Page 96 of Shadowed Sins: Nitro

"You said it." His voice is soft but certain. "When you came, you said you're mine."

The admission hangs between us like a loaded weapon. I should deny it, blame the adrenaline, the fear, the moment.

"I need the tiger." The words emerge frantic, deflecting.

"What?"

"From the trunk. I need—" I don't know how to explain that I need something to hold onto that isn't him. Something safer than the feeling clawing at my chest.

He pops the trunk without question, retrieving the ridiculous tiger from between the unicorn's broken legs. When he hands it to me, his fingers brush mine.

"Where to?" He starts the engine, voice carefully neutral.

"I need to check the financial reports. Cross-reference the shell companies. We only have thirty-six hours before—"

"Mira." Just my name, but it stops me. "You can't run from this."

I clutch the tiger tighter, staring out the windshield at the parking lot. The neon lights blur together.

Watch me.

twenty-three

Mira

"Viktor Kazakov just entered the Wells Fargo building. Third time this week, same floor, northwest corner office."

My voice carries practiced authority through the earpiece as I adjust the telephoto lens, but my fingers tremble against the camera. Three days since the pier. Three days of passing Jax in the safehouse hallway at 3am, both pretending we weren't seeking each other out. Three days of his fingerprints fading from my throat while the stuffed tiger watches from my nightstand like evidence of my complete surrender.

"Financial patterns confirmed," Vanessa's voice crackles back. "These transactions are accelerating beyond projected timelines."

"Alexei's moving his assets." I track another black sedan through my viewfinder, forcing professional focus while my body screams for the man sitting three feet away. My shoulders pull back into first position automatically, ballet trainingsurfacing under stress. "Timeline suggests final phase within seventy-two hours."

Jax shifts in our surveillance position, his shoulder grazing mine. The contact sends electricity straight to my core, and I have to bite my tongue to suppress the sound that threatens to escape.

"Seventeen shell companies mapped across his network." Numbers become armor, each fact another desperate attempt at control. "Each one structured to—"

"You missed the delivery truck." His voice cuts through my analysis, rough and knowing. "Southwest entrance. You've been staring at the same window for ninety seconds."

Shit. He's right. I've been watching Viktor's shadow move across glass instead of tracking actual intelligence.

"Temporary visual obstruction." The lie tastes bitter.

"That what we're calling it?" His laugh is dark, amused. "Because from here it looks like you're calculating how many hours since I was inside you."

My thighs clench involuntarily, slickness coating silk that's already damp from proximity alone.

"Sixty-seven," I say before I can stop myself. "Sixty-seven hours, fourteen minutes."

The admission hangs between us like a loaded weapon. Professional distance shattered by four words.

"Fuck, Mira." His breathing changes, and when I glance over, his fingers are drumming that pattern against his thigh—4-4-2, 4-4-2. The rhythm that means he's fighting for control. "You can't say shit like that when we're on comms."

"Encrypted channel." But my voice has gone breathy, unprofessional. "Cole and Vanessa are monitoring different frequencies."

"That's not the point." He shifts closer, his body heat radiating against my skin. "The point is you've been counting."

Of course I've been counting. My body's been keeping score since the moment I walked away. Every hour another tally mark carved into my self-control.