Crown of Solana

by Susan Sheehey

  “You should. If something has happened between the prince and the hero of the nation, I don’t want to walk in there saying the wrong thing like a jackass. I’m not familiar with Solanian social norms. Or American ones, for that matter.”

  Flynn snorted. “Neither am I.”

  “Are you going to the poker game?”

  He watched a beetle crawl across the grass by his foot, a slow trek through the blades like they were a thick jungle full of death traps and blocked pathways. Alone. “Just like high school,” he murmured.

  Marcus nudged his arm. “Hey. Did you hear me?”

  “What?”

  “The poker game? Do you know how to play?”

  “Sure.” The fundamentals of poker were simple, and he’d played quite a bit online as a teenager. He’d even won the few games he played in the Navy with his bunkmates, before they didn’t let him play anymore. Something about him being a statue. “Not sure why he’d want me to join, though.”

  “You’re dating his sister.”

  “Exactly.”

  Marcus shrugged. “If he invited me, then he must’ve invited you. I wonder if his usual poker buddies aren’t here anymore.”

  “Not likely, since he’s been exiled for the last eight years.”

  “Well, he’s home now. Gotta make friends somehow.”

  Home. He hadn’t been back to see his for more than a month. The few phone conversations he’d had with his father back in Brisbane didn’t go well, but at least better than most of their run-ins. With Flynn’s recent brush with death and saving a foreign monarch, the usual butting-heads relationship with his father had simmered. At some point, he’d need to go back and settle a few personal things, if he were to stay with Alanna full-time.

  If she’ll let me.

  “Why are you still here, Marcus?” Flynn turned his head but still didn’t look at him straight on.

  “What do you mean?” He chuckled.

  Must’ve been an odd question. “Why did you stay on Solana? Why not return home?”

  He snorted. “No home left. The yacht charters were my homes. Seeing as how my last one left me unemployed, I took Alanna up on her offer to stay here for a while until I can get contracted on another yacht.”

  Flynn shrugged. Makes sense. “Sorry we cost you your job.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  He glanced at Marcus for a second, catching a smile on his cheeks. “Huh?”

  “I’m being paid to spend time in paradise. Plus, there’s no better place to get a contract on a mega-yacht than Solana, who will be in dire need of them shortly when the marina reopens.” His grin widened. “I’d tell you to tag along with me, but you have the royal eye. The royal gig. What’s the point?”

  What’s the point? He hid the swirling nerves in his head behind another guzzle of water.

  “Do you think Alanna would mind you going tonight?”

  Flynn’s focus centered on a ferry chugging into the bay. It slowly approached the temporary dock on the other side of the marina, unloading a few crates of supplies and a dozen tourists. Odd. “I didn’t think they’d opened up the island for tourists yet.”

  “Jang.” Marcus shrugged. “That’s a good sign, right?”

  “Jang?” Flynn cocked his head.

  The Thai sighed. “I think you Americans say ‘cool.’”

  The dozen passengers appeared mostly of Indonesian or Chinese heritage. Flynn studied them, all holding cameras and carrying light knapsacks. All male. With so much of Solana’s infrastructure still in disarray, allowing foreign tourists didn’t seem like a smart maneuver.

  “Maybe they’re foreign journalists,” Marcus suggested.

  “Maybe.” That would make more sense.

  Another horn pulled their attention toward the other side, where the larger yachts still in need of repair anchored out a way, impatient for their turn.

  “All right, Bo Jangles.” Marcus slapped his knee. “Back at it. You can ask more about those tourists from André tonight. Besides, Alanna doesn’t have to tell you everything, does she?”

  He scowled.

  “Just a joke, phuuan. Lighten up. I’ll help with that engine so we can finish sooner.”

  Flynn swallowed back the bitterness in his throat. “Jang.”

  RAUL LOZANO SIPPED ON A warm, delicious brandy in the cozy kitchen. Señora Macias whimpered in front of him, her mouth duct taped and her limbs spread-eagle, tied to the wooden legs of the island.

  He hated waiting. Representative Macias of the mountain province was due in from his Sunday sessions at any moment. Though his tardiness had given the two mercenary recruits Raul had brought with him to Solana time to ransack the house. They’d already found his stash of gold bars in a floor safe in the closet, several boxes of rare cigars, and the well-stocked liquor cabinet. “Quite an impressive collection your husband has.” He raised a glass over her crying face. “I’ll be sure to thank him for your hospitality.” He poured a sip over her nose and she turned her face. Her breathing was shallow, no doubt from the several gut punches he gave her when they first stormed through her door.

  One of the mercenaries came out of the bedroom counting diamonds and ammephires in his hand. He was tall, at least a half a foot more than he, but not very bright. The latter didn’t matter. Raul needed a brute for this mission, and this guy fit the bill. The mercenary sneered and shoved the gems back in the velvet bag they came in, and slipped it in his pocket. His greedy eyes fell on the woman, and his chest puffed out. “She’s mine,” he announced in Thai.

  He shook his head. “Not now,” he replied in the same language.

  The man glared at Raul, flexed his arms, and fisted his hands. “I didn’t ask for permission.”

  He sighed, annoyance ruining the taste of the brandy in his mouth. “I said no. You have a job to do when her husband walks in any second.”

  The prick took one step forward, his face menacing. That was the problem with hired thugs. Occasionally, they tended to be overly aggressive in their greed. Before the man blinked, Raul drew his silver pistol and aimed it at his chest. The man stopped.

  The front door lock clicked, and the mercenaries took their positions behind the corner.

  “Ya llegue, querida.” Macias called.

  The woman squirmed and screamed under the tape, her eyes bulging beneath large tears. Raul smiled.

  The representative turned the corner, his black and gray hair slick from the thick humidity. His eyes widened and his skin blanched. Just in time for a mercenary to clock him on the back of the head with the empty brandy bottle. Macias fell to the floor, gripping his scalp with a fresh stream of blood. Glass shards scattered around him.

  “Macias, so good of you to join us.” Raul slipped off his perch on the counter and raised a glass to him. “You’re an inconsiderate husband. How dare you not call to say you’d be late. Lunch is overcooked, and I’m sure your wife spent all morning preparing it. Luckily, she’s an excellent hostess, and kept us plenty entertained.”

  “Who are you?” Macias cringed when the shorter mercenary kicked him in the side. “Take what you want. Just leave her alone.”

  He crouched beside him, gripped the top of the man’s hair, and yanked his head back. Macias yelped but looked Raul straight in the eye. “Rumors around town say some of you eager politicians want to remove the Peraltas from power. Is that true?”

  “I have nothing to do with that.”

  He frowned and slapped him across the face. “That’s not the question I asked you.”

  Macias grabbed his jaw. “Some of the representatives have mentioned it. But there aren’t enough votes to pass.”

  “How many more votes do they need?”

  The representative eyed him, clearly confused. “Who are you?” Raul raised his hand to hit him again, but Macias ducked. “Nine!”

  “Who’s leading the effort?”

  “It doesn’t matter.” The concerned husband kept glancing at his wife, fighting back tea
rs. “There’s not enough support for it to make it to the floor. Esta bien, mi amor. Estará bien.”

  Raul smiled. How sweet. “Don’t lie to your wife. It’s not going to be okay. At least not for her.”

  He choked. “Take whatever you want. Just let her go.” Tears fell from his eyes, and he pushed himself up to his knees.

  Raul pulled a chair over and sat. Nine representatives, which meant their mission wouldn’t be too time consuming. The two-dozen sleepers already on the island could cover that in time for the other mercenaries to sneak into the country. He braced his elbows on his knees and cocked his head at him. “Macias, you have a very important role. You—you—” he tapped the man’s chest, “can change the course of history for your people. I need your help.”

  Macias’s brow furrowed. “You work for Lozano, don’t you?”

  He stood, moved to the woman, and stroked the hair out of her face. She squirmed and yelled under the tape.

  “No!” Macias screamed. “Don’t touch her!”

  “Who are the biggest proponents of keeping the Peraltas in power?” He pinched her nose. Her body flailed and pulled against the bindings. She shook her head, desperate to breathe. He braced her head against his body and pinched harder. “Who?”

  “Mathis Arias! Of the northern province.”

  He smiled and released her nose. “See? That wasn’t so difficult.”

  “Se fuerté, mi amor. Be strong.”

  Raul slowly approached Macias and sat in the chair next to him.

  “Por favor,” the man sobbed. “Leave her alone.”

  “When do you meet with the prince?”

  “Why?”

  He sighed. Pulling out his pistol again, he scratched Macias’ temple with the end. “When?”

  “Tomorrow! Six o’clock.” He cringed and cowered.

  Good boy. Raul nodded to one of the mercenaries. “We’re good here. You can have her now.”

  The big brute jeered and stepped up to the island, pulling off his belt. The wife arched away from him, screaming under the tape.

  “Don’t touch her! For the love of God, leave her alone!” Macias bellowed and fought to his feet, but the other mercenary shoved him down.

  “There’s one more thing I need from you.” Raul placed his hand on the representative’s shoulder.

  “Anything! What?”

  He smiled, put the gun against his temple, and pulled the trigger. The small bullet from his .22 blew a hole in the representative’s head and never came out the other side. The man’s body fell to the floor, his eyes still wide open.

  Less mess.

  Raul pulled out his burner phone and dialed his father. The woman whimpered and yelled under the duct tape with every thwack of the brute’s belt on her torso, so he moved to their back patio, closing the door behind him to escape the noise. The floral scent from the lavish garden clashed with the brandy remnant taste in his mouth. But the humidity was mitigated with the sea breeze coming in from the shore. The small pool was well shaded by palm trees, a quaint oasis within paradise. Could be a nice retirement home for me.

  “You better have good news for me,” his father’s raspy voice answered on the other end.

  “Rumors are true.” He kept his own voice low, even though the closest neighbors were a half-mile down the hill. “Eight more to take out and you’ll have the numbers you need.”

  “Good.” His father coughed. “I’ll arrive in three days. Wake the sleepers.”

  “Done. Be sure to watch the news. We’re going to have some fun.”

  “You always do.”

  He pulled his personal smart phone from his pocket and sent his father the link to the online news article. “I got a lead on your bulldog.”

  “Spit it out, boy.”

  He hid a smirk. “How is it I dug out this little nugget before you?”

  “Maybe you didn’t.”

  He laughed. He’d never outright laughed in front of his father before, but he couldn’t help it. “If you did, you would’ve dropped everything and gone to put him in a drawer yourself.”

  He could hear his father grind his teeth through the phone. “So, where is he?”

  His evil grin split his smooth face. “He got shot on the contract for Prince André. And missed.”

  “You really are behind. I knew that a week ago.”

  “What you don’t know is he went to finish off the target that got a piece of him.”

  “One of André’s bodyguards?”

  “Nope. A woman.” He glanced at the screen. An online news article showed Prince André smiling in a dashing tux, with another piece of candy attached to his arm. A blonde, a busty one with toned arms. The headline only gave half the story he uncovered:

  American Cowgirl Embarrasses Royal Family

  Prince André’s Judgment Questioned

  “Is this a joke?”

  “She’s a ranch hand. His mainland souvenir, who happens to be the same unlikely person to punch a slug into your hound’s shoulder.”

  “So, the two-timing assassin has gone to Solana to finish off this cowgirl right under André’s nose. How ambitious. And stupid. Which puts you in perfect position to grab him. When you do, hang on to him until I get there.”

  “Wrong again.” Raul shook his head with a smile. Either he’s getting slower, or I’m getting faster. “My source says she’s already left the country. She embarrassed the Casanova prince at the State Dinner, and just left for her precious patch of dirt back in the States.” The silence on the other end of the phone had him basking in inner glory. I’m better than you. “The perfect opportunity to go after the prick and win your leverage over Prince André. Couldn’t lay a brighter red carpet trail of blood.”

  ALANNA SLAMMED THE DOUBLE DOORS behind her. Royal decorum be damned. She’d spent the last five hours fighting off the vultures from swallowing their entire country in exchange for a defense agreement, and still hadn’t moved an inch either direction.

  André had arrived an hour late with a horrible scowl and hadn’t said more than five words the entire discussion. Dejected and sullen, not to mention disheveled. Just when they needed unity and strength the most.

  She’d slam every door in existence.

  “Ladrones! Thieves, all of them!” she shouted through her bedroom at no one.

  Until there was someone.

  Flynn’s surprised expression and half-naked form emerged from the bathroom, towel drying his hair. His chest still glistened with the remnants of a shower. His gray suit pants were zipped but still unbuttoned, and the V of his abdominal muscles dipped below the hemline.

  Anger instantly morphed into raw heat. Her mouth watered, and a warm swirl filled low in her belly.

  “What happened?” He moved forward, his bare feet brushing along the carpet. She crooned inwardly, his broad shoulders her special weakness. The thought of their dinner guests staring at him in his glorious splendor later this evening almost brought out the tiny green monster. She wanted Flynn all to herself, especially after meetings like this last one, where representatives and advisors criticized her every move “for Solana’s best interests.” She needed the one person who believed in her the most not to be persuaded of her inabilities by those bloodhounds.

  The last thing she needed was him thinking less of her. Of leaving.

  He set the towel on the chaise and stepped closer to her, concern filling his glorious ivy-green gaze.

  “You were right.”

  “Of course.” His reply was a matter-of-fact with no emotion behind it. “About what this time?”

  She closed the distance between them in a rush. The three-inch heels gave her the perfect height to throw her arms around his neck and crush her mouth against his.

  He yelped, clearly surprised by her strength. Or the sudden force. Either way, she claimed him with an intense surge of pheromones and raw instinct. Flynn tasted like minty mouthwash and soap. Sucking every ounce of that off him fueled her fervor more. His arms wrapped a
round her waist and squeezed. Their tongues battled for control, for power; a hunger desperate to be quenched.

  She scraped her fingernails in his hair. He groaned in her mouth. Pulling him closer to her face so she could swallow more of his air wasn’t working. But the hardened length in his pants spurred her higher. Reaching down, she grabbed his length through the fabric, and he jumped.

  Breaking away from his kiss, Alanna grabbed for his zipper. The tug down was stronger than she intended and nearly ripped them.

  “Easy. Dinner’s in an hour.”

  “I don’t care,” she growled, pulling his pants down with a quick jerk, followed by his briefs. His magnificent cock stretched toward her, the tip nearly purple, and the thready veins begging for attention. Like a sure sailor gripping the rope in a strong wind, she tugged and squeezed him, smoothing him along her soft palm. He moaned, loud and feral, eyes clamped shut.

  “You were right.” Her voice turned husky. A cauldron of rage bubbled within her, and dammit, she would release it. One way or another. “Lie down.”

  That glorious jade gaze locked on hers, dark and dangerous. With a low growl, he picked her up like she was a bag of feathers and tossed her on the bed, then threw his body on top of hers. They fused their mouths together and she wrapped her legs around him. The mattress absorbed their bodies as he rolled over, with her on top.

  Straddling him was exactly where she wanted to be. In control, giving the orders, and desperate to be sated. With a quick move, she pulled off her shirt and tossed it over the edge. “Those jackals only want what is best for them.”

  The creases in his forehead deepened. “You want to talk about that now?”

  As she removed her lace bra, freeing her breasts to his hungry gaze, lust took over every pore in her body. She ground against his rigid dick, her folds already slick and throbbing. “Yes. Now.”

  After pulling a condom from the nightstand, he slipped it on his eager stick. Beads of sweat formed along his forehead.

  The idea of him already fighting to make himself last made her smirk.

  She grabbed his hands and forced them on her hips.

  “You wanted to help me with the heavier stuff. Here’s your chance.” With a firm hold on his dick, she slid over his rigidness and sank onto him full to his hilt. Her tight channel stretched for him, molding his thickness inside her to a perfect fit. The groan from his lips vibrated through her body, and his eyes nearly rolled into the back of his head. An incredible heat twisted around her core, nearly making her burst right then.