Page 135 of Shadowed Sins: Nitro

"Make me." Gideon's smile turns predatory. "Show her who you really are under all that nervous rambling. Show her what Tommy's death actually created."

The way Jax moves is so fast I barely track it—his fist connecting with Gideon's jaw with a crack that echoes off concrete walls.

"That's one," Jax says, voice calm as death. "You've got about twenty-two more coming. One for each container of girls you helped traffic. Unless you start talking."

thirty-one

Mira

Through one-way glass, Damian positions himself across from Gideon Lynch like he's dissecting a particularly interesting specimen. The interrogation room's harsh fluorescents cast shadows that make Gideon look older, more weathered than the man who taught Jax to trust.

Jax paces behind me, that restless energy manifesting in constant movement. Three steps left, tap the wall, three steps right. His fingers drum against his thigh when he pauses—calculating odds he doesn't like.

"Stop." My hand catches his mid-pace, pulling him against me. "He can't hurt you anymore."

"He's trying." His grip tightens on my waist, possessive and desperate, eyes locked on Gideon through the glass. "Sitting there all calm like he's still my mentor. Like Tommy never happened."

Damian's clinical voice cuts through the speaker: "Eastern European connections. Now."

Gideon ignores him, staring directly at the mirror like he knows exactly where we're standing. "Is she worth it, Jax? Really worth throwing away everything I taught you?"

Jax's whole body goes rigid against mine. His hand shoots out, slamming the intercom button hard enough to rattle the equipment. "She's worth burning down everything you built. Starting with your trafficking network."

Mine.The thought hits violent and sudden. The way he claims me publicly, without hesitation.

"Touching," Gideon drawls. "Just like when you swore Tommy was worth saving. How'd that work out?"

The temperature drops. Jax's breathing changes, and his fingers dig into my hip hard enough to bruise.

Damian leans forward in the interrogation room, favoring his right side where bandages bulk under his shirt. There's dried blood on his collar, and his smile is unsettling. "Speaking of things not working out, you should know Thorne is dead. Park too. And Novak."

Gideon's smirk falters. "Who?"

"The men who died cleaning up your mess." Damian shifts, wincing slightly at the movement. "Thorne took shrapnel pulling me to cover. So I take that personally."

The door to the interrogation room opens. Xander limps in, his left arm in a sling, bruises coloring his jaw purple-black. He drops into a chair with barely controlled violence. "Park held a corridor alone for forty-three seconds. Seven bullets in him. Still shooting when he dropped."

Through the glass, blood seeps through Damian's bandage as he leans closer to Gideon. "So here's what happens now. You give us everything on Petrov, or I get creative despite the hole in my shoulder. Mira mentioned some Serbian nerve technique that sounds fascinating."

My pulse kicks up. They're threatening to use my methods.

"Fuck, that's hot," Jax mutters against my neck, then louder through the intercom: "She knows twenty-three ways to keep someone conscious during interrogation."

The pride in his voice as he brags about my violence while his hands shake against me—it's intoxicating.

"Twenty-three," Xander repeats, adjusting his sling. "Your girlfriend's a fucking nightmare, Ryder."

"My nightmare," Jax confirms, pulling me tighter against him.

"Tell me about Petrov." My voice cuts through the intercom like ice. "Current location, security details, movement patterns. Everything."

Gideon's head snaps toward the mirror. "Petrov? Who the fuck is Alexei Petrov?" His confusion seems genuine. "I coordinate Baltimore operations, but I don't get names. Nobody knows anybody else—that's how it works."

Baltimore.Finally, a location.

Jax immediately shifts, positioning his body between me and the glass even though Gideon can't see us. His hand slides to the weapon at his hip—automatic, protective, devastating.

"Information. Now," Damian says quietly. "Or we find out if Mira's techniques work as advertised."