Page 92 of Mission Shift

I stood behind him, fascinated by all he was doing, watching as he pulled up files and ran background checks on the people he placed inside. “If any of these fuckers so much as blink wrong, I’ll have their entire bloodline erased,” he muttered.

Nik was a goddamn machine.

I didn’t have his wealth. His network. His army of hackers.

But I did have a very particular set of skills—I learned fast and had a virtually photographic memory.

“If this goes south,” I muttered, poring over the digital schematics of Malinov’s estate, “I need to know every possible escape route. I don’t want to be caught flat-footed.”

I memorized everything I could get my hands on: entry and exit points, vantage points and blind spots, emergency protocols, and even the sewage tunnels, if it were to come to that.

Nik caught me muttering under my breath about choke points and defensive positions. He looked up from his laptop and snorted. “Jesus, Thorin. You sure you weren’t military?”

“No,” I said, still focused on the layout. “Just a paramedic who’s had to think on his feet, working in and around Tacoma and Seattle.”

Nik exhaled, rubbing his jaw. “Yeah. I get that.”

At 3:17 a.m., Nik cracked Malinov’s security system.

The massive monitors flickered as we gained access to the cameras. We now had live feeds from every angle inside the mansion.

“You really are some next-level James Bond, huh?” I said, in awe of the seamless infiltration.

Nik arched an eyebrow. “More like Robin Hood.”

I scoffed. “Yeah? Stealing from the rich to give to the poor?”

Nik’s smirk flickered. “Something like that. I like to use my companies to spread the wealth.”

I let it go because I liked the idea. Nik had grown on me, even if I didn’t fully trust him yet.

Chapter twenty-seven

I’d been in the Devil’s house for eleven days.

If it weren’t for Svetlana, I’d be going stark raving mad. She had been my saving grace, sneaking me information and supplies I would need to escape. Today, though, she’d tucked something special between the pages of the book resting on my nightstand—a small photo of me as a child with my mother.

When I had turned the page, my heart nearly leaped from my chest. It was a picture of my mother in a flowing pink dress, holding a younger version of me in her arms. She was laughing, and Around her neck was her favorite pearl necklace—the same one I’d found tucked away, miraculously spared from the Devil’s purge. It was the only thing I had left of her, and I was taking it with me when I left this place for good. An ache bloomed in my chest as I traced her face with my fingertip.

She had loved me unconditionally, and my father had taken her away, ended her life way too early.

She would want me to survive.

Later, Svetlana made a bold move by bringing me an item I desperately needed. Her expression was blank as she set down a stack of fresh towels. She then left without saying a word. Something shifted between the folds, catching my attention.

I waited for a while so that it appeared I wasn’t oddly eager to see the towels, then carried the bundle to the closet. Positioning my body to conceal its contents from prying eyes, I reached in and found a combat knife.

My throat tightened. Hope flickered to life inside me. I hid the knife immediately, slipping it into the clothes I would wear beneath my gown for the party.

For the first time in days, I felt the weight of something powerful in my hand, something that would slice through anyone who tried to stop me.

Svetlana startled me when she returned in the early evening. She shoved open the door, carrying a bundle of teal fabric draped over her arm. I had been lost in thought, staring out the window. She didn’t speak as she laid the dress on my bed, smoothing the material.

“It’s your dress for the engagement party,” she said with a mischievous smile.

I ran my fingers over the smooth, shimmering fabric. It was a bold color and expensive. The color would accentuate the icy blue of my eyes. A calculated choice.

It was stunning. And it would be my armor.

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