Page 66 of Mission Shift

I braced myself.

This was going to be bad.

I’d barely taken one step in the house before a fist crashed into my ribs.

My palms hit the marble floor with a hard crack, and I gasped.

A boot slammed into my stomach, rolling me onto my back. Someone ripped off the black hood, and the first thing I saw was his face.

Alexey Melnichenko.

My father.

His fury burned through his usually cool exterior, his gaze locked onto me—lethal as a loaded gun. There was a tic in his jaw as he took a slow step forward, looming over me.

“You fucking embarrassment,” he seethed, his voice a venomous thing.

I didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

He reached down and grabbed a handful of my hair, hauling me up to my feet. I didn’t fight when the back of his hand whipped across my cheek so hard my vision blurred. My head snapped sideways, my ears ringing, a metallic tang flooding my mouth as I tasted blood.

Then another hit.

And another.

A fist to my ribs. A slap that sent me reeling. A ring slicing into my lip.

Still, I said nothing.

The Devil stepped back, shaking his hand out as if my blood had soiled him.

His chest rose and fell with slow, controlled breaths, but I was all too aware that his anger hadn’t cooled. If anything, it had intensified, twisted into something more cruel, more deliberate.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” he asked, his voice like ice.

I lifted my head, meeting his stare.

His lips curled.

“If it weren’t for me,” he sneered, “the Kremlin would have had you tortured and executed already.”

I clenched my teeth, breathing shallowly through the pain in my ribs.

He scoffed. “You think you’re important? You. Are. Nothing. You were never anything but an extension of my power, and you threw it away like a stupid little girl with a bleeding heart.”

I exhaled slowly, remaining silent.

His eyes darkened.

“Do you have any idea how much I had to cover up?” he continued, his voice rising. “If the world found out my own daughter was helping the Ukrainians, do you know what that would do to my reputation? To the Kremlin?”

Resolutely, I maintained eye contact, my body still, my mind whirring.

The Devil smirked. “Oh, you have no idea. Putin is barely holding on. His army is bleeding out faster than he can replace it. His equipment is outdated, rusting, falling apart beneath him. The only thing keeping him in power is the blackmail he’s holding over those American politicians.”

His gaze flicked over me, his face contorting in disgust.

“But you?” he growled with disdain. “You ruined yourself for what? To help our enemy. To save a pathetic volunteer? An idiot American who didn’t know his place?”

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