Page 75 of Shadowed Sins: Nitro

No confrontation. No possessive demands.

He just leaves.

I've never seen him walk away from anything before. He always fights, always pushes back. What the hell changed?

The kitchen suddenly feels too quiet. Remy steps back with a knowing look, disappearing to his room. Cole and Asher exchange glances before heading to the surveillance setup.

I'm left standing with broken ceramic and the echo of Jax's footsteps on stairs.

I should be relieved. No jealous confrontation means no complications.

The need hits unexpected and sharp. To chase after him, to demand he fight for me instead of walking away. The impulse makes no logical sense.

I'm supposed to be the one who walks away. I don't chase. I don't pursue.

But my feet are already moving toward the stairs, plates forgotten.

His door is cracked open, twenty feet down the hallway. Each step on hardwood sounds too loud.

I push it wider without knocking. He's at the floor-to-ceiling window, palm flat against glass, looking at ocean or his own reflection or nothing.

"Mira." His voice scrapes raw. He doesn't turn.

"You walked away."

He runs a hand through his hair, destroying the careful style. "Yeah. I did."

"That's not... you don't just walk away." I step into his room, closing the door harder than necessary. "You fight for things. You push back."

"Maybe I'm tired of competing with ghosts."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means watching you with Remy—" He turns from the window. His fingers tap against his thigh—2-1-5, 2-1-5. Faster now. Almost frantic. "He's everything I'm not—polished, sophisticated, able to have conversations without stumbling over words like some hyperactive kid."

"You think I care about polish?"

"I think you notice the difference." His laugh sounds bitter. "I think when someone can speak your language—really speak it, not just fumble through—you notice."

"You're being irrational."

"Irrational?" Something snaps in his expression. He crosses the room in three strides, stops just out of reach. His whole body vibrates with restraint.

"You want to know what's irrational? Not being able to think straight when you're in the same room. Burning dinner because I can't concentrate when you brush against me. Wanting to put my fist through the wall every time another man looks at you like he understands something I don't."

He steps closer. Raw desperation floods his eyes.

"What's irrational is falling for someone who tests my reactions like I'm a science experiment. Who pushes my buttons just to see what happens. Who makes me want things I've never wanted before."

"I don't—"

"You do." His voice drops, something broken underneath. "And the hell of it is, I don't even care. Test me. Push me. See how far I'll go. But don't expect me to watch you light up for other men and pretend it doesn't gut me."

The confession hangs between us, raw and honest and terrifying.

"What do you want from me?" I whisper.

"Stop thinking for thirty seconds." He moves closer, hands hovering near my face but not touching. "And just... be here. With me."