Page 65 of Mission Shift

The train lurched forward, rocking as it picked up speed. I slumped back against the wall, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath, trying to let exhaustion take me.

For now, I’d let them believe they had me. But I’d get out of this, one way or another.

The ride was long. Longer than I’d expected. Longer than I wanted with an empty belly. Hunger gnawed at my stomach, and my body ached from hours spent curled up on the cold, unforgiving floor of the train car.

I was fairly certain I wasn’t being taken to another prison. No, this was something else entirely.

The train’s rhythmic clatter faded into white noise, lulling me into a fitful sleep.

The screech of metal grinding against metal jolted me awake. The train lurched, slowing, the momentum shifting as the brakes engaged. I forced myself upright, ignoring the stiffnessin my limbs as my heart pounded against my ribs. This was it. Wherever I was going, I had arrived.

I yanked the hood back over my head just as the heavy doors slid open, letting in a blast of fresh air. Boots crunched against gravel, accompanied by men’s voices barking orders in clipped, authoritative tones. I recognized the scent immediately—diesel fumes, oil, and burning brakes—an industrial train yard.

Someone climbed into the car and shuffled toward me. A rough hand grabbed my arm, pulling me up. My legs nearly buckled beneath me, the pins and needles of hours of poor circulation shooting through my calves. As soon as I forced myself to stand firm, I was being shoved forward.

I barely had time to register the emptiness in front of me before I was falling.

A jolt of panic seized me, my breath catching. Then arms caught me.

For a moment, I was held forcibly by strong hands. My stomach lurched as I was hoisted up and slung over a man’s broad shoulder like a sack of grain. The bastard didn’t even grunt from the effort.

My captor carried me swiftly for a few paces, his boots crunching against gravel. My body bounced as he stepped over the tracks, the distant hum of train engines rumbling around us.

I was dumped into a vehicle that smelled distinctly of leather, my butt colliding with a smooth, soft seat. The impact sent another jolt of pain through my bruised ribs, but I didn’t make a sound. I wouldn’t give them that satisfaction.

Bodies slid in on either side of me, boxing me in. The scent of cheap cologne filled my nose as the front doors opened and two more men settled into their seats.

The engine purred to life.

The silence stretched thick and heavy, save for the hum of tires rolling over pavement.

“Fucking hell,” one of them muttered. “She stinks.”

A few chuckles followed, but no one else spoke.

I didn’t care what they thought of me. They were just a bunch of lackeys.

I had no idea where they were taking me, but at least the car was comfortable, the seat beneath me soft enough to give my battered body some relief.

The drive was a couple of hours long. My head swayed against the seat, exhaustion pulling me under. I let it. I needed every ounce of strength I could get for whatever was coming next.

When the car finally rolled to a stop and the engine was cut off, the doors opened, and I was pulled roughly from the seat.

Once again, I was led along blindly. My boots scraped against cobblestones, and then I went up a set of steps. Somewhere in front of me, a heavy door swung open.

Then I caught it.

A scent so ingrained in my memory that recognition slammed into me like a fist to the gut.

Orange oil wood polish, faint cigar smoke, and an unmistakably expensive cologne.

My stomach churned.

I knew exactly where I was before they even hauled me inside.

The Devil’s home.

The house I’d grown up in. The house my mother had once filled with warmth. The house where her laughter had echoed through the halls before it had been ripped away, just like she had.

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