Page 133 of Shadowed Sins: Nitro

Gideon. Not just providing cover anymore—he's running the entire west coast operation. The muscle in Jax's jaw ticks dangerously.

"He trained me," Jax's voice drops to something I've rarely heard from him. "Taught me everything about trust and precision and—" His hand tightens on my hip. "And he's been coordinating trafficking operations this whole time."

"Not just coordinating," I need him to understand the scope. "He's C2 for the entire western network. Every girl who disappeared, every shipping container—he orchestrated all of it."

The sound Jax makes is inhuman. Before I can react, he's moving—slamming his fist into the brick wall with enough force to split knuckles.

"Jax!" I grab his arm before he can do it again.

"He was at Tommy's funeral!" The words tear out of him. "He held me while I sobbed about killing my best friend, and the whole time he was—"

"Breathe." I turn him to face me, hands framing his face. "Look at me."

His eyes are wild, unfocused. "I can't—Mira, I can't—"

"Yes, you can." I press our foreheads together again, giving him a focal point. "You just rode a motorcycle through an explosion. You can handle this."

"That was different." His hands find my waist, gripping like I'm the only solid thing in his world. "That was for you. This is—"

"This is for them," Cole interrupts, his tone sharp enough to cut through Jax's spiral. "Morrison, Santos, Kim. The hundreds of girls in those containers. You want to fall apart? Do it after we get answers."

Something shifts in Jax's posture. The manic energy doesn't disappear, but it crystallizes into something harder. Focused rage instead of scattered panic.

"Operational timeline?" His voice only shakes a little.

"Twenty minutes to clean up and regroup," Remy provides. "Medical for that hand, then interrogation."

"I don't need—"

"You need functional hands," I cut him off, already cataloging his injuries. "Let them treat you."

He looks at me for a long moment, and something passes between us. An understanding that we're about to walk into his worst nightmare—confronting the man who shaped him, then betrayed everything.

"Together?" The question is barely a whisper.

"Together."

Cole clears his throat. "If you two are done having a moment, we have a pedophile trafficking coordinator to break."

The casual brutality of the statement snaps us back to reality. This isn't about Jax's trauma or our relationship. This is about justice for the dead and freedom for the living.

"Blade's right," I release Jax reluctantly. "We need to be focused."

But Jax catches my hand before I can create distance. "No."

"No?"

"No more pretending." His eyes burn into mine. "I just broke thirteen years of fear for you. We're past acting like this is just business."

Cole makes a sound that might be approval. Remy's expression suggests he's been waiting for this moment.

"Well," I say, surprising myself with honesty, "shit."

Jax's laugh is still shaky but real. "That's my line."

"Your rambling is contagious."

"Good. Someone should scramble your perfect control the way you scramble my—everything."