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"Got you at last, bitch!" growled the one still holding me.
"But I guess she's a very handsome bitch," the other said, licking his lips as his gaze slid greedily over my body. "I suggest that we anesthetize her, have our fun with her, and only then dispose of her."
I became dizzy at his submission of the plan first to rape and then - as it sounded - to murder me.
The beefier of the two guys pulled me closer to him. "I like it when they scream, though." The wine sought its way up so quickly that I vomited at their feet.
However, that didn't bother them much or even move them to change their plans regarding my body. "Besides, I like it when many watch me do it," he added quietly, looking around the hall with a grin. The eyes of the sculptures all seemed to be on us.
Before I could react, I was pressed against the nearest pillar. The smaller one held my arms tightly while the other pushed my skirt up and tore my panties with a firm hand movement. Panicked, I began to kick and scream, but even though he liked to hear his victims scream, he pressed my mouth shut with one hand to open his pants with the other. Whimpering, I squirmed under them. But they were too strong for me. Tears ran down my face, and I closed my eyelids, trying to think myself out of my body.
"Let go of my wife immediately!" an ice-cold voice cut through the silence in the room. Surprised, I wrenched my eyes open again. The bastards also stopped and looked in the direction the voice had sounded.
There, the arrogant man in the black tuxedo stood with flaming anger in his caramel-colored eyes, staring at me possessively.
CHAPTER 12
If you don’t take your filthy hands off her right now, you’ll wish you’d never met me!” he growled now, and even I had goosebumps running down my body. Who was he? And why was he helping me? Was he tired of life? Alone, he could do nothing against the two guys.
I was wrong about that because almost as if they had burned their fingers on me, my tormentors suddenly withdrew. Hastily and with trembling hands, I brought my dress into its original form. Embarrassed by the situation and the unattractive position this strange man had found me in, I smoothed out my skirt, avoiding his gaze. He, on the other hand, was watching, even examining me. I felt how he stared at me.
"Who's to say you're telling the truth, sir? What's your name? And what is your wife's name?" one of the pretend waiters asked suspiciously. Now, the charade would surely be blown. As inconspicuously as possible, I took a few shaky steps to the side, away from them, which did not go unnoticed. Immediately, they had me surrounded again, but at the same time, I did not let my supposed husband out of sight.
The latter now strolled toward our group, seemingly calmly. A charming smile was on his lips, but I still saw that untamedanger in the depths of the currently almost golden shimmering caramel.
“My name is Mr. Baldur, and this is Mrs. Baldur. Mrs. Helena Baldur." He pointed in my direction with an elegant hand gesture, almost making me jump in astonishment. "You are welcome to look at the guest list. You'll find both our names there," he said calmly, coming a little closer, which made the bastards visibly nervous. They took a few steps back, avoiding touching me but leaving me no choice but to back away as well.
One of them took out a tablet and began typing away on it. Frowning, he held it out to his comrade-in-arms. "He's telling the truth,” he whispered uncertainly. The other, however, raised an eyebrow demonstratively. He was not so quickly convinced.
"Anyone can say that. Besides, you had brought her the wine and confirmed it was Myrina Johnson’s place, right? Her father was sitting next to her, wasn’t he?”
Confused, his counterpart raised his shoulders.
"Why don't you look at the surveillance videos? Then you can see how my wife and I entered the museum together," Mr. Baldur patiently suggested. What? How could he suggest something so stupid? Or was it just supposed to be a red herring? Now, it was me who was getting quite nervous. I kept glancing over at my rescuer, waiting for him to give me some sign, such as to start running, to pull a statue over the head of one of the two guys, or to kick him in the soft parts.
But nothing of the sort happened, and with a massive lump in the pit of my stomach, I had to watch the surveillance system recordings being played back.
“There!” suddenly shouted the bullish man. “Look, there they are.” Stealthily, I looked past them at the screen. I almost let out a loud “What?” When I saw myself entering the building together with Mr. Baldur. By his side. Confused, I squinted my eyes. Was this a very convincing video montage? And if so,how had the tuxedo man organized it so quickly? But the most burning question on my mind was why my other self looked so happy. A genuine smile played around my lips, and the green of my irises sparkled like an emerald in the summer sun. The person on the tablet was the old Myrina before the Knights of the Seals took over and my mother died. When I wasn't locked in a golden cage. The free and carefree Myrina.
My gaze slid, as if magically drawn, to Mr. Baldur, who met it motionless and with a severe expression.
“We are really sorry, Mr. Baldur. There seems to have been a misunderstanding. We mistook your wife for a heretic who should be arrested by order of the Knights of the Seals,” stammered now the one with the tablet in his hand. His partner was also pale in the face by now. Sweat stood on the foreheads of both of them.
But my non-husband hardly reacted to her stammering. Instead, he turned to me. “Haye,will you please go to the Great Hall? You’re already expected there. I have something to take care of here.”
Cold now surrounded the caramel and had a firm grip on him. Was I mistaken, or were they blazing flames burning wildly in his iris?
Ignoring me, he turned to the guys, who recoiled in fright. Had they also seen the fire? As if to confirm this, urine ran out of the bottom of one of them’s trouser legs in fear, and a puddle gathered around his shoes. So I just nodded silently and, without looking back, stumbled out of the hall into the entrance hall.
“Myrina!" I heard my father's panicked voice when I turned the corner. "Where have you been? I've been looking for you." Panting, I threw myself into his arms. In the past, I had always run to my father when I felt the need for protection. I would have loved to snuggle into his jacket and let him comfort me, crying as I did then. But I was an adult by now, and we were not allowedto attract attention. So I sucked in the soothing scent of my dad’s aftershave once and then put on my rehearsed mask. The one in which I wore a benevolent smile on my lips.
"No, Dad. It's all good. I just got lost on the way back to the banquet hall," I said loud enough for anyone watching us to hear. "But I don't feel well and want to go home now."
My father's gaze flitted over my face and the rest of my figure. His eyes widened as he noticed my dress's rumpled skirt and my pupils' unrelenting panic. Anger glowed in his face, which he quickly tried to suppress. It was the hatred of a father whose child had been hurt by someone else—the most dangerous form of that emotion. I led him purposefully toward the exit before my dad could do something that would only cause us more problems afterward.
Usually, my father would have gone out now to order the car, and I would have had to wait patiently, head bowed, in the entrance hall. But not today. Determined, I was pulled outside by the arm. Leaving me alone again was out of the question for Dad, for which I was very grateful. However, my feelings told me that I no longer had to fear the two men. But who would they send next to kidnap and murder me? The thought sent frightening shivers down my spine.
Abruptly, my father stopped and stared with raised eyebrows at the end of the stairs. Our limousine was already parked there. Stephan had opened the passenger door and was waiting patiently next to mine. When he spotted us, his gaze was ice cold. Colder than usual.
