Page 96 of Mission Shift

The makeup artist stepped up next, airbrushing away every last sign of fatigue and stress. She even managed to cover up the lingering bruises marring my skin. Foundation blurred the imperfections, concealer erased the shadows, and contours sharpened my cheekbones to a deadly elegance.

By the time she was done, I didn’t look like a woman who had been starved, beaten, and tortured.

I looked expensive. I looked owned.

Svetlana nodded in approval. “Good. You ladies have done a fine job. I’m sure you can find your way out.”

She waved the women away, urging them to collect their things. They packed up their kits, chatting amongst themselves as if I wasn’t sitting there.

Once they were gone, Svetlana shut the door and exhaled a long breath, the tightness in her shoulders momentarily easing.

“Let’s get you into your dress.”

She reached for the gown but paused, glancing at her watch with a theatrical sigh.

“Where is that damn prikazchik?” she grumbled loudly enough for those monitoring the cameras to catch.

She fussed with the gown, shaking her head. “If he doesn’t hurry up, we’re going to be late.”

I understood immediately. She was forcing their hand so that he would come before I was dressed. That way, there would be no risk of him finding what lay inside the fabric of the gown.

The prikazchik was, in fact, quite late. He probably enjoyed the power he had, making me wait. But he wouldn’t dare make Malinov wait. And Svetlana shouting about it had just ensured my father would hear about his delay and send him straight here.

Sure enough, within minutes, the door slammed open, and the old, sour man strode in, his beady eyes already crawling over me like insects.

“Robe off,” he barked.

Svetlana hovered nearby with her arms crossed, tapping her foot impatiently.

I stood and untied the belt, letting the robe slide from my shoulders, the silk pooling at my feet.

He walked a slow circle around me.

Inspecting. Assessing. Reducing me to flesh and obedience.

His gnarled fingers prodded my ribs, tracing the fading bruises. I clenched my teeth.

“Still too thin,” he muttered. “But at least the bruises are fading.”

He pinched my arm before turning to Svetlana. “You should have fed her more.”

Svetlana narrowed her eyes. “You told me she needed to heal, and she has. I can’t make her gain weight overnight.”

He sniffed. “Fine. You had better get going, or you’ll be late.”

“Perhaps if you had arrived on time, we wouldn’t be wasting precious minutes discussing it,” Svetlana snapped, gesturing toward the clock.

He stiffened, glaring at her. But she was right. He was the one delaying me now.

Not bothering to respond to her, he huffed and turned back to me. His gaze swept over me one last time before he jerked his chin toward Svetlana.

“Dress her,” he ordered. Then he stormed out.

The moment the door shut behind him, Svetlana muttered a curse under her breath. “Vile bastard,” she hissed, snatching up the dress.

I stepped into it, and she quickly zipped it up.

Her fingers grazed my collarbone as she adjusted the pearls resting against my skin.

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