Page 93 of Dalla's Royal Guards

Debra’s throat tightened painfully, but she forced herself to focus as Detri’s expression shifted from fury to an awed triumph. She could almost see him calculating the value of his captured treasure and finding it priceless. His victory was short-lived, however, because at that moment the sound of silenced bullets striking flesh sent all of them to the sand.

The two mercenaries who had come down from the parapet earlier folded, their bodies sprawled out in the damp sand, their blood mixing with the black granules.

Detri knelt on one knee, swiveling to the ancient wreck and aiming his weapon as a woman’s voice drifted from behind the skeletal shipwreck, amused and bored all at once.

“Tsk. Tsk. Playing dead. That’s a new one, even for you, Detri. Does Kramer know?”

Stella stepped into the dim light, sleek and lethal, pistols nestled in her palms.

Debra’s blood went cold.

“Oh, hell,” she breathed. “We’re all going to die.”

Except one, she reminded herself.

There was only one among them who could be killed and not stay dead.

Dalla.

And that almost terrified her the most.

Twenty-Five

Stella had always trusted her instincts.

The moment Kyle—the nervous twitch of a boy playing in a man’s world—had muttered something about Kramer losing it over Detri’s so-called death, it had sunk in that maybe the twerp had evidence that countered what she and O’Toole believed.

She should have questioned the bastard’s survival of the crash earlier. She had coaxed out what Kyle knew about Detri and his plans with a beer and a carefully placed hand on his groin.

Men,she thought.So easy to manipulate.

It hadn’t taken long to put the pieces together after Kyle spilled what he knew. Detri had survived the car explosion and contacted Gunther. They’d needed men, equipment, and information—which Kyle had provided. Detri was planning something big. Bigger than Kramer. He was after something that Stella was sure to want too.

And the name on everyone’s lips was Dalla Bogadottir.

Stella had heard the name whispered with reverence and fear. A woman who couldn’t die. A woman who came back.

Again.

And again.

And again.

She smiled as she adjusted the scope on her rifle, her body perfectly still among the jagged timbers of the ancient ship protected from the elements by the cave and sand. Yesterday, she had scoped it out, following the trail Detri and Gunther had left behind. The hidden passage had once been a smuggler’s prize corridor to riches.

Kyle, ever useful, had pulled the historical records for her. A passage to the sea. Ships unloading illicit cargo. A woman who came from nowhere.

She hadn’t needed to guess what Detri was planning. She had only needed to wait.

And patience had always been one of her best qualities.

From her perch, she had watched them descend—Dalla, framed between the Al-Rashid brothers, with another woman stumbling beside them. She had watched as Detri turned the group, heard the moment Dalla made her confession.

And just like that, Stella knew.

She knew what Detri and Kramer both wanted. This wasn’t about ideology, or politics or military control. This was about immortality. Dominion. And Dalla Bogadottir was the key.

Fuck that! Men have ruled the world long enough,she thought.It’s time a bitch took the crown.