Page 50 of Mission Shift

After a few seconds of silence, Atticus sighed. “We’ll be waiting. I can’t wait to hear your story.” Another moment passed. “Brax, I’m glad you’re safe. You know we see the worst sorts of tragedies, working in the ED… My mind’s envisioned so many scenarios. It’s good to hear your voice, little brother.”

“Yours too… You have no idea. I’ll call soon.”

With that, the line went dead.

I shut my eyes, grounding myself, then shoved the phone into the pocket on the back of the seat.

Nik smirked. “No one can gut you like family.”

“No shit,” I muttered.

Nik shifted forward, peering through the windshield at the road ahead. “You can deal with that later. Right now, we needto move. We’re still close enough to the border that the Russian military could make a play for us.” He flicked his fingers toward the driver. “Step on it.”

The engine growled, and we sped forward, dirt and gravel spitting from the tires.

As the SUV ate up the distance toward Kyiv, I stared out the window, every fiber of my being focused on one thing.

Saving Daria.

She was out there. Suffering. Maybe dying.

I wouldn’t let her die—not while I was still breathing, not while I had even an ounce of fight left in me. If sheer willpower was all I had, then I’d make that be enough.

Nik could posture all he wanted. He could threaten me, warn me, try to control the situation—but I knew one thing for damn sure.

I was getting her back.

Chapter seventeen

Pain.

It was the first thing I registered—a slow, creeping agony clawing its way up from the depths of unconsciousness, spreading through my body like a fire that had already burned everything to the ground but refused to go out.

My skull throbbed like it had been split open, pain radiating from the base of my neck where I’d been struck. My face was smashed up against something solid, warm, and clothed. The unmistakable scent of sweat and cigarettes filled my nose. I peeled my eyes open to find a massive arm covered in dark gray fatigues.

I tried to move, to shift away from the man I’d been leaning against, but my muscles screamed in protest.

My hand moved sluggishly as I reached up to rub the back of my neck where I’d been pistol-whipped. A slow exhale sent a fresh sting through my lip, the bitter metallic taste of blood coating my tongue as the wound oozed.

I groaned.

The man beside me barely hesitated before punching me in the jaw.

White-hot pain detonated through my skull.

Everything went black.

Cold.

So cold itburned.

Before I even fully surfaced from unconsciousness, I felt it—the ice-cold water biting into my skin, sinking into my bones, forcing violent shivers through my body.

I was naked.

That realization cut through the fog in my mind like a blade.

My eyes snapped open.

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