Page 31 of Everything Under the Sun

“I’m Petra,” she introduced. “Now listen to me—I know it’s hard for you to understand, and what I’m about to tell you will seem like the worst thing I could ever say, but it’s also the truest thing I could ever say.”

I turned fully to face her.

Petra’s eyes were cat-like and ice-blue, her mouth was dirty as if she’d drank from a mud hole before she came here, but she had pretty pouty lips underneath all the filth, and a tender face framed by cottony blonde hair. She reminded me of Sosie.

“If you fight them,” she began, “you’re going to draw the wrong kind of attention. Just give in to them, give them what they want and they’ll lose interest in you faster. They’ll have their way with you, but if you pretend to like it, they’ll lose interest sooner.” She spoke as if she knew these things from experience.

My chin dropped, and I looked at my hands still bound by the rope that had rubbed my skin raw around my wrists.

“I can’t do that,” I whispered. “I could never do that—I will die first.”

“You would do it for your sister,” Petra said, and it stung me because it was true.

I raised my puffy, burning eyes and looked at Petra, heartbroken.

“For her, I would do it,” I said. “But something tells me that no matter what I do, or what Sosie does, or if God Himself came down from the heavens and said to those men: ‘Do not touch Sosie Fenwick lest you burn in Hell’, they’re still going to hurt her.” I made a choking noise as more tears rushed to the surface.

“There is no God,” Petra said. “But you’re right about everything else—they will have their way with your sister, and there’s nothing either of you can do but accept it.”

The door came open again and the green-eyed soldier re-entered the room, taking his position same as before.

I felt the mattress move as Petra stood up beside me. I kept my head low, but watched Petra as she walked across the tile on bare feet; the end of the rope that bound her wrists slithered across the floor beside her.

“Go sit down,” the soldier said in a calm, seemingly uninterested voice.

But Petra stepped right up to the soldier and raised her hands to the side of his face, the back of her fingers trailed down his smooth cheeks. For a moment, the soldier did not object, but then his arms came up and he grabbed hold of her wrists and pushed her hands against her chest.

“I said go sit down,” he demanded.

But Petra sat down beside his boots instead; she laid her head against the soldier’s leg. He didn’t push her away this time.

I studied his face from the short distance, and in it, behind all of the ordinary and the bright eyes that made him extraordinary, I saw that he was not so different from any other man. He liked having Petra at his feet, and he was struggling with his duties and his nature.

I looked away, no longer interested in what might go on between the two. And after a long time, when another set of boots resonated down the hallway, the soldier finally showed a more negative reaction by grabbing Petra by the back of her shirt and dragging her across the floor toward me on the bed.

Just as the soldier straightened his back, the Overseer, Atticus, in his tall stature and uniform expression, entered the room.

12

THAIS

His blue eyes were set amid a strong face with hard cheekbones and an even harder gaze that seemed effortless and natural. He was incredibly tall, much taller than the green-eyed soldier who stood against the wall with his chest puffed out.

Atticus turned to the soldier. “Until Rafe returns from Cincinnati,” he said, “your new position is to guard this room in the overnight hours while I’m sleeping.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Return here four hours after nightfall,” Atticus went on, “and be well-rested when you do.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You may leave.”

The soldier nodded to Atticus, and just before he turned on his heels and left, I noticed him steal a quick glimpse of Petra sitting next to me on the mattress.

The door closed behind him without a sound.

Wasting no time, I moved from the mattress and went to my knees before the Overseer.

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