Page 86 of Shadowed Sins: Nitro

I pace near the brass telescopes, phone pressed to my ear like I'm making calls. But my lips aren't moving. I'm listening to voicemails—Roman's voice from 6 months ago, telling me I'm worth saving, that the gambling doesn't define me, that the team needs me functional. Each word sits heavy in my chest, making it hard to swallow.

My free hand taps complex rhythms against the railing. Not engine timing anymore. Probability sequences. Mathematical patterns that predict human behavior better than any psychology textbook ever could.

A family with small children approaches the telescope area. I shift immediately, stepping back to give them better access. The father asks about the city view, and I point out landmarks with genuine enthusiasm, maintaining the appearance of normalcy while my brain screams for the next bet.

"See that building there? That's downtown. And over there—" I gesture toward the hills, keeping my voice steady for the kids, "—that's where all the fancy houses are."

They thank me and move on. The second they're gone, my phone's back in my hand.

She's watching.

The knowledge hits without warning. I can't see her, can't hear her, but my body knows with absolute certainty. That hyperawareness that started three days ago when I was inside her—every nerve ending suddenly tuned to her frequency. The hair on my neck stands up. My cock stirs despite everything else wrong with this moment.

Two days of professional distance and she still followed me.

Heat floods my stomach, mixing with shame and want in a combination that makes my hands shake harder. But I don't acknowledge her presence. I pull up the betting apps, letting her see exactly how fucked up I am.

Multiple platforms flash across my screen—sports betting, cryptocurrency exchanges, stock trading platforms. My thumbs move with practiced speed. Fifty here, two hundred there, a thousand on basketball futures I researched at 3 AM when I couldn't stop thinking about how she tasted.

"Security guard checks his watch in less than fifteen seconds," I murmur to nobody.

Twelve seconds. I win. Feed it into three more bets.

A young couple walks past arguing about dinner plans. "They'll break up before reaching the parking lot."

The girl stops halfway down the path, yanks off her promise ring, and throws it at her boyfriend's feet. The metal pings against concrete.

I don't even look up anymore. Just take the psychological win and feed it back into the machine, switching to crypto now. Bitcoin futures, Ethereum options, altcoins I researched during another sleepless night.

Then my thumb hovers over a folder labeled "Work."

Mission intel. Tomorrow's Grand Prix transport schedules. Security rotations I memorized during planning. Bet-worthy information that could triple my money if I just—

Just one bet using the edge intel. Nobody would know.

My thumb moves away, but barely. The wanting is a physical ache, worse than withdrawal.

Even unraveling into my worst self, I won't betray the team. But the fact that I'm tempted, that my mind keeps calculating odds on mission data I refuse to use...

"Jax. Stop."

Her command voice cuts through everything. Not the refined lady. Not the professional operative. Something darker, more possessive than I've ever heard from her.

I freeze mid-tap, thumb hovering over the phone screen, and whip around to face her. Something fragile breaks inside my chest when I see her standing three feet away, close enough that her amber and spice scent floods my senses after two days of nothing.

"I'm fine, totally fine. Just killing time and taking in the sights while we wait for tomorrow." The words come out flat and unconvincing. I take a step back, hitting the railing. Trapped between metal and her.

"Seventeen different active bets in the last twenty minutes." She steps closer, and I see it now. She's barely controlling herself. Her pupils are blown wide, hands clenched to keep from reaching for me. "You're thinking about using team intel."

The words hit hard. Blood drains from my face. The phone nearly slips from my grip.

"I haven't. I swear to god, I haven't crossed that line." Desperation cracks my voice.

"But you want to." She moves closer, backing me against the railing. "I can see it. The way you look at that folder like it's salvation."

"I want to. The temptation is there every fucking time I open my phone, and I hate myself for it. But I won't betray the team."

"No, you won't." Her voice drops to something lethal. "Because I'll break your fucking hands before I let you."