Page 52 of Mission Shift

Fedorov.

My stomach plummeted.

My pulse pounded, hard and fast, my body vibrating from something far worse than the cold—fear.

I was back in Krestovskaya Prison.

Oh, shit!

It didn’t get worse than this.

Fedorov smirked, apparently noticing the moment I put it all together. “There she is,” he drawled, stepping closer. “Wasn’t sure if we’d have to wake you up again.”

I clenched my jaw. My breathing was still erratic, and my heart was hammering so hard it thundered in my ears.

Fedorov turned to the other man, the one still standing by the control panel. “We may have been given strict orders not to cause any more visible injuries on her pretty little body…” He trailed his fingers down my cheek and over my breast, grinning when I jerked away. “But there areotherways to make her talk.”

He removed his hand from the water and leaned in closer, his voice dropping into a tone that was almost intimate.

“Lucky for us, I have plenty of favorite methods.”

He flipped the switch.

Agony!

It was instant, like a thousand knives being driven into my skin all at once.

The ice water conducted the current perfectly, amplifying the pain. Lightning tore through my veins, and every muscle in my body spasmed.

My back arched violently, my teeth grinding together. A strangled, inhuman sound ripped from my throat as electricity surged through me in relentless waves.

I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. I was being burned from the inside out.

Then it stopped.

My body collapsed into the water, gasping, twitching. My heart slammed against my ribs—a heavy, erraticthud-thud-thudthat barely kept rhythm.

Fedorov crouched beside the tub, waiting for my eyes to focus.

“Tell me, Lieutenant Colonel,” he said, letting the words roll off his tongue, slowly and deliberately, a predator toying with its prey. “Who are you really working for?”

I panted, blinking up at him. Every part of me hurt.

He grabbed my jaw, forcing my head up. “Talk.”

I spat right in his fucking face.

His eyes flashed.

And then he reached for the switch again.

Some time later, I scowled at Fedorov as the pain ebbed and my ability to think returned.

He leaned in. “Tell me, little whore, why did you help the American escape? Did his dick taste that good?”

I swallowed past the raw, aching burn in my throat.Think.

I blinked slowly, letting my head loll to the side as if the last shock had drained me. They wanted weakness? Fine. Let them believe I was broken.

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