Page 152 of My Dark Horse Prince

“The men you were worried about have taken me after all, just like Aleksandr thought they might,” she says.

What? What men? Before I can ask, she dives back in.

“But you’re the one they want, Kris. Not me.”

Whoa, she knows I’m not Kris. She wants me to get a message to Kris, clearly. But why didn’t she just call Kris? Or why not just tell me that? “Okay.” My mind finally wraps itself around what she said. Those men Aleksandr was worried about. . .took her?”

My brain rebels against the thought. I deserve to be taken, beaten, whatever. But not Mirdza. She’s never done anything bad ever. How dare Aleksandr and Kristiana endanger her life.

“They want you to come to the following address in the next half hour.” She pauses, thankfully, and I flip the phone to speaker so I can enter the address she reads into a note. My heart was beating fast before, but now I’m probably close to the heart attack range.

I need to get there in a half hour. . .or what?

“But you know me,” Mirdza continues. “I hate the idea of someone trading themselves to save me as much as I hate Polish sausages. I’ve never wanted any, and I don’t want you to show up in the next thirty minutes, either.”

Polish what?

I remember it, then. Our stupid code she made up after Martinš nearly killed her. Something about Polish sausages means I’m supposed to call the police.

But she said she hates them, and that she doesn’t want any. Then she told me NOT to come. Does she mean to tell the cops, but not to go?

It hits me then, why she’s calling me and not Kristiana. I really am a moron. I should have known from the start. If she called her best friend, she’d rush to her side. Then the men might kill them both. Or even if they released Mirdza, they’d kill Kris.

My sister would never trade herself for someone else, and I’m probably the only person she could trust to pick myself over her. She’s sending them a message. . .through me. She won’t want me to share it until the time has past.

“If you don’t come alone,” a man’s voice says, “we’ll kill her.”

A chill races up my spine. This man sounds worse than Nojus.

“And if you’re late, we’ll kill her.” The man hangs up.

With shaking hands, I look up the distance to the address and find out that, shockingly, it’s a five minute walk. That gives me a little time. I stop at the local post office, scrawl out a hasty note, and mail my own phone to our apartment at Liepašeta.

I was never going to get the money.

Part of me knew that already. There’s also no way I was going to repay Nojus in the way he wanted. If I’m doomed to die today, I may as well do it for a good cause.

I’m terrified as I march into the park where the men told me to go. My heart’s racing. My palms and pits are sweaty. My head throbs from dehydration, too much panic, and the incessant darting of my eyes, looking for the horrible mastermind who’s planned all this.

What do they want with Kristiana?

I expect a dozen men in all black. I expect knives and guns and flinty eyes. I don’t know what kind of people Kristiana pissed off—or maybe it was her husband. They’re probably Russians, right? The Russian mafia? Maybe he borrowed money, too. That’s rich, if I’m killed for the same thing I did, only by someone else’s villain. Won’t Nojus be shocked when he can’t rape me? I hope he finds out that I’m dead—I want him to be deprived of the satisfaction of harming me himself.

Or maybe he’ll spend years and thousands of dollars searching for me. That would be even better.

As I glance at my watch, I realize that if I can just delay whoever it is that comes for Kris for twenty minutes or so, Nojus’s lackeys should show up to collect me. That might be interesting.

And of course, as always, the second I see a glimmer of hope. . .

I start to make a plan.

The people who wanted me here will be strong. Powerful. Probably scary looking. And I have no idea why they want me. Mirdza knew something, which means Kristiana would have an inkling of who they are. Other than her dad’s gambling, her life was pretty blasé before she got engaged.

Plus, Mirdza said, ’like Aleksandr thought they might.’ It has to be related to him. He’s Russian. The guy will likely be Russian. It’s probably about money.

I start watching people intently in the park.

No one’s wearing black. No one’s carrying any weapons I could make out. No one even looks ominous.

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