Page 117 of Shadowed Sins: Nitro

The morning stretches around us, quiet except for our breathing and the distant sounds of the city waking up. My body still aches from last night—deep, specific reminders of losing control. But sitting here with him, straddling his lap while he holds my bruised hips, speaking Russian words I thought I'd forgotten...

I want to keep him.

The thought hits violent and sudden. Not just want him—want to keep him. Lock him away where no one else can see him smile like this. Where no one else can watch him fumble through making breakfast while rambling nervously. Where he's just mine.

"I should go." The words tear out of me as I slide off his lap.

"What?" His whole demeanor shifts, panic flashing across his features. "Why?"

I pace to the window, fingers finding the glass. The cold grounds me but my reflection shows dilated pupils, flushed cheeks, the look of someone coming apart. "Because when you were making breakfast, I had seventeen different thoughts about killing any woman who might teach you that recipe."

"Mira—"

I spin to face him, and the words pour out like blood from a wound. "Because I memorized every tell your body has when you sleep—the way you breathe, how you curl your fingers, that little furrow between your brows that only smooths when I touch you. Because right now, the only thing stopping me from marking you so deeply you'll never wash me off is that you're looking at me with those fucking earnest eyes."

He stands, moving toward me with that focused intensity that makes my body ache.

"I don't have walls anymore, Jax. Do you understand what that means?" My voice cracks as I back toward the door. "There's nothing between what I feel and what I'll do about it. Nothing to stop me from—"

"No."

The word comes out raw, commanding. Before I can reach the door, he's there—one hand slamming against the wood beside my head, his body caging me in. His shoulders square, jaw set, every line of him radiating controlled power.

Then he looks at me—really looks at me—and I watch it crumble.

"You don't get to—God, I don't know how to say this right—" His free hand runs through his hair, messing it worse, but he doesn't move away, doesn't give me space to run. "You think you're the only one who's fucked up here?"

His fingers start that telltale tapping against the door, rapid staccato that matches his heartbeat where his chest presses against mine.

"I've been obsessed with you since that first night. Can't think straight when you're in the room. Can't breathe right when you're not." His eyes are wild, desperate. "I memorized the way you check exits so I could position myself between you and doors without you noticing. Like right fucking now."

My breath catches. I had noticed him doing it but thought it was unconscious protectiveness. Not deliberate. Not planned. My nipples tighten against my shirt at the calculated possession of it.

"Three days." His voice drops, rough and wanting. "We have three days of pretending to prep for San Francisco when all I'll be thinking about is the way you look when you come apart."

His hand leaves the door to cup my face, thumb tracing my cheekbone with devastating gentleness despite the wildness in his eyes.

"Stay." The word breaks from him, all that controlled power crumbling into something raw and needy. "Please. Don't run just because you're feeling things. Don't leave because the walls are down. Stay and feel them with me."

My hands are already fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer even as my mind screams danger.

"I'm going to get us both killed." The words come out against his throat where I can feel his pulse racing. My tongue flicks out to taste his skin without permission. "I'm the girl who's memorizing your weaknesses while you hold me. The one who's already calculated seventeen ways to keep you if you try to leave me."

"Good." His voice drops to something dangerous, nothing like his usual golden retriever warmth. "You want to mark me?Do it. Want to kill for me? Get in line behind what I'd do to anyone who touches you."

twenty-seven

Jax

"Jax! There you are! So glad you can make it."

Gideon's arms wrap around me before I can react, that familiar bear hug that used to make me feel like I belonged somewhere. Now the scent of leather and his cologne—that same goddamn cologne he's worn since I was sixteen—makes my stomach twist with something I can't name yet.

He's exactly the same. That proud smile, calling me 'kid' like nothing's changed. How can the man who taught me about honor be involved in this?

"Good to see you too, Gideon." The words taste like ash, but my voice stays steady. Professional. Mira is listening through the comm, and that steadies something inside me.

"Come on, let me show you what we've been building here." He gestures toward the trophy cases lining the main corridor, same proud father expression I remember. "Remember when you and Tommy took first and second at Saddleback? That double-jump section where you both went airborne?"