Page 61 of Shadowed Sins: Nitro

"No. Not soon enough."

His forehead drops to mine. The contact shouldn't affect me, but my whole body responds—nipples tightening against tactical fabric, breath shallow, pulse racing at my throat.

"You don't have to carry everything alone, you know." His hands find my waist, thumbs moving in restless patterns against my ribs. "That's what... partnerships are for."

Partnership.Not relationship, not something with expectations and emotional landmines. Just... shared burden.

My pulse hammers harder. This feels more lethal than any assassination contract. More terrifying than facing Alexei Petrov with ceramic blades and rage.

He makes me want things I can't afford to want.

"I've never had a partner. Not really." The admission escapes before I can stop it. "Everyone wants something. Everyone has an angle."

"What's mine?"

I search his face for tells. For the calculation behind the question. Find nothing but genuine curiosity mixed with exhaustion and something that looks suspiciously like concern.

He should want something. Everyone wants something.

"I don't know yet. That's what makes you unpredictable."

His laugh carries no humor. His hands tighten on my waist, pulling me flush against him. The sudden full-body contact makes us both gasp.

"Unpredictable, yeah. That's me." His voice turns bitter. "Ask Tommy how well that worked out."

There it is. The guilt eating him alive.

My hands slide up his chest, feeling his heart race under my palms. "What happened to him?"

"My fault he's dead." The words come out cracked. "My fuck-up, my responsibility."

"That's not—"

"Don't." He pulls me closer, burying his face in my hair. "Just... don't tell me it's not my fault. Not tonight."

The raw need in his voice makes my breath catch. Not just sexual hunger, though that burns underneath everything between us. This feels deeper. More consuming.

He wants to protect me. Not use me. Not control me. Protect me.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why do you care what happens to me?"

He pulls back enough to meet my eyes, hands sliding up to cradle my face. "Because you could disappear tomorrow. Start over anywhere. But you're choosing to stay and fight."

The simple acceptance hits me harder than any weapon. No one has ever separated my past actions from my present worth. Everyone wants the gory details, the kill count, the method. They want to consume my darkness or save me from it.

Jax just wants me safe.

"You know what's strange?" My fingers trace patterns on his chest, needing something to do with the strange nervous energy building inside me. Each touch makes his breathing change. "I've spent years working alone, and suddenly having backup feels..."

"Different," he finishes. "Good different or run-screaming different?"

His tone stays light, patient. No pressure behind the question. His hands drop to my hips, thumbs finding bare skin where my shirt has ridden up. The contact sears.

"Most people want to know what I've done, how many, what it feels like." I study his profile in the moonlight. "You just... don't."