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.