Page 21 of Shadowed Sins: Nitro

I pull the earpiece out, stuff it in my pocket again.

What's happening is I'm about to do something incredibly stupid. Something that could compromise the mission, the team, everything.

I don't care.

The van pulls into the second venue—an abandoned industrial complex that looks like a cemetery for machinery. Perfect place for dangerous decisions.

I climb out, already scanning for the northeast corner. Already planning how to slip away after my race. Already imagining what she wants, what she needs, what game she's playing.

Find me when you're ready.

I'm ready now. Ready to dive headfirst into whatever danger she represents.

The other drivers are already checking out the course, discussing strategy. I need to focus on the race. On winning. On maintaining cover.

But I'm counting down minutes until I can find her in the shadows.

Until I can find out what we're really running from.

Or toward.

six

Mira

The photograph would destroy Alexei's empire—proof of the money trail that connects his trafficking network to clean American dollars.

If I could just—

"What the fuck?"

The whispered curse behind me matches my exact thought. I spin, knife already sliding from my sleeve, and freeze.

Jax stares at me from three feet away, his own phone aimed at the same targets—Dmitri Morozov and Pavel Kruschev conducting business with Gideon Lynch thirty feet below our position. His mouth opens, closes, opens again.

"You're—why are you—what the fuck are you doing here?" His whisper cracks on the last word.

"Getting evidence." I pocket my phone, keeping the blade visible. "Leave. Now."

"Evidence of—wait." His eyes narrow, understanding flooding his face. "You're after Lynch's connections. The money laundering through the racing circuits."

He knows too much. One thrust between the ribs. Silent. Clean. Dead before he hits the ground.

My grip tightens on the knife, but his next words stop me cold.

"Dmitri's about to check his phone. Pattern behavior—every seven minutes." He doesn't even look at his watch. "Pavel will turn away in four seconds to light his cigarette. Three, two—"

Pavel turns. Dmitri checks his phone.

How the fuck does he know their patterns?

"I've been tracking Lynch for weeks." His grin flashes dangerously. "Same as you, apparently, princess."

Princess. The word should annoy me, not make heat coil low in my belly.

Stop it. Focus.

Movement below. Three guards converging on Lynch's position—not standard security. These men move like hunters.