Page 148 of Shadowed Sins: Nitro

"Ghost to Siren."

Kade's voice crackles through the speakers, making us spring apart. Jax hits the button for the main floor while I smooth down my hair, trying to look like I wasn't just about to let him fuck me against an elevator wall.

Professional. Have to look professional. Not like I'm dripping wet and desperate.

"Go ahead," I say, pressing the comm button.

"Holden's arranged transport tomorrow morning. Johnson takes custody at 0800. International Criminal Court wants Petrov in The Hague by Friday."

The elevator climbs past B4, B3, my stomach dropping with each floor.

Away from violence, toward whatever comes next.

"Twenty-three countries filing charges," Kade continues. "Human trafficking, weapons smuggling, murder. They want him breathing for this."

Good. Let him rot in a cell knowing his empire crumbled.

"You'll need to testify. London first, then The Hague. Could be weeks."

Jax's hand finds my waist, fingers digging in possessively. His entire body goes rigid beside me. His fingers start that restless drumming against my hip.

"Weeks?" His voice carries that edge I've learned to recognize. The one that appears when someone threatens to take something he considers his.

"I'm going with you."

I turn to face him fully. "You have team obligations here."

"Then they can wait." His eyes have gone dark, pupils blown wide. "Seven years you hunted him alone. That's over now."

The possessive declaration makes heat pool between my legs.

"Jax—"

"No." He steps closer, backing me against the elevator wall again. "We do this together or not at all."

The elevator dings softly as we reach the main floor.

Time to face the family I never thought I'd have.

The doors slide open to reveal the entire team waiting in the main hallway. Cole leans against the wall, his arm in a sling from Baltimore but eyes sharp as always. Damian sits on the metal bench, rolling his shoulders, blood still drying on his knuckles. Xander paces near the weapons locker, his usual restless energy more pronounced with one arm compromised.

Asher stands perfectly still beside the briefing room door, but I can see the careful way he breathes—protecting ribs held together by surgical tape and stubbornness. Vanessa hovers next to him with a medical kit, her dark eyes bright with that focused concern that comes after almost losing someone.

"So?" Cole straightens as we approach.

"He lives. Rots in court."

Xander stops pacing, running a hand through his dark hair. "Anticlimactic but legally satisfying." He tries to gesture with his bad arm and winces. "Fuck. Okay, maybe I shouldn't talk."

"Says the man held together with duct tape and spite," Damian rumbles from the bench.

"It's medical tape," Remy corrects, emerging from the briefing room with a steaming mug. "Though the spite part is accurate."

Cole shifts his weight, favoring his uninjured side. "We look like we lost a fight with a wood chipper."

"We won," I remind them.

"Barely," Asher breathes carefully. "But winning ugly still counts."