Page 102 of Mission Shift

Malinov’s fingers trailed down to my waist before he yanked me forward, his overfed frame pressing against mine. His mouth crushed my lips, wet and greedy. I let him kiss me.

I leaned in just slightly, rocking my hips against him in a show of compliance.

His cock hardened.

Disgust pulsed through me, but I masked it.

This was about control. He had to believe he was winning.

He tore his lips away, breath ragged and eyes glinting.

“You’re learning,” he murmured. “Good girl.”

I dropped my gaze, lowering my chin in the way he expected.

Malinov’s hand lingered on my waist for several hellish seconds longer before he stepped away. He turned to his men, grinning widely, clearly pleased.

“She’s smarter than her father gave her credit for.” He straightened his suit, smoothing the fabric over his stomach. “She knows how to play the game.”

The men smirked.

Malinov sighed theatrically, shaking his head. “And to think—Alexey feared she’d be a problem.”

His eyes flicked to me.

“I told him not to underestimate a woman’s instinct for survival.”

My skin burned where his hands had been.

But I didn’t let it bother me, because he had no fucking idea that I would never let him touch me after tonight.

Malinov lifted a hand and flicked his fingers.

The goon to my right grabbed my wrist.

I lashed out, but another set of hands clamped onto my shoulder, twisting me sideways. With a brutal shove, I was sent staggering backwards. My spine slammed against the rough, cold stone of the wall. Then the man spun me hard, shoving my cheek against the rock.

A hand wrenched my arm up, forcing me onto my toes.

Roughly, Malinov’s lackey yanked one of my wrists over to a metal cuff that had been bolted into the wall and locked me in place with a metallic snap. Then he forced my other arm wide—since the other cuff had been situated deliberately far away—stretching my ribcage and pressing my chest against the stone until I was splayed across the wall.

Another snap, and I was hanging there, my tiptoes searching for purchase. With both wrists secured, I was stretched so wide I could barely shift an inch in either direction—suspended like an animal on display.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. He needed me pristine for the party, didn’t he?

But here I was, bound and trapped.

The door banged open again, and a man in an expensive tuxedo strode toward me, smiling as he rested a hand on my shoulder—as if seeing a woman in a formal gown strung up against a wall was just another day at the office. But this man wasn’t a soldier or a brute. He was a professional—a doctor, perhaps?

He set a black medical kit on the nearby table and unzipped it. Inside was an array of medical instruments and supplies that gleamed ominously in the dim light. Fastidiously, he laid out some sterile swabs, a sleek injector, and a small metallic device no larger than a vitamin capsule.

Fuck! What was Malinov about to do to me?

Implant? Tracker?

Malinov always played with his food before he devoured it.

I yanked at the cuffs, but Malinov’s thug pressed into my back, locking me in place.

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