dangle in her hand.
“You are certainly a brave one.” He lowered the weapon slightly, the barrel still pointing too close to Flynn’s body.
Alanna arched a brow. “I’ll need it, right?”
Julius nodded once.
She raised her eyes over the mercenary’s shoulder, smiled, and met his gaze again. “So will you.”
In a swift move, she slapped the gun to the side as Alfred lunged from behind the henchman, wrapping his arm around the man’s neck. The gun fired; several bullets lodged into the wall. Alfred slid a knife under Julius’s throat.
“Drop it, you wanker,” the chef ordered. His arms were covered in scratches that bled openly, and a nasty bruise swelled from his jaw.
Lozano’s man turned ash, but he released the weapon. Marcus surged forward and grabbed it, keeping the barrel pointed on him.
“I don’t think the Limey ninja has the guts to slice my throat.” Despite the humorous tone, Julius’s eyes were glossy. “Do you have the gall to kill a man?”
“You’re not a man,” Alfred hissed. “You’re a lump of lamb’s meat, which I’ll serve on a gold platter with mint sauce and couscous for the sharks.”
Julius snorted. “British food is bland. Boring. Even for sharks. Besides, Tiburón isn’t the cannibal in the family.”
“You mean the big guy who just drowned?” Alanna threw at him.
Julius sneered. “I never liked him anyway.” He elbowed Alfred in the gut, forcing him to drop the knife. The mercenary drew a pistol from his thigh holster, and grabbed Alanna’s wrist.
She twisted out of his grasp, and pounded his hand against the wall. Marcus and Alfred wrestled with him, as she jammed her elbow into his face. Something crunched, and the gun fell to the deck. Blood poured from Julius’s nose.
Alfred kicked the back of his knees; Julius landed hard on his cheek.
Alanna draped the rope over his head, and yanked on the end. It tightened around his neck and wrists, trapping him in an awkward noose with his hands at his chin, rendering him useless. Blood seeped out of his nose covering his fingers. A string of curses spat between his lips.
“Shut up,” Alfred yelled while holding his ribs. “You’re lucky we haven’t put a bullet in you.”
Marcus slid Julius’s hands out from under the rope one by one, and tied them behind his back with the remaining length of rope. After checking him and removing three knives from various places, he looked to Alanna.
She grabbed the pistol, a silver one with a black handle. In the single glimpse she had of it earlier, it had looked tiny in Julius’s grasp. In hers, it was huge. Possessing a life of its own. Dangerous.
Julius’s cheek pressed into the deck. “You’re all dead. Memo will chew you up and spit your carcasses out at Lozano’s feet.”
All Alanna saw was a pathetic man, who took part of destroying her family. Stealing her life away. She looked down at the pistol in her hand.
This trigger can steal his life as easily.
“You don’t have the guts,” he spit out, as if he could read her thoughts.
The helicopter whistled above them, the blades rotating faster and faster. The helipad running lights illuminated the pilot’s face. She raised the weapon, closing an eye to focus her aim down the barrel.
And squeezed the trigger.
The recoil jerked her hands to the side. The shot made her ears ring. The bullet missed the chopper entirely, so she fired again. A spark flashed on the side of the door, and the pilot hoisted the machine higher. She fired again, hitt
ing the edge of the landing foot. The chopper turned and flew off.
Alanna shifted her gaze to Julius. Rage flashed through her body like wildfire, and she aimed the gun at his head. “You just lost your ride.”
His pupils narrowed to tiny, black dots.
The same horror must have been on her father’s face just before he was killed. On her brother’s face. On little Alejandro’s. A sob lodged in her throat she couldn’t swallow down.
I’m doing the world a favor by ridding it of this swine. I hate this man. He deserves this.
A hot tear fell from her eye, tracing a warm path down her cheek.
“Alanna.”
The sweetest voice in existence pulled her gaze aft. Flynn had sat up, holding his ribcage. The color had returned to his skin, but he winced with every breath.
“Remember who you are,” he wheezed. “Not what he took.”
The words flowed over her like warm honey.
I am Alanna Peralta, Princess of Solana, the Steward and Protector of my people.
I am King Rodrigo’s daughter. And I am fearsome.
She threw the weapon overboard.
“DAMMIT.” FLYNN PLACED THE LAST bandage over Alanna’s wound, thankfully a minor abrasion. “Another scar.”
“I’m fine.” She threaded her fingers through his, the warmth of her smile easing his frustration. He caressed her arm, slow and smooth, down to her wrist. Every inch of her skin delectable and equally fragile.
He’d literally died saving her.
And he’d do it again.
Even though every breath hurt and his head pounded, colors were more vivid. The stars were brighter. The ocean more fresh and welcoming. Alanna was more beautiful. Her eyes more rapturous.
“What now, Captain Flynn?” Marcus rechecked the ropes securing Julius to a chair.
Flynn reared back. “Where’s Chen?”
“Dead.” Alfred felt Marie’s forehead, and stood from the sofa in the salon. “Marie will be okay. Just needs some painkillers.”
Flynn’s lungs burned, and his chest felt like someone had broken his sternum.
“Why aren’t you captain, now?” Flynn tried to catch his breath through the ache.
Jewel of Solana Page 25
