Page 34 of Shadowed Sins: Nitro

I crawl to the edge, peer around for half a second, counting muzzle flashes. "Six. Two high, four approaching on foot."

"On three, we move. My car's fifty yards north." He's already pulling something from his pocket—flash bang.

Where the fuck did he get that?

"That's open ground."

"Not for long." He shifts into a crouch, muscles coiling. "One."

His free hand finds mine, squeezes once. Our bodies align, ready to sprint.

"Two."

He turns his head, looks at me, and despite everything—the bullets, the danger, his grief—there's heat in his eyes that makes my whole body clench.

"Three."

The flash bang arcs through the air. We're already moving, running low and fast as the world explodes in white light behind us.

The first shooter stumbles from behind a headstone, blinded. Jax doesn't hesitate. Two shots center mass, one to the head. The body drops before I fully register the movement.

Tears still on his face, but his hands don't shake.

The second one recovers faster, swinging his rifle toward me. Jax shoves me behind a stone angel as bullets chip away marble inches from his head. Sharp stone fragments cut across his cheek, blood immediately welling up.

"You hit?"

"Keep moving."

But he's already turning, firing three rounds that drop the shooter mid-reload. Professional. Precise. The grief hasn't made him sloppy—it's made him vicious.

Something hot and violent unfurls in my chest.Mine to protect.

We sprint between headstones, using them as cover. Another shooter appears to our right. I pull my blade, but Jax is already there, grabbing the man's rifle barrel, yanking him forward into a knee strike that caves in his throat. He takes the rifle, uses it to cave in the man's skull.

Blood spatters across his face. He doesn't wipe it off.

"Car," he says, grabbing my hand.

We run.

The Mercedes roars to life before I'm fully inside. I'm still pulling my door closed when he punches it, tires screaming as we fishtail onto Santa Monica Boulevard.

"Seatbelt," he says, taking a corner so hard the tires smoke.

I twist to look back. Three black SUVs pour from the cemetery gates, engines howling.

"Three vehicles. Full tactical teams."

"Copy." His voice is steady now, operational. Blood runs down his face from the cuts, dripping onto his collar. He doesn't seem to notice.

The first SUV rams us from behind. The Mercedes lurches forward, and Jax corrects without flinching, downshifting to regain control.

"Cole, I need routes." He's activated his earpiece. "Three hostiles, heading west on Santa Monica."

I hear a quiet voice respond but can't make out words.

"Negative, can't lose them on surface streets. Going vertical."