Page 109 of Take the Sub and Run

"I don't want to be stuck here in this fucking shit hole.” The taller man gestured around at the beautiful estate, which was far from a shit hole, but was in the middle of the Belgian countryside with not much to do.

“If one of us has to stay, we should get to fuck her.”

The taller man laughed and the cold sound carried to Andrei. “You know, all she needs are her hands and her eyes to paint.” He made a cutting motion with two fingers. “Her other parts? We could start removing them.”

“You heard the father, we can't risk infection if we cut off a toe or two. Elio already hit her too hard.”

Andrei closed his eyes. He’d once been a criminal, and his switch to the other side of the law had more to do with security and quality of life than deep moral convictions. It was why he never really cared that Sofie was a forger.

And looking at these men now, he decided that there was no greater good than protecting the woman he loved. And protecting her might mean every man here had to die.

Sofie’s hands shook with pain as she tried to sketch out the outline of the image her father had just described to her. He wanted it in the style of da Vinci, as that was the piece that had attracted the most attention.

There were no poplar boards in the supplies, but she was terrified to say that, in case that earned her another strike. She’d snapped at one of the men earlier when the pain became too much, and he’d shown her what too much really was when he pressed on her right knee and she momentarily blacked out.

Her left leg throbbed, but her right felt like it was on fire. They’d had to lift her off the floor onto the stool. Carry her to the bathroom, though she'd been able to stand on her left leg long enough to use the toilet without assistance. She’d had to bite a fold of her shirt to keep from screaming when she lowered herself onto the toilet, and by the time she was done, had been weeping with agony.

Now she was at an easel, sitting on a tall stool which allowed her to keep her leg mostly straight. Her father was sitting beside her, hands on the head of his cane. He watched her with rapt fascination as she sketched the image of St. Gerolamo Emiliani walking among those dying of the plague. He’d requested this specific subject.

St. Gerolamo was the patron saint of orphans and abandoned children.

If she hadn’t been so scared, and in so much pain, she would have laughed.

“You have always loved to paint,” he said wistfully. “Makes me sad to hear it is no longer your first love.”

“I fell in love,” she whispered, voice shaking, her mind hazy with pain and possibly shock.

“With…a person? A man?”

“Yes.”

“How did you meet him?”

It didn't matter if she told the truth. She would never walk again. Never see Andrei. Never leave this room. She had been the worst kind of fool and now would pay for that stupidity. Not just with her life but in suffering.

“He arrested me.”

“I saw that you were arrested. I was shocked, Sofie.”

“I wasn’t really arrested.” She hated herself for reacting to the disappointment she heard in his voice. “He saw through the window in my bedroom when your men came in and started hitting me. He tried to rescue me, but I…I panicked. Tried to run back inside because.” She glanced at her father, head swimming a little—she shouldn’t look around too much. That was dangerous. “Because I’m not safe unless I’m at home.”

Her voice broke as she obediently parroted the words.

“That’s right.” He patted her shoulder. “But you’re home now.”

A whimper crawled up her throat but she swallowed it.

“How was it not really an arrest?”

“He arrested me to put me in protective custody. Because I kept insisting on going home even though it wasn't safe.”

Her father made a displeased noise.

“He… I…” Sofie bowed her head, pencil falling from her fingers. She stared at where it lay on the floor. She wasn't sure if she could get it.

Her father bent down and picked it up, placing it on the tray of her easel.

“It is good to know love, though only the love our God has for us is eternal.”

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