Page 142 of My Dark Horse Prince

After he hangs up, I close my eyes. I didn’t lose consciousness, but surely it won’t be horrible, like stabbing or something. They’re tough, but the two men don’t seem ghastly like those Russian mafia guys.

They never bothered binding my legs again—after they shattered one, what’s the point? But when I hear bootsteps approaching, I simply clamp my eyes closed tighter.

The little zap by my wrists surprises me. “You’re free to go,” Boris says.

“What?” I look up at him, confused.

“Your friend came.” He looks a little disappointed. “I guess you get to live another day. She must really like you. She came alone.”

My heart breaks. “No.” I try to stand and end up in fetal position, whimpering. “Why? Why didn’t Aleks stop her?”

“She must not have told him,” Boris says. “But he’s going to hate you. It might even split him and Grigoriy up.”

“That would be interesting,” Mikhail says.

My entire body’s shaking, and I’m worried that I’m going into shock.

Mikhail drops something next to me. “Here. Use it quick, before you pass out.”

I hear them leave as tears run down my face. Only once the door closes behind me, do I turn to see what they gave me.

It’s a phone. Not the one they used earlier. A different one.

I hate myself for doing it, but Mikhail was right. I do want to live. I dial Kristiana this time, hoping that she’ll answer. Hoping that there was a misunderstanding.

But I know—

“Hello?”

It’s her voice. Kristiana’s voice.

“Hello?” I ask. “Are you there?”

“Mirdza!”

“It’s me,” I say. “Mikhail and Boris took me.” I start to sob. Why did they leave? Why did they give me a phone? How am I still alive? What’s going on?

Of course, the extra surge of adrenaline pushes my poor body over the edge, and I finally pass out.

When I wake up, I’m cradled in Grigoriy’s arms.

My leg still feels like it’s made of confetti. It’s throbbing and I want to throw up.

“It was too late,” he says. “I’m going to kill those—”

“Stop,” Kristiana says. “You’re not going to do anything. She needs you here right now.”

In trying to orient on her face by following the sound of her voice, I realize where we are.

In a hospital.

“The best orthopedic surgeon in Riga’s going to operate right now,” Aleksandr says, standing behind Kristiana.

Grigoriy stands and places me on a hospital bed, his hand still in mine. “You’re going to be fine. I promise, we will figure this out.”

And then we’re wheeling down a hallway, and he’s pressing a kiss to my forehead, and a man in blue scrubs is telling me that he’s going to count down from ten.

Again, in the same stupid day, I’m unconscious.

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