“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, hitting 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.