Page 174 of Shadowed Sins: Nitro

"Better?"

"No." My hands are already sliding higher, desperate. "Need more. Need you. Need—"

The phone buzzes on the counter.

"Leave it," she says, but there's a tremor in her voice. Like she needs this as much as I do.

"Could be about Roman." I stand reluctantly, legs unsteady, and cross to the counter.

She follows immediately, wrapping her arms around me from behind, pressing against my back. Can't let go either. I hit speaker.

"Centurion's got a situation." Kade's voice fills the cottage. "Four federal judges dead in the last week."

I turn in her arms, keeping her close, my hand splayed possessively across her hip. "Pattern?"

"Started in Texas, spreading west. One in Seattle yesterday."

There's a pause, then Cole's voice, tighter than I've ever heard it: "I'll investigate the Seattle connection."

Too quick. Too personal. But I can't process Cole's demons right now when I'm drowning in my own, when Mira's pressed against me and all I want to do is bend her over this table.

"Copy that." I disconnect before anyone can say more.

She studies me with those predator eyes that make my cock throb. But her pulse flutters at her throat—faster than it should be. She's affected too.

"You're vibrating out of your skin."

She's right. My whole body thrums with chaotic energy—grief, rage, want, all tangled together in a storm that's going to tear me apart if I don't do something with it.

"I need to move." I grab my tactical knife from the counter, and her pupils blow wide. Not fear. Recognition. "Need to do something or I'll explode."

Outside, the Napa Valley evening air hits my heated skin like a slap. The private vineyard stretches out in neat rows, moonlight turning everything silver and dangerous. Like her.

"You know what we are?" I turn to face her, words tumbling out while my hands won't stop moving—through my hair, acrossmy jaw, reaching for her. "We're completely fucked. Roman playing dead, your thirteen-year revenge quest, judges being executed, both of us too damaged to know what normal even looks like."

She moves closer, backing me against the patio railing. Her hand presses against my chest, feeling my racing heart. But there's a tremor in her fingers she's fighting to hide. "So?"

"So we're made for each other."

Something shifts in her expression. Recognition. Agreement. Hunger. And something else—surprise at her own reaction.

I pull out the tactical knife fully, letting moonlight catch the blade. The weight of it centers something violent in my chest. Something that wants to hunt. To claim. To possess.

"You know what you need?" I trace the flat of the blade along her collarbone, watching her breath catch, her pupils dilate. Her nipples harden against her shirt. "To stop thinking. Stop analyzing. Just feel."

"Jax—" Her voice comes out breathy, needy. Not her usual control.

"Run."

The word hangs between us for a heartbeat. Then she bolts.

She's fast, disappearing into the vineyard rows, but I don't follow immediately. I count, letting anticipation build while my cock strains against my jeans. One. Two. I can hear her breathing, rapid and excited. Three. Four. My fingers flip the knife, blade to handle to blade, the repetitive motion soothing and arousing simultaneously. Five. Six. A security truck rumbles on the access road—private property patrol. Perfect. Seven. Eight. She's trying to be quiet now, but I can smell her arousal on the wind. Nine.

Ten.

I hunt.

"I know you're close," I call out, moving through the vines silently. "Can hear your breathing. Quick inhale, held breath, shaky exhale. That's fear mixing with arousal, isn't it?"