Page 57 of Shadowed Sins: Nitro

The itch intensifies. That familiar sensation of standing at cliff's edge, knowing the fall will hurt but needing the drop anyway.Can't have Mira, can't touch her, can't even be near her. But I can have this—the rush, the risk, the moment when everything hangs on chance.

"What kinds of odds are we talking about?"

"Depends on your appetite for risk." Maria's assessment cuts straight through me. "Next race starts in ten minutes. Five drivers, all unknowns."

The smart play is walking away. The smart play is always walking away.

"Minimum?"

"Five hundred. Maximum? Depends how deep your pockets run."

I check my phone. Crypto wallet: 1,832 XMR immediately accessible. The $500k of Monero I swore I'd never touch for gambling, but why else keep untraceable currency?

"Fifty thousand on the blue Honda." I pull up the transfer app. "Driver's ex-military. See how he checks mirrors at exact intervals? Tactical training."

Maria nods, scanning my QR code. Anonymous digital transfer, no paper trail.

Viktor and Gideon exchange loaded glances—this is serious commitment.

"Jesus Christ," Cole mutters through the comm. "Fifty grand? You're spiraling."

"I'm building cover," I mutter back.

"You're substituting." Asher's clinical tone cuts deeper than Cole's concern. "Can't have what you actually want so you're chasing the next best high."

He's right. They're both right. But admitting it won't change anything.

"Bold play," Viktor murmurs. "Very bold."

"Jax." Warning threads through Mira's voice. "That's reckless."

But I'm already committed. The race begins—the blue Honda tears through the course with military precision, exactly as predicted. The high of being right, of controlling chaos through prediction, is nothing compared to what I really want, but it's something.

"Your instincts are exceptional." Viktor watches Maria count out my hundred thousand. "How did you know?"

"Same way I know your next shipment needs drivers familiar with Long Beach Port routes." The words tumble out,another calculated risk. "Sasha mentioned you might need someone discrete."

Viktor goes still. Gideon's hand drifts toward his weapon.

Silence stretches until Viktor laughs, a sound like sharp glass breaking.

"Kozlov was right. You are exactly what we need." He gestures toward a shipping container converted into VIP space. "Perhaps we continue this privately?"

"Moving to secondary location," I murmur into my collar.

"Copy. Maintaining overwatch." Her voice stays steady, but something underneath catches—concern. She's worried about me. The thought makes my chest tight.

Inside the container, Gideon spreads route maps across a metal table while Viktor pours three glasses of vodka, the bottle sweating condensation.

"Racing provides perfect cover for specialized transportation." Viktor gestures at the maps. "Long Beach Grand Prix next weekend creates ideal chaos for our largest shipment."

"What kind of cargo?"

"Discrete units requiring careful handling." His euphemism makes bile rise. "Four containers of mixed inventory from Prague connections."

Four containers. People. They're talking about people.

"Ventilation modifications visible on twelve containers from my position," Mira reports. "This is large scale."