She was born on the streets; he was born to rule…
“We have to go. There is no time to save him,” Raja said, pulling on her arm.
“I have to stop the bleeding. He’ll die if I don’t,” Dallas said, laying her sniper rifle on the ground.
“Then he dies. The Royal Guards are dead. We will lose our targets in the mountains if we do not leave now!”
Dallas glanced up at the steep hill. She had sent a message warning of the attack, but it arrived too late, and they had been too far away to reach the convoy ahead of the mercenaries. The volley of gunfire had faded several minutes ago.
She looked down at the barely conscious man. She knew who he was—Sheikh Tarek, the second son of King Melik and Queen Ihab Saif-Ad-Din of Jawahir. His death would be collateral damage. Even the capture of Sheikh Qadir was secondary to her mission: eliminate Colin and Anderson Coldhouse.
She knew she should leave the man to his fate, but she couldn’t. She had met him before—in her life as Idella. She turned to Raja with a scowl. Orders be damned, she would do what she could to save this man.
“Get me the medical kit,” she ordered in a tone that said she would tolerate no more arguments.