Page 154 of Shadowed Sins: Nitro

Holden stops pacing. Opens the closet and pulls out a black rifle case - professional grade, already prepped. "The equipment's clean. Untraceable. Building across from the courthouse, seventeenth floor. Service door key is under the fire extinguisher."

He sets the case on the bed between us. An offering. A test.

"Tomorrow morning, 0800 hours," he continues. "Transport leaves Belmarsh at 0745. Arrives Woolwich at 0830."

"And if I don't take the shot?"

"Then he rots in whatever hole has the worst prisons. The Russians want him for the murders in Moscow. The Ukrainians for the trafficking routes. Neither will be gentle."

Seven years planning his death. Now it's being offered on a silver platter.

But Jax's voice echoes in my head: "Come back to me."

"Either way," Holden says quietly, "it ends tomorrow."

Dawn. London fog thick enough to taste.

The rifle case was exactly where Holden promised. Seventeenth floor, service access, key taped under the fire extinguisher. I'm set up now with perfect line of sight to the courthouse delivery bay below.

Through the scope, everything sharpens to crystal clarity. The transport van's exhaust creates small puffs in the morning air. Guards shift their weight, checking watches. Six-minute window, just like Holden said.

The van doors swing open.

First guard steps out. Second guard. Driver stays put, engine running.

Then Alexei.

Even through the scope, I recognize that calculated posture. The way he carries himself like he owns whatever space he occupies. Handcuffs don't diminish him—they're just another prop in his performance.

He looks older. Grayer. The scar through his left eyebrow catches morning light, a reminder of our last encounter when I was sixteen and desperate.

My finger settles against the trigger.

One squeeze. Everything ends.

Alexei moves between the guards with that same arrogant stride. No fear. He probably thinks his lawyers will find some loophole.

The crosshairs center on his chest. Heart shot. Clean.

But something stops me.

Not guilt. Not mercy.

Jax.

His countdown. His texts. The Italian restaurant he wants to show me. The way he says "when you get back" like my return is already written in stone.

Alexei reaches the courthouse entrance. Perfect moment. Stationary target.

Take the shot.

Instead, I watch through the scope as they escort him inside. Watch the heavy doors swing shut.

"Rot in prison, you bastard."

I pack up the rifle with mechanical precision. Seven years ago, I would have taken that shot without hesitation. But seven years ago, I had nothing to lose. No one waiting for me. No home.

Now I have someone to go back to. Someone worth more than revenge.