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Chapter Twelve

M alik loaded up the superyacht again—overpriced champagne, designer drugs, his ever-rotating cast of party girls—and dropped anchor brazenly offshore from the Azure islands. He cranked the music and sailed the petromasculinity show right to the doorstep of the Green Futures Summit.

But if he was expecting his sister to be cowed by the destruction of one of her renewable energy plants last night, he must have been sorely disappointed.

The Qasira arrived in infinitely more style, descending in her sleek electric autonomous drone like an angel of the future. The aircraft barely made a sound—and when she stepped out, it was as if nothing had happened.

Stylish. Immaculate. Utterly unshaken.

The dejected woman Lottie had encountered that morning in Sami’s club was nowhere to be seen. That broken look she’d given her? The Qasira ground it beneath her ridiculously polished oxfords and strode forth to conquer the world again.

She was magnificent.

Lottie watched from the front deck of the superyacht and felt her blood pressure spike.

Not just at the sight of her—commandingly and infuriatingly put together in another striking power suit—but at the still burning memory of what they’d been doing last night just before the explosion tore them apart.

She shoved that thought down fast. Malik was watching her. His eyes flicked back and forth between Lottie and his sister on the shore, and the cogs turned behind his eyes so obviously Lottie nearly snorted.

“Like my sister, do you?”

“I heard she likes a good time.” Lottie gave a suggestive smile.

Malik watched her for a moment longer then made a rude noise. “You know what Zynara’s problem is?”

Lottie didn’t doubt he was going to tell her. How was he already high this early in the day? He was in thousand pound sweats that someone must have told him were stylish. Lurid yellow runners and too much bling. Lottie tried not to recoil.

“My sister is a zealot. A woke little princess playing scientist, pushing her green fantasies on my country like a wannabe saviour.”

That was uncharitable, but Lottie was curious to see how far he’d take it if she pushed.

“And that’s not a good time?”

Malik shot her a look of daggers. “Zynara courts the global elite because her degenerate sexuality finds its counterpart in theirs.”

Ah.

“The West wants us weak.” The mansplaining droned on unstoppable.

“They want us shackled to their solar panels and wind farms, dependent on do-gooder subsidies for minorities that scam corporations out of profits, and beholden to their bullshit promises about a ‘sustainable future’ and ‘equality for all.’”

“They’re not your policies though, are they?” Lottie watched her dumb blonde act swell the man’s ego so fast he didn’t even know he was being played.

“The people— my people—don’t want her elitist climate agenda,” he sulked, hitting his stride. “They don’t want to be told they can’t drive their cars, can’t cook their food, can’t cool their homes because some academic snob thinks oil is dirty. They want cheap energy. They want jobs.”

Like he’d know what one of those was. His chest puffed out anyway. He was ridiculous.

“They want a leader who understands that Ain Zargiers’ strength comes from real resources,” he went on, “oil and gas—not some fairytale bullshit about harnessing the sun.”

“And you’re going to bring her down?”

“I’m going to dismantle each of her sickening little enterprises piece by piece, along with the globalists who support her and the bureaucrats who think they know better than the businessmen who built this country.”

Lottie nudged him with her shoulder, throwing up in her mouth a little as she did. “Last night’s explosion was a great start.” She smiled winningly and fluttered her eyelids.

“Don’t be coy,” he said, suddenly sober. “You went back to her apartment with her. Earn your money and tell me how she took it.”

Shit. The Qasirim wasn’t as stupid as he looked. Was everyone spying on everyone else in this city?

“She was pissed,” Lottie blagged. “Totally furious. Stormed out cursing your name and spitting something about ‘telling Baba.’ That’s Arabic for father , isn’t it?”

Of course, she hadn’t done anything like that. Lottie was still haunted by the bone-tired look of inevitability in her eyes. She still wanted to hug the woman. But Malik swallowed the lie hook, line and sinker.

“Perfect. I’m pleased to hear it.” He dragged his gaze over her, slow and appraising, like she was just another accessory to his empire. It had been hot when the Qasira had done the same. This made Lottie feel dirty. Interchangeable and disposable.

“Of course, there’s one useful thing about Zynara’s crusade.” He leaned in, his voice becoming oily and conspiratorial. “She has weaknesses. She likes to think she’s above all this—above me. But she’s a woman of considerable appetite—or so I hear.”

Lottie clenched her jaw but kept the sultry smile on her lips. One guess what was coming next...

“So, darlin’, why don’t you do what you do best? Get close. Let me know what she’s up to. Report back to daddy, and I’ll make it worth your while.” Malik looked triumphant now.

Ugh.

Lottie did her best simpering. “Whatever you say, Qasirim.”

“Oh, no need to pretend, sweetheart. It’s written all over your face.

” He made as if to move back to the party, but slapped her backside and whispered in her ear before he went.

“Best enjoy yourself while you can, though. When my father finally fucking abdicates and I am Q’sar, let’s just say Ain Zargiers will no longer be so…

indulgent of my sister’s little perversions. ”

“So, like, next year then?”

He gave her a look like she was shit on his perfectly shining boat and swaggered away.

Brilliant. The Q’sar-in-waiting was a homophobic shit on top of being a class A prick.

Lottie was beginning to deeply regret the Nightingale’s prohibition on killing him.

It would be so easy! So tempting. She could simply lure him into one of the many bedrooms on the yacht, handcuff him to the bed, and Ace could blow the boat sky high.

Or there was the rocket launcher. She was sure they’d packed the rocket launcher.

Everyone’s problems would be solved at once and the world would be a better place for his absence.

She sighed and focused instead on the ludicrous position she now found herself in—directed to spy on the Qasira by two self-serving parties who only wanted to use her—the Nightingale and the Qasirim. And Lottie was seriously falling for her target all the while.

A right proper pickle you’ve got yourself in this time, Finch.

Lottie looked at the shore again. The Qasira had been met by her army of assistants and stepped into the resort.

No doubt she was saving the planet already, while Lottie was simply standing around in a micro dress and stupidly expensive shoes.

Lottie had no idea where this sense of morality had come from that was building inside her, but there was something deeply, profoundly attractive about a woman who was determined to win the biggest, most important game of them all.

Zynara was going to save the world. She was inspiring.

And she was so fucking hot.

Antonin Petrov appeared at her side—her Russian gas mogul in need of some Malik-approved arm candy.

“Will you accompany me to the conferences today?” he asked.

“Only because you asked so politely.” Lottie’s charm was still a bit surly.

He gave her an odd look, but held out his arm like a gentleman.

Lottie took it and they walked down the gangway to the resort with the group, a collection of Zargieri, Russian, Saudi and Chinese oil barons who could buy and sell small nations with their spare change, and the girls who hung off their arms. Bili popped her eyes at her.

It was, by far and away, the most crucial, the most critical mission of Lottie’s life—and Malik’s threat had just made it personal—and there was so much for Lottie to focus on.

If only she could keep her mind out of the gutter every time she looked at the Qasira.

Lottie didn’t give a toss about hydrogen—she really didn’t. But watching Zynara stand at the centre of the panel like she owned the world outlining a practical, profitable, and devastatingly efficient roadmap to a clean, green future?

Yeah, that was hot as hell.

Lottie and Petrov sat in the audience and she bugged him with questions.

She tried to keep her attention on his whispered answers, but her gaze kept dragging back to the stage, to Zynara, her crisp suit, the way she adjusted the cuff of her sleeve before making some witheringly intelligent point.

The way she sat back in an armchair and crossed one long leg over the other, the indolent fall of her hands as she directed the other panellists, and the elegant tilt of her chin as she encouraged their points.

“She makes them all look like children,” Lottie murmured.

Petrov gave her a shrewd look. “She is impressive. She invites them to follow and like toddlers they squabble over who gets more of her innovations. It’s a cunning tactic. It’s been an uphill battle for so long, but she’s finally dragged humanity over the mountain.”

Lottie’s ears pricked. Another hint that Petrov and his 180 billion were pro-renewables. “You going to put your money where your mouth is?” she asked. She batted her lashes for good measure.

Petrov chuckled. “Don’t let Malik hear you saying that.” He pulled out his phone and scrolled through his photo reel. “And you can put the act away. I tolerate the playboy Qasirim and his girls because it’s the cost of doing business. Doesn’t mean I like it.”

He turned the screen toward her. A picture of a pretty woman and three grinning kids looked back at her.

“Your wife?”

“Who I love,” Petrov said.

“Fair,” Lottie admitted. “So are you here to buy oil from that wannabe tyrant or do you have the balls to stand on the right side of history with the Qasira?”