Helplessly, Mikhail watched Kamar storm out.

As soon as Kamar left, Suleiman clapped his hands over his knees and he stood. “Well, new fearless leader, when do we get to try out our new toys?”

It took a moment to register what he’d called him. Mikhail scowled. “I’m not your leader.” Then, to make his point clear, he pushed to a stand, his knuckles dropping on the worn tabletop.

Addressing the whole room now, every wide-eyed, sulky rebel, Mikhail said, “And to reiterate, these weapons are not toys. I have access to the ammo. No one I find unworthy will be able to hold a loaded firearm. Are we clear?”

“How are we supposed to practice?” Suleiman folded his arms, his thin mouth a long, grave line.

Asha pointed the weapon at Mikhail and squeezed the trigger. She gawped when Mikhail ripped it out of her hands. Shaking the semi-automatic, Mikhail growled, “The next person I see waving this around like a toy gets the boot. Do you hear me?”

“I thought you said you weren’t our leader—sounds awfully bossy for a guy who doesn’t want to lead.” Suleiman held himself taller. Under Mikhail’s withering stare he backed up, hands in the air. “Fine, you heard the merchant. No ammo, rebels.”

Dropping the semi-automatic on the table and grabbing his shirt, Mikhail said, “The point of these weapon exercises is to get your hands used to the encumbrance firearms provide. It’ll be different than using your body as the weapon. Harder, in some ways, so be vigilant.”

“I’ll need to speak with you.” Crooking a finger at Suleiman and Asha, Mikhail gestured they follow him to a private corner. Glaring at them, he said, “I’ll need you two to step up. I know you’ve got passion; you’ve proven that, but the last thing this revolution needs is for that passion to get out of hand. You’d be no different than the corrupt government you’re pushing back against.”

Clapping a hand on both their shoulders, Mikhail added, “Try to act mature. I know the weapons are exciting, but your friends are looking to you for direction.”

“I thought you were leading the training,” Suleiman said.

Mikhail shook his head. “I have an errand to run for now. But I’ll try to slip in later.” Giving their shoulders another pat, Mikhail left them in the corner, his long, assured strides carrying him to the exit.

At the top of the ladder, he pulled himself through the cellar door, tugged on his t-shirt and then left the building that housed the underground revolution. If he was lucky, maybe he could intercept Kamar somewhere in the city.

After searching around, Mikhail gave up and headed for Kamar’s house. He already decided that he’d wait for his lover to head home to talk to him. Not so surprisingly, the Prime Minister was there to greet him. Surrounded by work papers, he looked up from the laptop on the ornate glass coffee table when Mikhail was led into the sitting room by the butler.

“You,” the prime minister snapped, a scowl wobbling his jowls and his eyes squinting while they roved over Mikhail. “What do you want?”

“I’m here for Kamar.”

“Of course, you are. He’s not home. He’s hardly ever home these days.” Kamar’s father dropped his attention back to his laptop and the documents in his chubby hands. And, seemingly unable to help himself, he sniffed loudly. “I’m not sure what’s going on with you and my son. But I assure you, Kamar has found a lover worth his time. Someone who will benefit his family.”

Mikhail couldn’t help laughing bitterly. “You mean Kofi,” he said.

The prime minister levelled him with a cool stare. “Vice-Chair Kofi is exactly the type of son-in-law I want. A man whom I can trust to get business cleared, and a man who’s on his way to the top of his field.” Smiling then, an evil little sneer, he said, “I wouldn’t be surprised if he replaced that useless glutton General Ishmael. Pathetic man, really.”

Clenching his hands into fists for both himself and the General, Mikhail curbed the urge to close the distance and beat manners into Zhebair’s top official.

The little shit prick.

“If you’ll excuse me, then…” Mikhail didn’t wait to hear what the Prime Minister said. Dismissing himself, and saving Kamar’s father from a sound whooping, Mikhail breezed out of the residence. He walked down the drive and back out the gates, nodding to the guards who let him through.

On his way back into the city, he stopped by the general’s house. Barely waiting to trade niceties, Mikhail breathlessly explained why he’d dropped in.

“Why couldn’t you go yourself?” the general asked on their way to his car. He had followed Mikhail out, agreeing already to drive them to Kofi’s.

Inside the comfort of the car, Mikhail stared at his fists in his lap and said, “I don’t trust myself with Kofi.” Swallowing, he continued, “I love Kamar and…I don’t want to lose him.”

“Mhm, you’re afraid you’ll beat the Vice-Chair to a pulp to claim the honor of Kamar’s love,” the humor in Ishmael’s voice matched his face. Mikhail knew that was a rare smile touching the older man’s mouth. “Ah, I remember being so volatilely hot-blooded in my youth.”

The general steered the car into the gates. Mikhail was suddenly glad they didn’t have a driver witnessing his confession. Oddly, now that it was out in the open, he felt lighter for it. He trusted Ishmael to hold his secret until Mikhail was well and truly ready to tell Kamar.

Though he was expecting Ishmael to wait in the car, the General parked and exited the vehicle with him. He nodded as way of encouragement. Mikhail led the way. Ringing the bell, he waited for admittance.

While they were waiting, Mikhail noticed something in one of the cars parked in the lot. It was a four-wheel drive with monstrous wheels. The kind of vehicle you could trust to trek the desert dunes. And something had moved inside…

Or maybe he was losing his mind.

Before he could ask the general to double-check, the butler opened the door, letting them through and informing them to wait in the living room for the homeowner.

Kofi came out a few minutes later, sweat clinging to his brow, shoulders and bare chest. The man was a lean block of rippling, glistening muscles. Mikhail scowled, using his irritation to push down against the bile of his fear of losing Kamar to this asshole.

Slinging his towel over his shoulders, Kofi gripped the ends and stared at them. “Can I help you, gentlemen?”

“We’re looking for Kamar. I’m looking for Kamar.” Mikhail took a step forward. “I need to speak with him. Now.”

“Let me guess, you’re here to apologize.” Kofi tilted his head, his cold, eerily bright eyes calculatingly moving over Mikhail’s features. No warmth existed in their depths. “I’ll save you the breath—you’re too late. Kamar has made it quite clear he’s finished with you.”

Mikhail blinked, absorbing what he said.

Something niggled at him…but Kofi’s response had shocked the thought out of his mind.

Gritting his teeth, Mikhail counted backwards. He wouldn’t respond in anger. He wouldn’t give this bastard that satisfaction. When he was positive that he had regained control of his emotions, Mikhail said, “I’d still like to speak to him.”

Kofi’s lips quirked in that smarmy half-smile and he turned, tossing over his shoulder. “Very well. Wait here. I’ll deliver the message and let him decide if he wants to see you.”

Once they were alone, the general shot him a sympathetic grimace.

The sound of footfalls heading their way turned both Mikhail and Ishmael's attention to the entrance of the living room. Only it wasn't Kofi who strode in, but the black-clad rider from the desert. Before Mikhail could react, the rider brandished a semi-automatic rifle and aimed it at them.

Though the rider hadn’t pulled the trigger, Mikhail felt like he’d been hit. The niggling thought that had escaped him when he heard Kofi’s voice…It all made sense. Mikhail knew he’d heard that voice somewhere else and recently.

“You’re the attacker.”

“Clever,” Kofi said. “Now let’s go for a drive.”

Kofi gestured with the gun, leading them to trek out into the entrance hall and out the door. No staff member was present to stop him. Then again Mikhail got the feeling they were all being paid handsomely to look the other way.

“What did you do to Kamar?” Mikhail asked, groaning when Kofi punched him in the back of the head. Blinking through the red and black stars dotting his vision, Mikhail choked out the question again. “Where’s Kamar?”

He received his answer a few seconds later. Kamar was gagged and tied up in the back of that four-wheel drive. His rebel lover lifted his head and peered at Mikhail with a helpless yearning in his wide eyes. To think if Mikhail had checked the vehicle, they might have avoided alerting Kofi.

“Turn around, slowly,” Kofi said. He was surprisingly calm. That chilled Mikhail’s blood. A cool-as-a-cucumber killer meant he’d done this before.

Flinging rope at Mikhail’s chest, he instructed Mikhail to tie up the General. “And in case you thought about loosening the rope,” Kofi didn’t finish the sentence, popping a bullet into Ishmael’s leg.

The General yelled around the gag Mikhail fixed him with.

“Drag him into the car,” Kofi ordered.

Anger and hopelessness choking him, Mikhail carefully lifted the General into the car and arranged the General’s bleeding leg as gently as possible. His gaze landed on Kamar. Kamar stared back, his muffled pleas slipping through the gag.

“You can have time to kiss and make up in your graves.” Kofi kept his aim on Mikhail. Once they were back on the same level, Mikhail shook his head.

“If you think you’ll get away with this—”

“I will,” Kofi said, so smugly self-assured. “It’s only too bad Kamar couldn’t have joined me. He really does love you…the idiot.”

Mikhail’s heart thumped harder with the confession.

Kofi shrugged. “Now, what to do about you?” He aimed his gun lower, then, oscillating between Mikhail’s knees. “Should I leave you bleeding here? Leave you to bleed out, slowly, painfully?”

Kofi lowered his gun, dropped it, and drew out not one, but two machetes. Kicking the gun behind him, Kofi twirled his machetes, reminding Mikhail of how easily he’d handled his blade the night of the market attack.

“I’m a warrior by blood, you know,” Kofi said, smiling genuinely for once. “It’s in my nature to be competitive. My nature to climb and fight my way to the top—I’m pure Alpha, merchant. And no one is worthy to sit above me. Not the General or the Prime Minister.”

With a growled war cry, Kofi leapt. Mikhail dove out of the way. Kofi swung after him. When he saw Mikhail running for the gun, he tossed the machetes at him. Mikhail yelled as one of the blades slashed his bicep.

He jerked to the side, tripping over his feet and dropping to his ass. Kofi was on him with the same frustrating agility. He kicked Mikhail in the head. Mikhail’s forehead smashed against the pink stone tiling of the monster’s driveway. Gasping for air as Kofi’s foot smashed repeatedly into his side.

Darkness flooded his vision. Mikhail spluttered a bloody cough humorlessly at the irony. He had beaten the crap out of Kofi in the desert, never thinking he’d be on the receiving end of it himself. As his vision hazed and his lids grew heavy, all Mikhail could think was at least it wasn’t his bruised side…

With his last, painful breath, he whispered, “Ka…mar…”