Page 136 of Shadowed Sins: Nitro

Gideon laughs, but it's hollow. "You think I'll break that easily?"

"Yes," Xander says cheerfully. "Want to know why?"

The silence stretches. Then Jax pulls me toward the door. "Come on. You don't need to watch this."

"I want to—"

"No." His voice is firm but shaking. "I know what you're capable of. I know what they're capable of. But you don't need to watch them take apart someone I used to—" He stops, swallows hard. "Just. Come with me."

Something in his voice makes me follow. Behind us, we hear Gideon's first scream.

Twenty minutes later, Damian emerges from the interrogation room, fresh blood on his hands mixing with his own from the reopened wound. "Baltimore harbor. Three warehouse locations, rotates every forty-eight hours. Former Spetsnaz security, twelve-man teams minimum. Motion sensors, thermal imaging." He pauses, clinical despite the gore. "Gideon won't be sharing intelligence with anyone else."

"Is he—"

"Dead?" Damian's gray eyes are flat. "Yes. Eventually."

Xander limps out behind him, good hand bloody. "Petrov knows you're coming. Has for years. But he's tied to Baltimore shipping operations. Can't run without losing everything."

The interrogation room door slams as they exit. Seconds later, they spill into the briefing room where Cole already has three tablets running while Remy rushes forward with medical supplies. Asher follows them in, pressing gauze to a gash on his forehead while pulling up Baltimore satellite imagery one-handed.

"Quit moving," Remy orders, wrestling with Damian's blood-soaked shirt. "The bullet went through but you need stitches."

"After we plan." Damian waves him off, typing coordinates with bloody fingers. "Harbor warehouses here, here, and here."

Jax helps me load magazines while his eyes track every person in the room, calculating threats that don't exist. His fingers brush mine with each bullet loaded, tiny reassurances that we're both still here.

"Where's the rest?" My voice cuts through the chatter.

Cole looks up from his screens, a bruise darkening his left eye. "Securing Gideon's evidence at the academy. The core team—" He gestures at the battered group around us.

Asher spits blood into an empty coffee mug. "RPG. Thorne saw it." Another spit. "Pulled Damian out."

"Twenty feet with shrapnel in his spine," Damian adds quietly while Remy forces him into a chair to stitch the wound. "Second rocket." He doesn't need to say more.

Xander loads weapons one-handed, cursing creatively. "Park held that fucking corridor like a human wall. Seven bullets. SEVEN! Still shooting. Absolute fucking legend."

"And Novak?" Jax asks, his voice rough as he hands me another empty magazine to load.

Cole pulls up a photo on his tablet—a quiet-looking man with kind eyes. "Covering extraction. Sniper." His measured tone carries weight. "Seven-year-old daughter."

Same age I was when Petrov destroyed everything.

Asher enters, favoring bruised ribs. "Death benefits. College funds." He pauses, uncharacteristically adding: "Novak's kid... she drew him pictures."

The grief cracks through his usual ice-cold demeanor.

The grief in the room mixes with determination as everyone keeps working—loading weapons, checking gear, treating wounds. These men died for a mission connected to my vendetta.

"Holy shit on a stick!" Xander kicks a chair toward me while reloading one-handed. "Sit down! You're making Jax vibrate like a fucking tuning fork!"

Jax immediately pulls me onto his lap instead, arms wrapping around me while I continue loading magazines. His chin hooks over my shoulder, breath warm against my neck as he watches me work.

"You two are like a goddamn romantic IED," Xander mutters, struggling with a tactical vest using one arm. "Explosive and dangerous to everyone nearby."

"Jealous?" Jax's confidence surprises everyone, including me.

"Of your codependent powder keg of a relationship? Hell no." But Xander's grinning despite the pain. "Though watching you two detonate is entertaining as fuck."