Page 150 of Shadowed Sins: Nitro

Jax

Where's your security detail?

The question sits in my throat like broken glass while I watch Mira check her Glock for the fourth time. Her movements are fluid, precise—every motion calculated for maximum efficiency. She slides the magazine out, counts rounds, slides it back with that soft click that makes my skin crawl.

She's in hunting mode. Last time she looked like this, eight men died in under three minutes.

My hands won't stay still. They tap against my thighs, drum against the concrete pillar, fidget with my keys until the metal cuts into my palm. Not anxiety—pure rage at the thought of her walking into a trap I can't control.

I should lock her in the loft. Chain her to the bed until this network burns itself out.

The fantasy flashes through my mind with stunning clarity. Mira, safe, furious, mine. No London courtroom. No testimony. No bullets with her name carved into them.

Holden leans against the sedan, watching us both with those calculating blue eyes. He's dressed in his standard businessman disguise—tailored suit, perfect posture, no visible weapons. But I know he's carrying at least three knives and a pistol that could put holes through concrete.

He looks relaxed. That's when Holden's most dangerous.

"Where's your security?" The words finally scrape out.

Holden straightens, adjusting his watch with deliberate care. "This is personal."

Mira holsters her weapon with a smooth motion that makes my mouth go dry. "It always was."

Personal means off the books. Personal means if she dies, there's no backup plan.

My foot starts bouncing against the floor, that restless energy building until I need to move or explode. I pace to the far pillar, back to where she stands checking her knife sheaths.

"Personal doesn't stop bullets."

"Neither does a security detail." Mira's voice carries that cold precision that means she's already three steps ahead of everyone in the room. "Alexei's network has infiltrated law enforcement before."

She's right. She's always fucking right. And I hate it.

Holden pulls out his phone, thumb scrolling through what looks like financial reports. Always working, even now. "The testimony happens in eighteen hours. After that, you're officially protected witness status."

"Eighteen hours." I stop pacing, let the number sink in. "Eighteen hours for them to put her down."

Eighteen hours to lose everything that matters.

Mira steps closer, close enough that I can smell that subtle vanilla scent she wears. Close enough to see the way her pupils have dilated—not fear, excitement. She's looking forward to this.

She wants them to come. She wants the fight.

"You're enjoying this." The accusation slips out before I can stop it.

Her smile could cut diamonds. "They've been hunting me for seven years. Now I get to return the favor."

Christ. She's not walking into a trap. She's setting one.

I wait until Mira disappears behind the sedan, hunting through the tactical gear in the trunk. Her voice carries, muffled by distance, as she talks to someone on her earpiece—probably coordinating with the Prague team.

Perfect timing.

I corner Holden by the driver's side door, stepping close enough that he has to look up from his phone. My body blocks his escape route. Not threatening exactly, but not backing down either.

This conversation happens now, before I lose my nerve.

"I need papers for her. Real ones."