Page 120 of Shadowed Sins: Nitro

Shape it. Like he shaped me.

"The racing academies provide perfect cover. Parents pay us to train their kids. We assess which ones have the right combination of skill, desperation, and malleability."

My stomach lurches. The photos on his wall—how many of those smiling kids ended up as cargo?

"You were borderline, honestly. Good skills, but too stable. Happy family, secure background." He picks up the photo of Tommy and me, turns it in his hands like examining merchandise. "Then your friend died, your parents blamed you, and suddenly you were exactly what we needed. Broken. Guilty. Desperate to prove yourself."

I grip the back of the chair in front of me, knuckles white. Force myself to stay still when every instinct screams to grab that photo away from his manipulative hands.

Every text asking if I was okay. Every invitation to come train when I felt lost. Every time he told me I had potential.

"Sweet boy, I need you to respond to what he's saying. Maintain cover."

Mira's voice cuts through the rushing in my ears.

"So the accident—"

"Was an accident. But profitable." He sets the photo down carefully, his fingers drumming against the wooden surface—same rhythm he used when analyzing race footage. Now he's analyzing me. "Your grief made you the perfect candidate for specialized work. Willing to take impossible risks. Addicted to proving yourself. Easy to control through guilt and validation."

The room feels like it's tilting. Every foundation belief about integrity, mentorship, belonging—all calculated manipulation.

A knock echoes through the office door.

"Sir? Building security wants to speak with you. Someone reported suspicious activity in the shipping area."

Gideon stares at me across his desk, and something in his expression shifts. The proud mentor mask slips, replaced by cold calculation. His fingers drum against the wooden surface, same rhythm he used when analyzing race footage.

He signaled them before we even started talking numbers. Smart bastard.

"You know what, kid? In all our meetings, you've asked a lot of questions about the operation but never once asked about your cut of the profits. What kind of recruit doesn't want to know how much he's getting paid?"

My blood turns to ice water.

"I was waiting for you to bring up compensation—"

"No." He leans forward, eyes sharp. "You asked about shipping schedules. Security protocols. Communication networks. You asked everything except what any normal person would ask first."

The office feels smaller suddenly. My training kicks in, cataloging exits. Door behind me. Window to my left. Distance to desk between us.

"I really hoped I was wrong about you, Jax. But you're not here to join us, are you?"

The door bursts open and three armed men surge into the office, tactical gear gleaming under the fluorescent lights. I drop behind Gideon's desk as gunfire erupts. The crack of automatic weapons splits the air.

Fire explodes through my shoulder, spinning me sideways. Blood soaks through my shirt, warm and spreading fast.

"Package hit. Shoulder wound, significant bleeding."

Cole's voice through the comm cuts through the chaos.

"How bad?" Remy's voice crackles through, professional and sharp.

Before I can answer, Mira's voice cuts through the channel like a blade.

"Remy. Now."

Two words that make my chest tight. Not a request. A command delivered with deadly certainty.

"Copy. ETA four minutes."