13
Marguerite lockedup as the second man stepped up close to her side. I am a fool. They are men, and they are mercenaries. I have no means of paying them. Of course, this is what they would want in exchange.
The second man pressed his palm to his chest. “Oskar.” He gestured to the man with the scar. “Tomaz.” Then to the third, who spoke terrible French. “Fritz.”
Oskar, Tomaz, and Fritz. It is nice to know the names of the men who intend to rape me. But did they intend to harm her? She did not know. They did not strike her, throw her to the ground, and rip her clothes from her body.
Maybe it was not a highway robbery. Maybe it was merely a trade. But she did not yet know if it was one she was willing to make.
What choice do I have?
I cannot return to that monster.
Nervously, she muttered, “Marguerite.” She was trembling again as Oskar stepped even closer to her and ran a hand slowly down over her back. It sent a shiver crawling through her.
“We help,” Fritz said as he ran the back of his knuckle down over her cheek. “For you.”
Tomaz reached out to her and carefully took her wrist. He pulled her toward him, gently turning her until her back was against his chest. She was shivering, her mind was reeling, and her stomach was twisting in knots.
“Sag ihr, dass wir sie beschützen werden. Wir bringen sie weit weg von hier,” Tomaz murmured into her ear as he leaned down. He pressed his lips to the hollow just beneath her ear in a slow, sensual kiss. He smelled like dirt and the odor that comes with a man who has worked hard all day. It wasn’t…unpleasant, but something about it made every muscle in her body go even stiffer.
Fritz stepped into her from the front and caught her chin in his hand, tilting her head up to look at her. “We help. We take away. Far away.”
They can save me from the monster. They can save me from Gideon. All I have to do is—is let them have me. She shivered and pressed her back against Tomaz’s chest. She felt like she must be a marble statue with how tense she remained.
Oskar pressed in close as well and turned her head to him. Before she could react, he kissed her. When his tongue invaded her mouth, she let out a startled sound but didn’t fight him. She was too overwhelmed—too confused—to react at first. When he pulled his head back, he let out a shuddering breath. “Oh, süßer Honig.”
She slapped him.
His head rocked to the side, and she froze once more, expecting them to be angry. But Tomaz laughed at her back, a deep chuckle, and the other men joined him. “Eine Kämpferin! Sehr gut. So mag ich meine Frauen.” He caught her wrists in his hands and captured them at her sides. But he wasn’t rough. He wasn’t violent. If she kicked and screamed and struggled, she was certain she could wrench from his grasp.
Fritz was smiling—no, grinning from ear to ear—as he slid a hand over her chest, cupping one of her breasts in his palm and squeezing firmly. A second hand quickly joined the first to mirror the action, and that time she let out a whimper. Confusion consumed her and kept her from speaking, as she watched him in idle fascination as he explored her body over her clothes.
“No fear,” Fritz murmured, his voice low as he groped her. “No fear. No hurt. We help. Trade.”
“M…my husband is a monster. He…kills people. Murderer.” She did not know it for a fact, but how could it not be true? “Husband murderer.”
Fritz frowned and glanced over her shoulder at Tomaz. “Sie sagt, ihr Mann sei ein Mörder.”
“Kein Wunder, dass sie weggerannt ist.” Oskar, the smooth one who had kissed her earlier, tilted her head to his again, his breath washing over her skin.
Fritz began to untie the front of her dress, starting at the top. “We help. Keep safe. Trade. Take far away. Yes?”
My body for freedom. My body for safety. My body for escaping a monster. Oskar was still hovering close to her, his pale eyes searching hers. There was a strange desperation to him, as if he wished so desperately for her to say yes.
“Gentle?” she whispered.
Oskar smiled, a sweet and dazzling thing. He seemed so chivalrous…perhaps they were her knights. They were not the legends of old, but fairytales were lies. This was the part of the story her father had left out for her young ears. This was the currency she had with which to pay.
And pay she would.
“Gentle,” he whispered back. He knew that much in French, it seemed. Oskar closed the distance between them then and kissed her a second time. This time he was slower, more careful. He stayed to his word. When his tongue softly entered her mouth, she surrendered to it.
She let her eyes slip shut. It was many moments before Oskar slowly broke the kiss and placed another tender gesture against her cheek.
When Tomaz gathered her up in his arms, carrying her like he might a bride, she didn’t fight him. She kept her eyes shut, not wanting to see where they were going. This was the price of her freedom. This was the price of her survival.
Perhaps she would learn to enjoy it. Perhaps it wouldn’t be too bad. Something twisted in her stomach. No matter the fact that his was her path forward to freedom, she was afraid. Part of her knew this was more than likely a mistake. If I do this, I am a whore. If I pay them in sex, and receive their protection, that is what I have become.