Page 112 of Diamond Kisses

I squinted as another helicopter appeared.

Followed by another. And another. And another.

The drone was un-fucking-bearable.

Thewhop-whop-whopof their mechanical wings as they soared around the burning castle. The pressure beat down on us, churning the smoke into little tornadoes and wind devils.

Victor thrashed and fought.

The guards dropped him and narrowed their eyes at the helicopters. “Friends of yours?” the bald guard asked.

My vision struggled to focus. The blinking lights and speed didn’t help with my rapidly building nausea and dizziness, but I studied the tail of the closest one.

The largest helicopter hovered directly above us, buffeting us in wind and granting scents of ocean instead of fire.

Raising my hand to shield the spotlight that clicked on and aimed right at us, I followed the silver emblem painted on the tail.

An emblem I’d only seen once before.

On a business card.

For Moineau holdings.

A black Q with a sparrow soaring in the letter’s flick.

“Shit, Iknewhe’d come!” Ben suddenly slapped me on the back. “Told you we called your brother.”

I snarled in agony as he caught the whip marks and layered me with yet another gush of pain.

“Oh fuck. Sorry!” Ben reached for me as if to rub away my mind-melting discomfort.

Stepping out of his reach, I flushed with sickly sweat. “You…you called Q?”

“I told you that.”

“No.” I bared my teeth. “You didn’t.”

“Ah well, I was trying to before. When Stew turned the scrambler off—”

“I told your brother to check the cufflinks coordinates,” Stewart cut in. “It was the only way anyone would ever know where we are. The cufflinks were the map.” He laughed out loud. “He must’ve listened. I had my doubts, but…fuck. It worked! It really worked!”

All of us backed up as the huge hulking helicopter slowly descended directly behind us, hovering like a bird of prey in the gardens. The other flying machines soared over the wall; the whine of their engines blasted across the entire island as they prepared to land.

Their rotors vanished behind the battlements and appeared on the runway outside the open drawbridge.

My weakness faded beneath the final surge of strength.

I stood taller as the largest helicopter hovered a metre off the ground. The poor hedges wobbled and shook, evergreen leaves blasting off their stems. The guards clamped their hands over their ears, and all of us rocked backward on our heels as the pressure from the engines buffeted.

The side door slid open.

A man jumped out, followed by four others.

A man with short dark hair, a sharp widow’s peak, and fucking murder in his pale green eyes.

He’s not dead then.

A rush of relief filled me.

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