Page 36 of Shadowed Sins: Nitro

It comes from the side street, T-boning us at the intersection. The world goes sideways. We're spinning, metal crunching, glass shattering.

Jax's arm shoots across my chest, as if he will hold me in place as we slam into a parked car and finally stop.

My ears ring. Taste copper. But we're alive.

"Move!"

He's already dragging me out his side, pulling me behind the wreckage as bullets punch through metal where we were.

Blood runs down his face now from new cuts. But his eyes are clear, focused.

Still protecting me. Still fighting.

"Last mag," he says, checking his Glock. "Ideas?"

I spot it—a storm drain, grate partially open.

"There."

We run. Bullets spark off concrete around us. Jax turns, fires his last rounds to cover our movement.

We drop into darkness just as sirens wail in the distance.

The storm drain exit is near Runyon Canyon. We're both soaked in runoff water and blood—his, theirs, maybe some of mine. I can't tell anymore.

"This way." His hand finds mine in the darkness, pulling me up the embankment.

A Honda Civic sits lonely in the trailhead parking lot. Jax doesn't hesitate, elbow through the driver's window, glass shattering. Thirty seconds later, the engine turns over.

"You're full of surprises," I say, sliding into the passenger seat.

"Roman taught me that one." His voice cracks on the name. "Guess he taught me a lot of things that might have been lies."

Roman. The one who might not be dead.

We drive in silence up Mulholland, city lights sprawling below like scattered diamonds. He pulls into an overlook, kills the engine. The silence is almost deafening after all that violence.

"Let me see you." He turns to me, hands reaching for my face. Blood—his and others'—has dried dark on his fingers. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine."

"That's not what I asked." His thumbs trace my cheekbones, checking for damage. "Did they touch you? Any of them?"

The possessive edge in his voice makes heat pool between my thighs.He killed three men who tried to hurt me.

"No."

His hands move down my neck, across my shoulders, down my arms. Clinical. Thorough. Except his breathing gets rougher with each inch of skin he checks.

"Jax."

"I need to know you're okay." His hands shake now, adrenaline finally catching up. "I need—"

I grab his wrists, stilling him. "I'm okay."

We're close now, close enough that I can see tears mixing with blood on his face.

"You killed them." My voice comes out breathless.