Page 45 of The Falcon and the Flame (The Birds: On Her Majesty’s Sapphic Secret Service #2)

“We can workshop it.”

Malik crawled across the floor, took the gun in his remaining hand, and fired wildly again. Three hopeless shots pinged off the metal pipes overhead. Lottie shot his other hand.

And then both knees for good measure.

“Honey?” she suggested. She slipped herself under the Q’sar’s other arm and they shuffled away.

There was a distinct hissing sound that was only growing louder.

No odour, but that made sense. The short chain hydrocarbon gases were odourless in their natural state.

Zynara could feel herself getting dizzy.

She shook her head.

“Cupcake? Shuggy? Habibi?”

The Q’sar groaned again. “This is agonising,” he muttered.

They both looked at him.

“Clearly, my daughter is a marshmallow. This place is leaking LPG at a dangerous rate. Can we get out of here now?”

They made it to the flier and helped the Q’sar carefully into the pod. Zynara took her jacket off, completely failed to tear it into pieces, and instead balled it up and thrust it at Lottie’s shoulder.

“Constant pressure,” she ordered. “Lie down in the back seat.”

“I’m fine.”

“Do as you’re told.” She didn’t say anything when Lottie meekly took the jacket but refused to lie down. Zynara piloted the flier to the nearest ridge.

Her father tapped her knee. “Put us down here, binti.”

They sat in the cool air-conditioned pod and watched the oil refinery.

“We should probably go back for him,” Zynara murmured.

The Q’sar shook his head. “He doesn’t deserve it,” he said sadly.

“I never told you, darling child, but all the intelligence I have points to him killing your brother. I didn’t want to believe it either.

I was a foolish old man for ignoring it, for hoping he’d change” —he aimed a sharper gaze at Zynara— “for letting you hand him the succession.”

He looked at Lottie.

“Thank you, young lady. You saved my life. I will be forever in your debt, but I have one more thing to ask of you.”

Lottie ducked her head and reached out for Zynara’s hand. It was sticky. Zynara squeezed it.

“Do you have any more tricks up your sleeve?”

He tilted his head at the oil refinery in the distance.

Lottie’s eyes bugged right out of her head.

“Oh, boss,” she breathed. “I have all the tricks. I brought them along just in case. I mean, a girl should never leave home without them, right? You are going to love my tricks. My tricks are—” She rummaged around in the backseats.

“Bingo,” she cried. She held up a long, olive green tube that looked suspiciously like a rocket launcher.

The light in her eyes was both insanely attractive and utterly terrifying.

“Would you be so kind as to blow that abomination off the face of the earth?” the Q’sar requested.

Lottie bounded from the flier, far too overjoyed and far too beautiful. She knelt on the rocks and took careful aim.

“He’s still in there,” Zynara said quietly.

“I know,” her father murmured. “I’m sorry, Zynara, darling. I should have dealt with him long ago. Please forgive me.”

She nodded.

Outside the flier, Lottie caught her eye one last time.

“Do it,” Zynara ordered.

“You’ll have to hold me up.”

Her shoulder. They were both so deep in this together. Zynara slipped out of the flier and knelt behind her, her body at Lottie’s back, her blood on Zynara’s cheek.

They both drew a deep breath.

For a moment, there was only silence — the kind that felt like the world was waiting for justice. Then Lottie pressed the trigger.

The rocket hissed through the air and the impact rocked Lottie back into Zynara’s arms.

The refinery erupted in a fireball of fury, the blast thundering skyward with a force that shook the flier and tore the breath from Zynara’s lungs.

A split-second flash lit the dunes like sunset—blood red and apocalyptic—then everything bloomed golden, an inferno devouring Malik’s empire in one savage breath.

Pipes screamed. Towers folded like paper. The sky burned.

Zynara admired the view. Heat licked her cheeks. Lottie grinned, wild and radiant, the launcher still smoking at her feet.

“Appallingly toxic,” Zynara said, eventually, observing the smoke.

“Fucking glorious,” Lottie protested.

She was fucking glorious. Zynara found she was more alluring than the flames. She went to throw her arm possessively over her shoulder with her best imperious eyebrow raise, but Lottie stopped her with a hand on her heart.

“Don’t do that, Niz, sweetheart. You’re hurting. You’ve lost almost your entire family. Your childhood has been shattered. It’s okay to cry.”

“I don’t cry.”

Lottie tucked her head under her chin and wrapped her arms around her. “Yes, you do,” she murmured. “Cry as much as you want. I’ve got you. You’re safe, and I will always be here for you.”

So Zynara cried, and Lottie kissed her hair and only winced a little bit when Zynara hugged her so tight it must have hurt. They sat and watched the flames—a funeral pyre for greed and corruption, for a mean little boy who had tried to choke the future in ego, oil and lies.

“Ain Zargiers will rise from this. You will be an amazing Q’sar,” Lottie whispered.

Zynara reached for her hand, warm and strong, and held on tight.

The sky behind the plume was a fierce, bold blue.