Page 146 of Shadowed Sins: Nitro

The interrogation room feels smaller than it looked through the glass. Concrete walls press close, creating a box where only truth can survive.

Alexei Petrov looks up as I enter, his face a map of Damian's handiwork. Purple bruises bloom across his cheekbones, and his nose sits at an angle that wasn't there before my fist broke it Thursday. Blood has dried in dark streaks down his chin.

"Little Miroslava. Still my swan after all these years."

That voice. The same one that read me bedtime stories. The same one that ordered my parents' deaths.

His accent wraps around the words, honey over broken glass.

I pull out the metal chair across from him, its legs scraping against concrete. "I was never yours. Just a child you groomed."

Behind me, Jax positions himself against the wall where I can feel his presence. His body radiates controlled violence, ready to unleash hell if Petrov so much as breathes wrong. That golden retriever brightness everyone loves turned lethal for me.

The shift makes my pulse spike. Makes me want things I shouldn't want in this room.

"Groomed?" Petrov's laugh bubbles with blood. "Such an ugly word for beautiful work. Every lesson perfectly designed."

My hand finds my Glock, drawing it slowly. The weight feels perfect in my palm as I place it on the table between us. Petrov's eyes follow the movement, but he doesn't flinch.

The familiar heat spreads between my legs as I lift the gun, pressing the barrel to his temple. That dark, wet arousal that comes from having complete power over someone who destroyed me. Behind me, Jax shifts—his breathing changes, and I know without looking that he's hard.

Violence makes us both wet and wanting. We're so fucked up. Perfect for each other.

"You made me into this."

"I made you perfect." His pale blue eyes gleam with pride despite the pain. "A weapon disguised as a woman. Art in motion. Death wrapped in silk."

My knuckles go white around the gun's grip. Behind me, Jax shifts forward half a step. His hand finds my hip, fingers pressing against the tactical vest with just enough pressure to ground me without restraining.

He knows exactly what I need without asking. How does he always know?

"Tell me about Mikhail," I say, voice steady despite the rage clawing up my throat.

Petrov's smile widens, pulling at split lips. "Mikhail Volkov. My greatest collaboration. He took my broken little bird and taught her to fly."

"He was your partner."

"He was my masterpiece. Just like you." Blood spatters the table as he speaks. "Every manipulation, every technique he used to break you down and rebuild you—all mine. Your escape at twenty? Orchestrated. Killing him? Expected. You followed my script perfectly."

No. No, that can't be—everything I thought was freedom was just another cage.

The room spins for a moment. Everything about my training, my escape, my revenge against Mikhail—all choreographed by this monster.

"Your mother begged so prettily at the end," Petrov continues, leaning forward despite his restraints. "She kept saying your name. Over and over. 'Mira, Mira, Mira.' Like a prayer that wouldn't be answered."

My hand moves toward the trigger. Jax's fingers tighten on my hip, not stopping me but steadying me. His warmth spreads through the tactical fabric, reminding me that I'm not alone in this room.

I have a choice. For the first time in my life, I get to choose.

The Glock feels perfect in my hand as I keep it pressed to his temple, safety off with that familiar metallic whisper. One trigger pull ends everything.

"Nine years I've hunted you. Since I learned the truth about what you did to my parents."

The weight of the decision presses against my chest, heavier than the weapon. For seven years, this moment lived in my dreams. The perfect shot. Perfect revenge. Perfect ending to the nightmare he created.

"Do it." Petrov's voice carries desperate hunger. "Prove you're exactly what I created. My perfect little killer."

My finger finds the trigger, applying the first pressure. Just a few more pounds and his brains paint the concrete wall behind him.