Page 85 of Shadowed Sins: Nitro

"Can you focus on finding Roman instead of fucking her?"

The blunt question hangs there.

"Yes."

"You're lying."

"Probably."

A long pause. "Get through the Grand Prix. Get intel on Roman. Then I don't care if you two kill each other or fuck each other to death."

"Copy that."

"Jax—" His tone shifts. "Roman would tell you not to get distracted—"

"Roman's not here."

Another pause. "No. He's not. Which is why we need Viktor's intel."

The line goes dead.

Down the hall, her door opens. Soft footsteps on hardwood. She heard my side of the conversation through these thin walls.

My phone buzzes. From her:"Got Kade's message too. He's wrong about one thing.

Me: "About which part?"

Mira: "I'm not injured. I'm just thoroughly fucked."

Jesus Christ.

Me: "That's not helping with the whole professional distance thing."

Mira:"We have three days before the mission. Today doesn't count."

I stare at the message.Is she actually suggesting—

The door opens. She walks in wearing nothing but one of my t-shirts, marks visible on her thighs.

"One last time."

twenty

Jax

The Mercedes tears up the 110 at ninety, weaving through afternoon traffic like every lane change might save my life. Or end it. Honestly not sure which I'm hoping for at this point.

Two days since Mira touched me. Forty-eight hours of her perfect professional distance while we prep for tomorrow's Grand Prix operation. Two days of my skin feeling too tight and my brain calculating odds on everything from traffic patterns to whether she'll ever look at me again.

My phone buzzes in the cupholder. Another betting app notification. Another bookie offering special odds. I've been clean for six hours—a fucking record considering the team's busy with prep and can't babysit me.

The exit for Griffith Observatory comes up fast. My hands turn the wheel before my brain fully commits to the decision.

Just need to think. Clear my head. Definitely not about to do something monumentally stupid.

Even I don't believe that lie.

The drive takes forty-three minutes in afternoon traffic, but I make it in thirty-two, taking risks that would make Cole lecture me about operational safety. The observatory parking lot provides perfect cover—tourist crowds, multiple sight lines, elevated positions. My brain automatically assesses it like a mission site, but that's not why I'm here.