Free CapturedbytheSS by Gail Starbright Page A

damn narrator chanting,
“Your country needs you.” Images of swastikas and burning bodies flicker
through my head as that narrator keeps chanting, “Your country needs you.”
Prisoners of toppled nations stare back at me from countless films. “America is
the world’s last hope,” the narrator pleads.
    I have no idea why every film I’ve ever watched is rushing
to the surface, but I can’t shut them out or shut them up. God, I used to hear
that narrator in my sleep, “Your country needs you. Your country needs you.”
    Despite my best efforts to shake off his words, my body
starts trembling as a bizarre tidal wave of conflicting emotions crash down on
me. Much to my horror, I actually start sobbing. I cover my face with my hands,
wishing I had the ability to turn invisible. I’ve never in my life felt so
confused and so turned around.
    Oh for God’s sake, Isabel! Get it together!
    My captor doesn’t say anything. As I sob, I hear him stand.
Trying to pull myself together, I cautiously watch him out the corner my eye.
He slowly walks around the table before stopping next to me. He kneels down.
I’m convinced he’s going to either strike or strangle me, but instead he pulls
me gently toward him. I push him away, mostly out of instinct, but he only
yanks me toward him, jerking me off the chair. Again, I’m reminded just how
strong he is.
    Kneeling on the floor with him, I don’t even understand why
I’m crying. Defeat colors my mood as I press my face against his shoulder.
    His nimble fingers rake through my hair, which is still damp
from my shower. It doesn’t make any sense, I know, but somehow he’s making me
believe that he’s on my side, that he understands something that I don’t. To be
honest, I feel he’s the first person who’s ever really cared about me, though I
know that’s utterly ridiculous.
    I desperately try to fall back on my training, but his words
have somehow poisoned what I’ve been told. Hell, I’m not even sure which way is
up. All I do know is that I feel warm and safe in his arms.
    I have no idea what he wants from me. I’ve already told him
everything about my mission. Inhaling deeply, I force myself to stop crying. I
try to push him away, but he won’t release me. The hand stroking my hair
settles instead on my back. His hands feel strangely comforting.
    “What do you want from me?” I whisper.
    “You don’t get to ask the questions, American.”
    His words are a low murmur. He’s pressing his lips against
my ear. I’m trembling against him.
    Gently, his tongue traces the shell of my ear. I feel
paralyzed. I want to say no, but I can’t because…no one has ever touched me the
way he’s touching me. And much to my shock, I like it. I think there’s some
wounded part of me that even needs him and it scares the hell out of me.
    A bit of my sanity resurfaces. Again I try to push him away,
but he won’t let me go. “Please…don’t,” I whisper.
    “You like how I touch you,” he murmurs. “I can tell.”
    I swallow hard. I sense he’s waiting for me to answer.
“Yes,” I finally admit. There’s no point in lying to him. I haven’t been able
to hide anything so far. “But…I don’t understand why you’re doing this or—”
    “Shh. No more talking.”
    In all honesty, I really don’t understand what’s happening.
If he just wanted sex, then I would understand. I’m not ignorant. But I don’t
get this.
    It’s as if he wants me to want him, and the weird thing is…I
do, though I have no idea why.
    He pushes me back slightly. Uncertain what to do or what to
feel, I shut my eyes. His lips graze mine before settling into a parted-lip
kiss.
    In all my life, I’ve never liked kissing, especially any
parted-lip or open-mouth kissing. I’ve always found it unappealing. But now,
well, I find myself liking it. He gingerly sucks my bottom lip, tugging it,
which coaxes soft whimpers from me. My hands helplessly clutch the sides of his
tunic.
    He releases my