Never Cut the Rope of a Mercenary Princess

The day I was buried in the avalanche, my biological brother saved the usurperthe fake heiressby slicing through my safety cable.

The snow was climbing past my head, my body heat rapidly leaching away, and I screamed at Blake through frozen lips.

Brother! Dont leave me! Or my adoptive fathers people will flatten this mountain and hunt you down!

I had been back with the Harrington family for a year, playing the meek, agreeable daughter, and had never dared mention my adoptive parents overseas. They didn't know that the couple who raised me were the commanders of a top-tier international mercenary group, The Vanguard. My adoptive father, Hawk, was a legendary sharpshooter; my mother, T.N.T., was an explosives expert. I was their most favoredtheir onlyprincess.

But my brother merely smirked and pulled the cable fully back.

Stop making up fairy tales, Sandy.

Youre a lying country bumpkin. Where are these 'powerful connections' you speak of? I brought you skiing despite the embarrassment, and now youre trying to compete with Ronnie? Dont you know she cant handle any kind of shock?

With that, he took the fake heiress by the arm and turned to leave.

Since your adoptive parents are so powerful, why dont you have them send a chopper for you?

I watched the last sliver of light disappear above me, and with the last ounce of strength, I pressed the red panic button on my satellite tracker.

Blake didnt know. That single signal would mark this entire mountain range as his grave.

Blakes silhouette vanished into the blizzard. All that was left was the howling wind, mocking my own foolish yearning.

I strained to open my eyes. Only Blakes personal assistant, Gary, was near me. He looked down, his eyes a conflicted mess.

A primal spark of hope, the sheer instinct to survive, flared in my chest.

He... help me

Garys hand started to reach out, stalled in the frigid air, and then retreated.

Miss Sandy, Im sorry.

Mr. Harrington said Miss Ronnie was extremely distressed and that everyone needs to escort her down immediately. He said the avalanche has stopped and youre not buried deep. He mentioned your rural background makes you hardythat a little snow wont kill you. He said you should just calm down.

Gary looked away, a flicker of shame in his eyes.

One simple tug from him, and I could have climbed out.

But he did nothing.

He chose to obey that blind, entitled fool of a CEO, abandoning a living person in this icy tomb. The sound of his footstepsthe distinctive crunch, crunch on the packed snowfaded into the distance.

I was officially the discard.

I strained every muscle, trying to reach the hard object sewn into my thermal underwear. My mother, T.N.T., had given it to me before I came home to the Harringtons.

Sandy, she had said, this is your lifeline. Dont use it unless you absolutely have to. Because once you do, the peacethe delusionis over.

I had laughed then, saying with my real parents and brother, Id never need it.

Now, I realized what a ridiculous, pathetic joke that was.

I used the last of my failing strength to press the red button.

Beep.

The indicator light flickered faintly twice, then went dark. The satellite signal was sent.

I didn't know if I could hold on until they crossed continents to find me. After all, this was a remote, restricted zone because of the avalanche.

Just then, my phone screen, pressed against my chest, suddenly lit up.

A unique vibration frequency. It was a message on the "Vanguard Family" group chat. Even with the weakest signal, the message found its way through on this special frequency.

My brother, Jax, sent an image.

He was wiping down a heavy-caliber sniper riflethe barrel was a cold, black gleam.

The caption was simple: [Sandy, location received.]

[We were just wrapping up an assignment on the border, only two hundred miles out.]

[This mountain range is beautiful. Perfect for a grave.]

I tried to laugh, but my face wouldnt move. I wanted to reply, but my fingers were too frozen to tap the screen. My consciousness was beginning to blur.

In the haze, I was back in those years overseas. A place chaotic and lethal, yet brimming with fierce life.

I was five when I was kidnapped and ended up dumped near the border. It was Hawk who dug me out of a pile of bodies. He complained I was dirty, but he gave me half a stale energy bar.

Hawk, my adoptive father, a quiet man and the worlds best sharpshooter, taught me how to strip and reassemble a Glock in three seconds flat. He said a gun is a partner, more reliable than any person.

My adoptive mother, T.N.T., was an elegant psycho. She taught me how to make liquid explosives using common household cleaners. She said, if anyone ever crosses you, blow them up. Dont bother with decorum.

And Jax. My adopted brother who climbed out of his own graveyard. He always saved the best rations for me, then broke the hands and feet of anyone who dared make me cry.

I had walked away from that lifethat existence on a razors edge, entirely encased in a love so absolutefor a normal life. For the warmth of "blood ties."

I thought that shared DNA would secure me a real, normal family. I took off the mask of The Red Fox and played the timid, fragile true heiress, Sandy Sinclair.

Once, Blake handed me a cup of water when I had a fever. I had been so moved, so tearful, believing it was the warmth of home.

The reality was a shattering slap in the face. I later learned that water was Ronnies, and she had tossed it to me because it was too hot for her delicate hands.

A jolt of agonizing pain dragged me back from the memories. It wasn't the warmth of rescue; it was the sharp, metallic crunch against bone.

CRACK.

A rescue workers iron shovel slammed hard into my thigh. I choked on a silent scream as my consciousness snapped back.

I was being roughly dragged out of the snow pile. There was no stretcher, no sign of emergency medical care.

The search team member stared at me with unconcealed disgust.

Tough one, arent you? Didnt die after all that time buried.

You wasted half an hour of our time. Mr. Harrington is furious.

He didn't even attempt basic first aid or wound stabilization. He just threw me onto a flat sled used for hauling gear.

Bouncing and jostling, I was dragged back to the main camp.

The medical tent was right there. Warm, yellow light poured out, accompanied by the low roar of a forced-air heater.

Two bodyguards grabbed me and hauled me inside.

The heat was overwhelming, but it wasn't for me.

Ronnie Chandler, wrapped in thick cashmere blankets, sat in the only cushioned chair. She was surrounded by doctors and nurses, all of them looking frantic.

Miss Ronnie, is the scratch painful?

Hurry! Bring the best antibacterial cream!

I struggled to lift my eyelids. Ronnie had a barely visible scrape on her finger, not even a drop of blood. And that single, precious heater was aimed directly at her hand.

I was soaked through, the skin and muscle on my thigh ripped open, bleeding onto the muddy corner of the tent floor. Ignored.

Gary, the assistant, hurried past, stopped, and saw my condition.

He paused, then tossed a grimy, used towel at me.

Wipe yourself up. Dont mess up the floor.

Mr. Harrington is with Miss Ronnie, helping with her trauma counseling. Dont cause trouble. Stay in this corner and dont move.

I clenched my jaw, staring at the filthy towel. The last flicker of hope in my eyes went out.

I was dumped in a derelict storage room. It was drafty and barely warmer than outside. No doctor, no medicine. I leaned against the cold wall, my thigh still leaking blood.

The door swung open.

Ronnie, dressed in a pink silk hospital gown, walked in. In her hand, she casually twirled a pair of medical surgical scissors. Her face was dominated by the chilling smile of a victor.

The weak, delicate persona was gone, replaced by a look of sheer malice and calculating cruelty.

She dismissed the guards outside, then locked the door.

My, my, Sister. You really have nine lives, dont you?

Ronnie walked to me and crouched down. The tip of the scissors traced lightly across my bruised, cut-up face. The sensation was spine-crawling.

Did you know? That safety cable? It wasn't an accident.

She leaned in close, whispering in my ear.

I sliced it halfway through with a razor blade the night before.

And the avalanche?

I had someone set off a micro-detonation at a specific stress point.

I snapped my head up, glaring at her. Even with my suspicions, hearing her confess to mass murder just to win an argument was absurd.

Ronnie read my thoughts and giggled hysterically. Whats the worry? I have my brother to protect me. I just wanted to see who he would choose when faced with life or death.

The result is obvious, isnt it?

She tapped my cheek with the scissors, her eyes full of contempt.

You, the true heiress, lost everything. In this family, blood means nothing. Only performance matters.

I wanted to lift my hand and tear her throat out. But I was so weak I couldn't even manage the effort.

Ronnie was elated by my helplessness.

Dont blame me. Blame yourself for showing up.

Those so-called adoptive parents of yours must be utter trash, right? I heard they operated overseas? Scavengers from some refugee camp?

The mention of my family shifted the expression in my eyes. It was the look of a predator staring at its prey.

I managed a cold, chilling smile.

You will regret that.

Ronnie flinched, startled by the sheer, unadulterated killing intent she sawa look shed never encountered in her privileged bubble.

She was instantly enraged, raising her hand and delivering a hard, brutal slap across my face.

SMACK!

The blow was so powerful my ears rang.

You filthy wench! How dare you glare at me!

She stood up, planting her high heel directly onto my wounded thigh. She twisted her foot, grinding the heel in.

Agh!

A low, guttural cry escaped me as the wound burst open again, fresh blood pooling on the floor.

Ronnie rubbed the sole of her shoe on my soiled clothing with a look of disgust.

Blake will have you eliminated soon. Your existence is an inconvenience, a threat.

Once youre dead, everything in the Harrington family will go back to being mine.

She raised the scissors, seemingly ready to stab my eye.

Just then, frantic footsteps sounded outside the door. Ronnie's reaction was lightning-fast. She dropped the scissors, scrambled to the floor, and tore at her hair.

In an instant, she was the trembling, wide-eyed porcelain doll again.

The door burst open.

Blake strode in. His face instantly darkened, ready to rain fury.

What in Gods name happened!

Ronnie crawled to him like a desperate refugee, burying herself in his arms. The tears were instantaneous, flowing thick and fast.

Brother! Sister... shes gone mad!

She held up her perfectly intact hand, trembling as she pointed at me.

I came in to bring her some medicine, out of the kindness of my heart.

But she woke up and grabbed the scissors, trying to stab me! She said shed ruin my face! That I stole her life!

Brother, Im so scared. My chest hurts so much

With a dramatic sigh, she rolled her eyes and went limp in his arms, expertly feigning a faint. Oscar owed her an award.

Blake didn't even glance at me in the corner. His world centered entirely on the 'innocent' woman in his arms.

Ronnie! Ronnie, talk to me!

He shouted, frantic, then turned to me. His eyes were pure, murderous hatred.

Sandy Sinclair! You vicious snake! If Ronnie suffers one single consequence from this, Ill make you pay with your life!

He marched over and delivered a vicious kick directly to my bleeding thigh wound. The searing pain made my vision swim, and cold sweat instantly soaked my back.

A doctor rushed in. He took one look at the scene and immediately understood the assignment.

He went through the motions of checking Ronnie.

Mr. Harrington, this is serious!

Miss Ronnie is suffering from extreme shock, causing myocardial ischemia! If we dont get blood into her system immediately, it could lead to heart failure!

But were too remote! The camp has no blood bank reserves

The lie was patently ridiculous. Shock required a blood transfusion? It was a blatant demand.

Blakes gaze locked onto me, immediately vicious. He knew I was O-negative, the universal donor.

Draw hers!

Blake didn't hesitate, pointing right at me and ordering the doctor.

Whatever it takes to save Ronnie! Drain her dry if you have to!

I weakly raised my head, looking at the man who shared my blood.

I I just survived an avalanche Ive lost too much blood

To draw more now is murder My voice was a choked, rational plea.

Blake merely sneered, crouching down and grabbing a handful of my hair, yanking my head back.

Your life means nothing!

You have a cheap, stubborn life! A little blood wont kill you! But if Ronnie doesnt wake up, Ill have your entire familyall of thempay the price!

He pinned down my thrashing arm and motioned to the doctor to proceed. The doctor, unblinking, produced a thick-gauge needle.

He plunged it directly into my shriveled, hypothermic vein. No cleaning, no sterilization, just a violent jab.

My bright red blood rushed into the tube, quickly filling the donation bag. As the life force drained out, my vision blurred. I was freezing to the bone, my heartbeat a faint flutter.

Ronnie, nestled in Blake's embrace, secretly opened one eye. She gave me a look of pure, malicious glee, like a butcher watching a piece of livestock being bled out.

I smiled back. It was a smile of utter, cold release.

Watching that bag of my own life-blood, I finally understood. The supposed bond of kinship was just a deadly shackle.

In the final fading moments of my consciousness, I used the last of my strength to call out to the void:

Dad! Mom!

The next second.

A monstrous, ear-splitting sound ripped through the air. The entire wall of the storage room was split open by a controlled detonation!

Rubble and shards of wood flew everywhere.

The doctor, still clutching the half-full blood bag, was flung backward by the blast wave. The bag burst on the floor, spraying blood directly onto Blakes face.

As the dust settled, three figures in state-of-the-art black tactical gear stood silhouetted in the doorway. They looked like gods of war.

My mother, T.N.T., held the latest C4 detonator, her red lips curved in an elegant, maniacal smile.

My father, Hawk, had a sniper rifle shouldered, the infrared laser sight locked dead center on Blakes forehead.

And Jax spun a massive Nepalese kukri knife in his hand.

Sandy.

Jaxs voice held a chilling, hungry excitement.

Looks like your brother isnt just disobedient, hes a vampire. Should I just drain him for you?