Page 89 of Shadowed Sins: Nitro

"Or maybe we'll destroy each other."

"Probably." She pins me against the car before I can get in. "But tomorrow we could die. Roman might already be dead. Viktor has trafficking victims we might not save." Her teeth graze my jaw hard enough to leave marks. "I'm done pretending I'm not a predator. Done pretending this is healthy. You're mine, and I'll destroy anyone who threatens that. Including you, if you try to self-destruct."

The promise in her voice should scare me. Instead, it makes everything else go quiet.

"Get in the car, Jax." She shoves me toward the seat. "Let me show you what you're really addicted to."

twenty-one

Jax

The bruises on my throat pulse with my heartbeat as I adjust my bow tie in the Mercedes' mirror. Twelve hours since the Observatory. Six since Mira proved exactly how much she owns me. Zero hours of actual sleep.

"Stop touching them." Mira's voice carries across the car, professional but with an edge. "You're broadcasting what we did last night."

She's right. My fingers keep finding the marks she left, tracing them like proof. The one just above my collar is going to be visible all night. Part of me wants everyone to see—wants them to know she marked me as hers.

"Can't help it." I glance at her in the passenger seat, cataloging the slight stiffness in her movements. "You're walking like you're sore."

"I'm walking like a professional." But color rises in her cheeks. The bite mark on her shoulder is barely hidden by her dress strap.

The Queen Mary looms ahead, transformed into a floating palace for tonight's Grand Prix Victory Gala. Every racing elite and criminal using the sport as cover will be here. Including Viktor. Including Alexei, if Mira's intel is right.

"Remember," Cole's voice crackles through comms, "we're gathering final logistics only. No heroics."

"Copy that," I respond, but my hand finds Mira's across the center console. She doesn't pull away.

Professional distance lasted exactly zero seconds.

The ballroom hits like a fever dream of wealth and corruption. Crystal chandeliers, marble floors, people worth more than small nations mingling with monsters who traffic human beings. The metallic taste of excessive wealth coats my tongue.

Mira works the room with elegant precision, but I catch the tiny adjustments—how she shifts to keep pressure off her left hip where I gripped too hard, how her hand ghosts over her ribs where my mouth left marks.

"Champagne?" A waiter appears.

"Thanks." I take two glasses, handing one to Mira. Our fingers brush and electricity shoots straight to my cock.

"Vitals spiking already," Asher notes dryly through comms. "It's been thirty seconds."

Viktor approaches across the marble, Gideon at his side. "Mr. Ryder! Ms. Knight! So pleased you could attend."

We shake hands like civilized people, not like we're planning to destroy their entire operation. Viktor's eyes linger on the bruise visible above my collar, and his smile turns knowing.

"Eventful evening yesterday?" His tone carries amusement.

"Tactical preparations," Mira responds smoothly, but her fingers tighten on her champagne flute.

The betting windows call to me from across the ballroom—high-stakes wagering on tomorrow's race because rich peopleneed to gamble on everything. The familiar itch starts under my skin as I watch money change hands.

My feet move toward them without conscious thought.

"Jax." Mira's voice in my ear, but she's across the room talking to some shipping executive.

"Just looking." The lie tastes sour. I'm already calculating odds, reading the betting patterns.

"The organizational efficiency here is genuinely fascinating," she says, appearing at my elbow with that predatory grace. Her hand settles on my forearm—not gentle, but possessive. "Perhaps we should examine the silent auction instead."

She guides me away from temptation, but I catch something in her voice. Distraction. Her attention isn't fully on me, keeps drifting toward the harbor-view windows.