Page 78 of Mission Shift

I couldn’t let him use that against me.

I wouldn’t give them my father’s secrets either—wouldn’t tell them about the moles inside the Volkovi Notchi.

I forced my head to loll back and fluttered my eyes. “I don’t know…” I whispered, slurring my words. “I don’t…”

Dr. Goryachov’s scowl deepened.

He picked up another syringe.

The second dose hit me harder.

The edges of reality blurred, slipping away like water through my fingers. My limbs felt detached, and my mind began to float, becoming distant.

I heard myself mumbling. Meaningless words slipped past my lips, my thoughts scattering like dust.

The doctor sighed, shaking his head.

“She’s done.” His voice came from far away. “Mr. Melnichenko is going to be pissed.”

“Let him deal with her,” Oleg growled.

My eyelids fluttered closed, this time of their own accord.

The restraints fell from my ankles and wrists. I was drifting in and out when Oleg lifted me, my limbs uncooperative, dead weight in his grasp. The world tilted as he carried me, but I made no effort to fight. My muscles would have refused to cooperate anyway.

Everything wavered at the edges, my consciousness floating somewhere between oblivion and reality.

Hands.

Dragging me.

A door creaking open.

A muttered curse.

I barely registered the shift as my body was dumped onto something soft—a bed.

The scent of orange oil and aged wood curled around me, familiar yet suffocating. My childhood bedroom. My prison.

Sleep pulled me under before I could resist.

Chapter twenty-two

Iwoke to the dim glow of the late-afternoon sun spilling through lacy curtains. The room was silent.

Disoriented, I blinked up at the ceiling, my mind scrambling for clarity. My limbs throbbed, my throat burned, and my stomach—an empty pit—gnawed at itself.

I rolled over, and pain lanced through my ribs, stealing my breath.

No, it wasn’t a nightmare. I was here inthe Devil’shouse.

The weight of the last few days crashed over me like a landslide. The torture. The drugs. The fuckingbetrayal.

I pushed myself upright, letting out a groan with every movement. Someone had dressed me in a sleep shirt with buttons up the front, but I had no memory of anything afterhitting the bed. My muscles trembled, my head swam, but I forced my feet to the floor.

I needed to clear my head so that I could plot my escape. The clock was ticking.

Staggering toward the vanity in the en suite, I gripped its edges, my knuckles turning white as I steadied myself.

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