Page 127 of Diamond Kisses

Raking a hand through his short hair, he nodded. “Fine. But if you pass out again—”

“Just tell me, for Christ’s sake.”

Dropping his arm, he sniffed. “I’ve heard he was missing all ten fingers and toes. His cock was found in a fountain. His eyes are believed to have been carried away by crows. I can’t say for sure what killed him, but…he was barely recognisable. He had stab wounds. To every part of him.”

“And the jewels?”

“The slaves?”

I nodded and rolled my bare wrists, ignoring my new cast. “You cut my collar and cuffs off. Did you do the same for them?”

“It was the first thing I did. They’re all free, and those strong enough and not too injured have already been flown back to their families.”

“And those who aren’t?”

“Some are convalescing in rooms around my estate. I have three doctors providing around-the-clock care. A few others are in the hospital in town. Some are still unconscious and are unidentified as yet.”

I swallowed hard, doing my best not to feel the sting of sorrow. Soon, that sting would be gone forever.

Ily.

Where is she?

Gagging on heartbreak, I couldn’t bring myself to picture or ask about Ily’s remains. The memory of her so lifeless and—

Shoving such agony away, I asked coldly, “Peter’s body? What did you do with it?”

“I don’t know which one was Peter.”

“His real name is…was…PaavakChauhan.” I wasn’t prepared for the dagger to my chest. “H-He was the man lying beside Il—”

A tidal wave of despair cut me off.

I couldn’t.

Fuck, I couldn’t say her name again.

Just like when I’d finally learned what her name meant, this time I felt the loss of all the years we’d never have together.

“I wasn’t there to do the cleanup. However, the deceased have been sent to the morgue,” Q murmured. “I’m waiting until the slaves…eh, the jewels, are mentally strong enough to identify them. Once I have the names of the dead, I’ll contact their loved ones and ensure they’re reunited.”

Silence fell between us.

I almost offered to identify Peter myself. To go and hold Ily’s cold, dead hand where she lay all alone in a grave-shaped fridge.

But…I couldn’t.

I couldn’t see her like that.

And Peter? His body didn’t matter anymore.

His soul was out there. Most likely with Ily. And I wanted to join them more than anything.

Looking Q up and down, I hated that we were strangers who shared blood.

We’d both hurt each other. Helped each other.

But we’d reached a truce, and a surge of guilt made me ask, “Is your son okay?”

---