Kamar wriggled, moaning when his head smacked the roof of the car. Falling back, he wallowed in his aching muscles, his breath puffing out around the pieces of cotton jammed in mouth.

A noise in front of him forced him to test his burning stomach muscles. Flexing painfully, his body trembled as he met General Ishmael’s scared eyes. He, too, was groaning, and Kamar quickly saw why. Dark blood pulsed out of a bullet wound above his knee. Ishmael held his wounded leg stiffly, his head thrown back as he moaned around his own gag.

Kamar tried to communicate that they’d be all right.

Mikhail will save us.

But his heart thumped wildly in fear for all of their lives. Mikhail and Kofi were still MIA, and that did nothing but worry Kamar. He wasn’t going to think the worst yet. Concentrating on loosening the expertly tied rope binding his hands together in his lap, Kamar nodded to Ishmael when he moaned again.

We’re going to be all right. We’re definitely going to survive this.

Kamar kept repeating that positive mantra. So absorbed was he in his task, he didn’t notice Ishmael had raised his hands until he thumped them on the back of his cushion. A pocket-sized blade was in his hands. With another low groan, he thumped the cushion again, the blade’s tip pointed at Kamar.

Understanding that he wanted Kamar to use the blade, Kamar got to work. It took some time to get the side of the blade against the rope. Once he had a good grip, he started the sawing motion. His arms quaked with the effort, his fingers beginning to sweat with the compound of the difficult task and the pressure riding behind every second, every motion and every breath.

One slip up and we could all be dead…No pressure, though.

Scowling with deep focus, Kamar kept at it. He tuned out the world. Everything was hinged on whether he could cut through the rope to free his hands. That’s why it felt like ages had come and gone when the rope finally slackened around his wrist and then the last thread snapped and gave away.

Kamar ignored the throbbing in his arms or his shaking, work-weary fingers as he dropped the blade in his lap and reached up to pull off the gag. Stretching his jaw, he licked his dry lips and leaned forward, hurrying to free his legs with the help of the knife. Kicking out of the rope, he turned to Ishmael and smiled for the older man’s benefit.

“We’re going to get out of here,” Kamar promised. “But first, let’s staunch that bleeding.” Grabbing the cloth that Kofi had used to gag him, Kamar crawled over the seat in front of him to slide in beside Ishmael.

“I’m leaving the gag in,” Kamar warned. It’d be easier that way. Sure enough, when Kamar started wrapping the wound and pulled tight on his knot, Ishmael’s body jerked, squeezed his eyes shut and moaned long and low.

Giving his shoulder a squeeze, Kamar pushed his face closer and whispered, “I’ll be right back. Just stay awake for me, all right?”

Crawling over Ishmael, Kamar opened the car door and slipped out. He used the bulky vehicle for cover. Crouching by one of the large, thick wheels, Kamar peeked out and froze at what he saw. A chill gripped his body and icy fingertips dashed up and down his spine. Instinct almost had him rushing out from his cover to where Kofi was beating Mikhail’s prone body.

The worst part of it was Mikhail wasn’t fighting back.

His head was turned away, so Kamar couldn’t be sure he was even conscious. Not that it mattered to Kofi. Grunting, he kept kicking at Mikhail’s side. Kamar’s fingers dug into the tire, his body angling out from the need to cover Mikhail from suffering any more blows from Kofi’s boot.

In the middle of his turmoil, Kamar noticed a piece of hope was resting between him and Kofi’s turned back. The gun on the ground might be the only way to overturn what looked to be a hopeless situation.

Courage flooding his chest, Kamar pushed off from his crouch, rounding the car out into the open. He stayed low, but he moved fast.

He must have taken a few steps when Kofi spun around wildly. It shocked Kamar for a second, and then realizing he’d been caught, adrenaline, hot and powerful, punched him in the chest and pushed his legs forward into a mad dash for the gun.

Diving at him, Kofi let out a fearsome snarl. They crashed into each other over the gun, limbs locked in a flurry of blows. Still in his work-out t-shirt and shorts, Kamar groaned when Kofi’s fingernails dug into his forearms and pushed him back, and he yelled hoarsely at Kofi’s boot lashing out and skimming along his shin.

Kamar closed his fist and aimed it at Kofi’s jaw. He connected with a bloodthirsty fury, happy to hear Kofi’s pained yelp. It startled the other man to the side, and while he was off-kilter, Kamar struck him again, aiming for his solar plexus this time.

With another groan, Kofi stumbled back, the hands digging into Kamar’s arms pulling away. Not before he kicked the gun off to the side. It skidded along the red tile of the driveway, out of reach for the moment.

“I’m going to make you wish you never messed with us,” Kamar growled that promise. His chest rose and fell quickly, his body falling into a fighting stance. Crooking his fingers, he gestured for Kofi to take his latest blow.

Kofi wiped the back of his hand over his mouth, his fiery gaze falling on the blood that now painted his hand. His upper lip curled with his snarled sneer. “You’re an idiot, Kamar. You choose that,” he snapped his hand back at Mikhail, before jabbing his thumb into his chest, “over this? Foolish decision you’ll come to regret very soon.”

“You can kiss your home and your salary goodbye. Your next stop is jail, forever. That’s if my father doesn’t see to your execution.” Kamar raised his fists.

Kofi laughed—the sound as cold as his eyes. “You’re really a fool. Once I dispose of you, the merchant, and the General, your useless father is next.”

“We’ll see about that,” Kamar said. Keeping the gun in his peripheral, he slowly bounced from foot to foot. At the same time with each bounce he shifted toward the gun. If only he could close enough space…

Snarling again, Kofi lunged at him.

He clipped Kamar’s cheek just as Kamar’s fist kissed Kofi’s temple. Their hard, fast breathing melded together, their groans and grunting filling the quiet driveway. At one point, Kamar’s hands grabbed at Kofi’s ears and pulled back. With a war cry, Kofi sunk his fingers into Kamar’s short hair and grabbed a fistful of strands by the roots.

Blinking through the hot tears of pain, Kamar screamed, “You’re a monster!”

“And you’re a pathetic coward!”

“You don’t know anything about me,” Kamar gritted out, adding a twist when he tugged harder at Kofi’s ears. All he kept imagining was pulling them off the bastard’s head, watching him bleed out on the floor. The violence fueled him now when at one point all he wanted was the revolution to be handled peacefully.

Now he was out for blood. Kofi’s blood.

“I could say the same about you, coward. I know your type. Born with a gold spoon in their mouths, not caring for what the little people want. We’re stepping stones to you, not caring that stepping stones have families to worry for as well, or that they bleed if crushed.” Kofi barked out a derisive, short laugh. “And you call me the monster, monster,” he hissed that last word.

A gunshot ripped them both to a standstill.

Kamar and Kofi both snapped their heads to the side, where Mikhail lay now, the rifle aimed at Kofi. Recovering first from a blend of happy shock, Kamar shoved Kofi away by taking a page out of Mikhail’s training. Moving a hand off one of Kofi’s ear, he chopped at his throat, the space most open for attack.

Eyes bulging and breath catching, Kofi spluttered. In that second of opportunity, Kamar aimed a powerful fist at Kofi’s ribs. Mouth flopping open, Kofi’s eyes lolled and he folded in on himself, hugging his middle. On the ground writhing breathlessly, Kofi looked harmless.

Kamar’s fists ached to beat him. His feet itched to stomp on the bastard, just as he had on Mikhail.

Seeing that Mikhail still had the gun trained on Kofi and noticing that his hand was quavering and his battered, bruising face was strained with pain, Kamar rushed to his lover’s side. Lifting the gun from his hand, Kamar aimed it at Kofi. At the same time, he felt Mikhail’s radiant, if not pinched, smile like the sun peeking out on a cloudy day. It washed over Kamar, soothed and reminded him that the fight was over.

They were safe.

They were going to be all right.

He would have the time to tell Mikhail that he loved him—he was in love with him, and he was ready to start their lives together, wherever that took them next.