Page 55 of Shadowed Sins: Nitro

"He knows about the team. About you specifically."

Jax's grip tightens on my hand protectively.

"Let him come. I've been dealing with dangerous people my whole life."

Not like this. Not like him.

Asher's voice comes through the comm.

"Multiple surveillance units converging on hotel. Recommend immediate relocation to safe house for debrief."

Jax puts the car in gear and the car surges forward, but he doesn't let go of my hand. His thumb traces patterns across my knuckles, steadying and reassuring.

I'm not used to being the one who needs comfort.

"We'll figure this out."

His voice carries absolute conviction, like there's no doubt we'll survive whatever's coming.

We. When did it become we?

"He's using the racing circuits. Lynch is part of his operation."

Jax's jaw clenches, but his touch remains gentle. "Then we take them both down."

The casual way he includes himself in my war makes something warm unfurl in my chest. For thirteen years, every battle has been mine alone.

Not anymore.

He turns onto a quieter street, the Mercedes purring through the darkness.

Then Sasha's words echo in my memory:"He knows about your protective teammate and his instincts."

My phone buzzes. Unknown number."Little swan flying with broken wings now. Your boy drives beautifully when he's protecting you. - A"

I show Jax the screen. His jaw works silently before he speaks.

"He's making you choose between revenge and me."

"No." My voice comes out harder than intended. "He thinks he's already won."

Wrong. I'll burn down the whole city before I let Alexei take either.

thirteen

Jax

"Welcome to where real drivers prove themselves." Gideon's voice carries pride that turns my stomach.

The concrete arteries of the Los Angeles River throb with illegal energy as I follow Gideon deeper into the underground racing scene. Oil barrel fires throw orange shadows against drainage walls, smoke mixing with exhaust fumes and the metallic tang of blood from earlier fights. Makeshift grandstands overflow with criminals, thrill-seekers, and predators betting with dirty money.

Twenty-four hours since Mira sat across from Sasha while I listened through comms, knowing something was wrong. Not with the mission. With her. With us.

My fingers tap against my thigh—morse code for fucked, fucked, fucked. Can't keep them still. Haven't eaten since yesterday. Coffee tastes burned, coating my tongue with ash.

Three days since our private meeting at the academy, and his recruitment pitch led exactly where my team expected—straight into the criminal heart of his operation.

The roar of engines vibrates through concrete. Money changes hands in lightning-fast exchanges, bills crumpling, being shoved into pockets.