Page 10 of Shadowed Sins: Nitro

I wonder what her hands would feel like on my shoulder while she rides me. Dammit! Focus!

"We believe tomorrow's races are a cover for major criminal exchanges," Kade continues, his voice carrying thatcommand tone even through the speakers. "High-stakes betting, international players, perfect chaos for illegal transfers."

The word 'betting' slams into me. My skin prickles, goosebumps racing up my arms. Mouth goes dry despite the coffee. The familiar itch starts crawling through my nerves like insects under my skin. I grip the table edge hard enough to hurt, subtly pressing my cock against it. The pressure makes me bite my tongue to hold back a groan.

"I've been in touch with Gideon," I announce, voice breaking on the last syllable. I clear my throat with a harsh cough. "Called him last week before the Winchester job. Told him I was back in LA, interested in the racing scene. He invited me to tomorrow's VIP section."

The team turns toward me in unison. Cole's eyebrow raises a fraction—his version of shock. Asher's fingers pause on his tablet. Remy leans forward, elbows on the counter.

"Seemed genuinely happy to hear from me," I continue, keys spinning faster. "Still feels guilty about Tommy, I think."

Brief pause. Through the video feed, the soft chatter of the command center fills the silence. Tommy's name always creates this moment—the ghost of my best friend filling the space between us. His death changed everything. Roman found me two years later, bleeding from underground fights and owing money to people who collected with crowbars.

Roman would see right through this spiral. Would ask why your hands won't stop moving.

But Roman's been gone for months.

I shake off the memory, force myself into strategic mode. Walk to the holographic display, needing to move. Professional analysis kicks in even while half my brain imagines fucking her against Gideon's office windows during the races.

"Entry points here, here, and here." I mark positions on the display, my fingers trembling slightly against the lightprojections. The haptic feedback buzzes against my fingertips. "Security will be focused on the betting floors during peak chaos."

Cole stands, moves closer to study the layout. His shoulder brushes mine, and I nearly jump out of my skin. "VIP access gets us past most checkpoints. Clean infiltration."

"Exactly. Gideon trusts me—that's our angle, right?" I spin my keys harder, the metal starting to bite into my finger. "He'll show me around, introduce me to players, never suspect I'm there for intel."

"It's not just standard racing," I continue, pacing now because standing still is impossible. My footsteps echo on the hardwood. "Street races, bike runs, exotic cars. Like Fast and Furious had a baby with Monaco, you know?"

Asher pulls up financial projections, the numbers cascading across his screen in green. "Betting pools in the millions."

My cock pulses at the word. I turn toward the wall, pretending to study a different monitor. Sweat beads on my forehead despite the cool air. My shirt clings uncomfortably to my back.

"Betting on everything from lap times to wrecks." My voice cracks slightly on 'wrecks.' I cover it with another cough that sounds too forced. "Maximum chaos, minimum oversight."

I can sense Cole studying me with those sharp eyes that miss nothing. "You solid with this? The races, the betting environment?"

I force a grin, turning back to face them. Fall back on humor like armor. "What, worried I'll put money on myself? Come on, I'm not that guy anymore."

"You literally bid on a horse painting four hours ago," Asher points out, not even looking up from his tablet.

"That was different—"

"And a sculpture."

"Abstract expression of movement!"

"And joked about buying the entire dessert table."

"I was hungry!"

Remy laughs, but I catch the worried edge. He tilts his head slightly, studying me the way he does when assessing injuries. "Just saying, maybe someone else should hold your wallet tomorrow."

"I'll be fine." I wave them off, but my hand shakes visibly. I shove it in my pocket. "Besides, I'll be too busy working Gideon to think about betting."

Or too busy thinking about mystery woman to think about anything else.

"The financial patterns suggest million-dollar exchanges," Asher continues, mercifully moving on. His tablet chirps with incoming data. "Perfect cover for trafficking payments."

"Exactly." I lean over the display table, forcing my brain into tactical mode. The holographic light makes my hands look blue and ghostly. Even desperately aroused and half-insane, I see patterns others miss. "Look at the timing. Exchanges happening during crashes."