Page 113 of Mission Shift

The utterly dumbfounded look on his face nearly undid me. Like he’d actually thought I wouldn’t be angry. Like he wasn’t the reason my world had been set on fire.

I wasn’t just angry—I was fucking livid.

“I trusted you,” I hissed. “I burned my cover for you. I saved your ass when you were just some helpless American Boy Scout wandering through hell with a goddamn target on your back.”

I took a step closer.

“And for what?!”

His lips parted like he had something to say, then shut. I saw it then—the tidal wave of guilt eclipsing him in its shadow.

Good. Let it fucking drown him.

“Daria, I—”

“Don’t!” I snapped, my voice as sharp as the blade in my hand.

He shouldn’t have come here. He should have stayed far away, let me crawl out of this nightmare the same way I always had to—alone. Because now, I was faced with the same dilemma as before. Should I trust him, or should I kill him? I’d trusted him once, and look where that had gotten me.

Braxton Wyatt Thorin. The man I had thought—just for a second—was different.

“You’re in bed with one of my father’s greatest enemies, a Russian mobster in thick with the Kremlin, and you didn’t think that was something worth mentioning?”

“It’s not like that,” Braxton said defensively. “Daria, I swear to you, it’s not what you think—”

“Then tell me what the fuck it is!” I slashed the knife through the air between us, and he flung his arms wide, dodging. “Because from where I’m standing, you’re just another American who thinks he understands my world when you don’t know a damn thing.”

He flinched.

“You walk into my war—my adopted country’s suffering—and think your good intentions are all you need to make a difference. That you’re just some innocent aid worker with no blood on your hands.” I leaned back, throwing my hands in the air. “That’s not how this works, Braxton. This war is bigger than you. It’s bigger than me. And the second you stepped into it without understanding the consequences, you became just another liability I had to clean up—a stray dog to save.”

I advanced another step, heat crawling up my throat.

His Adam’s apple bobbed, but I didn’t let him speak. My anger was spiraling out of control. “You think your hands are clean because you didn’t pull a trigger? That good intentions pave the way to something better?” A humorless laugh escaped my lips.“No, Braxton. They pave the way to hell. And you dragged me right into it with you.”

Something in his eyes changed then. His chin lifted, tension gripping his frame like a silent warning.

And for a second—just a second—I thought he might fight back.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he did something worse.

He took a step forward, reaching his hand out to cup my cheek.

“Get the fuck away from me,” I warned, jumping back.

“You think I don’t know what I cost you?” he asked, his voice tight. “You think I don’t know that because of me you ended up—tortured?” He leaned in, his gaze burning into mine. “I know what they did to you, Daria. I know what happened. And I would trade my life to take it back. To fix it. But I can’t. The only thing I can do is get you out of here. If you let me.”

I hated him.

I hated that he meant it.

I hated that a part of me wanted to believe him.

But my anger wouldn’t let me relent.

“You don’t get to play the martyr,” I said with a sneer, my voice shaking. “You want to trade your life to take it back? Then do it. Bleed for me, Braxton. Suffer for me the way I suffered because of you. Let me carve the hours of agony into your skin and see if you still want to play the fucking hero.”

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