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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Here's Chapter 8, since I already had it written before I wrote chapters 4-7 (there I go writing out of order again) ;) I hope you guys like it! Let me know what you think with a vote and a comment. ***Disclaimer: There are depictions of sexual violence in this chapter (nothing over pg-13) If you don't wish to read this, or you don't think you can handle it, skip this chapter. just a heads up!***
Mila walked down the sidewalk. Her meeting with the Lingards had gone precisely how she thought it would. Harvey had been furious at her proposal, lecturing her on how it was a foolish, not to mention dangerous, endeavor. Mila hadn't expected Catherine's response however. She had seemed open to the idea. Concerned, yes, but confident in Mila's abilities.
If Mila were honest, the whole plan made her more than nervous. She was about to let an officer in the German army take her to dinner ... She, not only a Jew, but a spy for the 'enemy.'The Lingards had been right to question her sanity. Honestly, she was beginning to question it too.
A gust of cold air sent chills down her spine, and Mila wrapped her wool coat tightly around her, turning up its collar against the wind. It was getting late, the sun having disappeared behind the city's skyline long ago. She needed to get back to her house and get ready before Josef arrived.
Eyeing a group of men clustered on the sidewalk ahead of her, Mila turned down an adjacent alley. The last thing she wanted was to draw any unwanted attention to herself, especially in this neighborhood. Suddenly she was halted by a towering figure in front of her. Taking a step back, her eyes fell upon a German soldier.
"Oh, my apologies," She said hastily, averting her eyes from the towering man.
"Not a problem at all," The man spoke lazily, his German accent thick, eyeing Mila up and down. She gave the man a curt nod before attempting to side step him, but he stepped in front of her, blocking her path once again. "You know ... a young woman like yourself shouldn't be walking alone at night," The man began, taking a step towards her. "Why don't you let me escort you home?"
Mila could smell the drink on his breath from where she stood, evidently having spent his evening in the pub down the street.
"That's quite alright," Mila said, side stepping the man again. "I think I can mana-" She was cut off by a hand grasping her arm, preventing her from going forward. Her eyes traveled up to the person the hand belonged to. The soldier was glowering down at her, his grip tightening around her arm as their eyes locked with one another's.
"I insist," He said flatly.
"And I said," she began, ripping her arm from his grasp, "No."
In an instant, Mila felt her back hit the alley wall, a sharp pain shooting through her causing her to drop her purse to the ground. The man was inches away from her face, his breath thick with the smell of alcohol, his hand grasping her throat.
