Page 33 of Shadowed Sins: Nitro

Someone died. Or might as well have.

"You came," he says, voice rough. He stops ten feet away, swaying slightly like he's not sure he should come closer.

"You asked."

He moves closer, and I can see his hands shaking. "I shouldn't have. This is—fuck, I don't even know what this is. I just needed—"

He starts pacing, three steps left, three steps right, hands gesturing wildly. "You ever have your whole world flip upside down in like thirty seconds? Like everything you thought was true just... wasn't?"

"What happened?"

The question cuts through his rambling. He stops pacing, runs both hands through his hair, making it stick up worse. "Work stuff. Family stuff. Can't really talk about it." His laugh is broken glass. "Someone I thought was gone might not be gone, but if they're not gone then they chose to be gone, whichis almost worse than them being actually gone. Does that make sense?"

"Yes."

It does. Betrayal hurts worse than death. Death just happens. Betrayal is a choice.

His eyes meet mine, surprised by the understanding. He steps closer, close enough that I can smell scotch and salt.He's been crying.

"You've lost people."

"Everyone loses people."

"Not everyone loses them like this."

The pain in his voice makes something twist in my chest.Use it. This is perfect. He's completely vulnerable.

I close the distance between us, my hand rising to his chest. His heart hammers under my palm. "Tell me what you need."

"I need to not think." His hand covers mine on his chest, thumb stroking over my knuckles. His other hand rises like he's going to touch my face, hovers there, drops. He shifts his weight, rocks back on his heels, forward again. "I need to forget everything for five fucking minutes. I need—"

Red dots appear on his chest. Three of them. Then two more track across my body, settling on my heart.

His transformation is instant.

His hand shoots out, grabbing my waist and yanking me sideways. We roll behind the memorial as the first shots crack through the air. Marble explodes where my head was. He's already up on one knee, pulling a Glock from under his jacket while his other hand pushes me lower.

"Stay down."

The broken man is gone. This is the operator, the killer, the one who survived whatever hell trained him. Tears are still damp on his face, but his hands are steady as he checks the magazine, chambers a round.

He came to a cemetery armed. Smart boy.

"Little swan." The voice echoes through a hidden speaker, Russian accent thick with amusement. "You've been teaching the dog new tricks."

Alexei.

No. Not here. Not now.

"Friend of yours?" Jax shifts position, pressing his back against the marble while scanning our flanks.

"Former uncle."

"The one who—"

"Yes."

His jaw tightens. He rises slightly, fires two shots, ducks back as return fire chips away more marble. "How many?"