Page 15 of Shadowed Sins: Nitro

The name burns into my brain like a brand. Mira Knight. It fits her—elegant and dangerous, sophisticated and sharp.

She extends her hand, and I take it like a drowning man reaching for salvation. The second our skin connects, sensation explodes through every nerve ending. Her grip is firm, confident, with calluses on her palm that don't match the socialite image. Dangerous hands wrapped in deceptive refinement.

Fighter's hands. Killer's hands. Perfect hands.

"Mr. Ryder." Her voice carries that hint of Russian accent that sets my blood on fire. "Such a pleasure to meet you."

"The pleasure's all mine." My voice drops two octaves without permission, coming out rough and hungry. "Completely mine. Like, if pleasure was a commodity, I'd corner the market. I'd be the pleasure monopoly. Which sounds wrong now that I say it out loud, but—"

Shut up. Stop talking. You're ruining everything.

Her thumb brushes across my knuckles as she releases my hand, the contact lasting half a second longer than polite. The slight catch in her breathing tells me she felt it too—that current between us that makes the air crackle.

She felt it. She definitely felt it.

"Fifty grand on the McLaren!"

The bet explodes out of me like a sneeze, desperate energy with nowhere else to go. I practically throw the money at thenearest bookie, needing to do something—anything—with my hands before I reach for her.

Showing off. Pathetic. Can't help it.

My earpiece buzzes in my pocket. I can imagine Cole's message: "Five bets in fifteen minutes. You're out of control."

Mira's eyebrow arches slightly, a perfect curve that makes me want to trace it with my tongue. "That's quite a wager."

"I like living dangerously." I hold her gaze, letting her see exactly how affected I am. Let her see the hunger, the desperation, the barely controlled need to push her against the nearest wall. "The bigger the risk, the better the reward, right?"

Please be my reward.

"Or the more spectacular the crash," Sterling interjects, and I have to physically stop myself from punching him in his perfect teeth.

Get your fucking hand off her.

On the screens, the McLaren screams into the first turn at impossible speed. For a second, it looks like it might make it. Then the rear breaks loose, the car spinning like a top, collecting two others in a shower of carbon fiber and broken dreams. Fifty thousand dollars evaporates in eight seconds of destruction.

Don't care. Worth it to try to impress her.

"Tough break," Sterling says with false sympathy that makes me want to feed him his own tie.

"Easy come, easy go." I force a shrug, though my stomach clenches—not at the loss of money, but at the proof of how far gone I am. "That's racing for you. Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose, sometimes you set money on fire for fun."

But I'm not watching the screens. I'm tracking the way Mira's tongue darts out to wet her lips, quick and pink and devastating. The way her fingers trail along her thigh, following the line of that dangerous slit. The way she hasn't looked atSterling once since we were introduced, her attention locked on me like a targeting system.

She's hunting me. Let her catch me.

"Import clients wanted something special tonight," Gideon explains, seemingly oblivious to the tension crackling between us like a live wire. "Multiple venues, different race formats. Should be quite a show."

"Fascinating," Sterling drawls, though he sounds bored. His phone buzzes, and he pulls it out with the kind of casual irritation that comes from being too important for interruptions.

His face hardens as he reads whatever's on the screen. "Shit. Emergency." He's already moving, already dismissing us from his attention. "Driver will take you home," he tells Mira without looking at her.

Yes. Leave. Now.

"Actually, I'd like to stay for the races." Her voice stays neutral, but I catch the slight curve of her lips, the hint of victory in her eyes. "If that's acceptable?"

Sterling's already halfway to the exit, his mind clearly on whatever crisis is pulling him away. "Fine. Don't wait up."

And then he's gone, swallowed by the crowd like he was never here.