Page 118 of Mission Shift

A barely there whimper slipped past her clenched teeth, hitting me harder than any scream ever could.

The tissue continued to give way until…

“Shit,” I muttered, reaching for the tweezers. The capsule lay exposed—a small, silver mass slick with blood, still tethered to the strands of tissue I’d cut away.

Daria fought to stay still.

“Stay with me,” I said, grasping the capsule firmly. “Gotta carefully remove it so the barbs don’t trigger a release of the toxin.”

Despite the bitter cold of the freezer, sweat covered her now-ashen skin.

With one steady tug, I lifted the capsule from the blood-filled incision.

I barely had time to throw it into the bowl before it burst.

The liquid inside turned the vodka a sickly, iridescent green.

Daria twisted to look.

“That was some nightmarish neurotoxin,” I said flatly, grabbing the second bottle of vodka. “And now it’s fucking useless.”

She sucked in a breath, her face pale.

With no hesitation, I poured the vodka straight into the open wound. The vodka flowed over the raw muscle and exposed nerves, mixing with the blood.

Daria jerked like I’d set her on fire. A raw, guttural scream tore from her throat, her back arching as her fingers clawed at the frozen box beneath her. I hated seeing her in pain, but it had to be done to sterilize the incision.

Her entire body shook, but she didn’t pull away or try to punch me in the face. She took it without breaking—like pain was just another ordeal to outlast. She was tough as hell, but she made it look easy. This was the kind of woman who could outfight any man, out-think any enemy, and still make it home in time to tuck a kid into bed or rock a baby to sleep.

I gritted my teeth, forcing myself to focus, to not think about the pain I’d caused her. “Almost done,” I reassured her, reaching for the glue. Since there was nothing to suture the wound closed with, I had to improvise.

The incision spanned five centimeters and was about the width of my pinky. I’d cut more than I’d wanted, but what choice did I have? I’d needed to ensure I didn’t set the damn thing off.

“Stay still. There’s just a little more to go. You’ve done amazing.”

I pressed the edges of the wound together, then twisted the cap off the superglue. Carefully, I manipulated the edges of the wound with one hand, keeping the tissue aligned while at the same time applying a thin, steady line of glue along the length of the incision. I worked fast, sealing the deeper layers first before moving to the surface, making sure each section adhered together before moving on. The glue set almost instantly, bonding the skin like makeshift sutures.

When I squeezed out the last bit of glue and stepped back, Daria’s breath hitched, her fingers clawing at the frozen box. But she didn’t make another damn sound.

After cleaning my hands and the skin around the incision site with more of the vodka, I wrapped a clean napkin around her arm and bound it with the kitchen twine, pulling it snug.

It was done.

Daria lifted her head. Sweat dotted her forehead, strands of hair sticking to her skin. She was paler than I would have liked, but her eyes burned with the same fire as always.

I let out a breath, dragging a forearm over my face.

Then, without thinking, I pulled her against me.

Her body tensed, but she didn’t resist.

I pressed my lips to her forehead, my grip on the back of her head firm but careful. Her body trembled beneath my hands. I wrapped my arms around her in a gentle embrace.

“You’re a fucking machine. I couldn’t have ever done it,” I whispered.

Her breath shuddered against my chest, but she let me hold her.

I let the hug last two seconds longer than I should have before pulling back.

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