The year is 1942 and Europe is at the height of World War Two. Mila Goldstein, a Dutch Jew living in occupied Holland, has signed on as an informant for the British Secret Intelligence Service (SIS). However, days before her assignment, a wounded Ge...
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I enjoyed all of your responses on the last chapter so much that I decided to go ahead and post the next one! (It's been sitting in my drafts since about chapter 30, lol)
*****TRIGGER WARNING***** this chapter has a pretty graphic scene including physical/sexual violence. If this might affect you, feel free to skip to the next chapter once it's posted! (I tried to find a way to break that portion of the chapter up, but it's kind of interlaced throughout so I'm afraid there's no way to read without getting some sort of that content!)
"Ah," Mila heard a voice say, "You're awake."
"Whe-Where am I?" She asked, her eyes fluttering open, squinting as they adjusted to the fluorescent glow of a light. Her head was throbbing, her vision still blurry from whatever injury she'd incurred. "Wha-What happened?" She asked, trying to pinpoint the last thing she remembered. Why was her head hurting so bad? Trying to lift her hand to her temple, she realized for the first time, that she was restrained.
Blinking her eyes into focus, she looked around, taking in her surroundings. She was at the center of a small, cinder block room. A single fluorescent light flickered above her, casting a shadow across the farthest corners of the room. A table sat before her, Lieutenant Hoffman seated on the other side of it.
"Tell me, Ms. Vanderwall," He began, placing his clasped hands on the table as he leaned forward. "How does a Jewish girl from Holland become an informant for British intelligence?" He paused, a knowing smirk turning up the corners of his mouth. "Or should I call you Ms. Goldstein?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," She shook her head. He knew. How did he know? Had whoever called Josef, also told Lieutenant Hoffman? She swallowed down the sinking feeling in her gut, trying her best to keep her expression neutral.
"Humph ... Of course you don't," He chuckled, standing to his feet. "Two British agents were picked up yesterday evening and brought in for questioning," He began, walking around the table. "After nearly twenty seven hours, it seems ... Harvey, is it?" He asked, watching her expression closely at the mention of her handler's name. "Couldn't take another moment of his precious Catherine being tortured," He continued, "So he gave you up instead."
Placing his hands on the arm rests of the chair Mila was tied to, he pushed it back, standing squarely in front of her now. "I'll ask you again ... How does a Jewish girl from Holland get herself mixed up with the British SIS?" He asked, stooping down, his hands still resting on the arms of the chair.
"You seem to have all the answers. Why don't you tell me?" She replied, dropping all pretenses of innocence. He knew who she was ... There was no denying it now. Rearing back, he slapped her hard across the face, her head snapping to the side as his hand connected with her cheek. Blinking back the tears that had formed in her eyes, she glared at him, refusing to show any weakness.
