Page 98 of Shadowed Sins: Nitro

"I want the truth." His fingers drum against his thigh again—4-4-2, 4-4-2. "The real truth. Not the sanitized version you feed the team."

The financial district crowds thin as we slip into an alley between office buildings. Perfect sight lines to monitor the Wells Fargo entrance, complete privacy for confessions that could destroy us both.

"Marcus Delacroix was first." The words emerge without conscious decision. "French shipping magnate, sixty-two, grandfather of seven. Spent two months becoming his perfect fantasy. Young, grief-stricken, desperate for protection."

Jax leans against the brick wall, those blue-green eyes never leaving my face. His complete attention makes my skin burn.

"The night I killed him, I made him watch me delete photos of his grandchildren from his phone. One by one. His tears mixed with the wine he'd poured to celebrate what he thought would be our first night together."

My voice stays clinically detached, but between my legs, I'm throbbing with remembered power.

"I came while he died. Slipped my hand under my dress and touched myself while he choked on his own blood. It was the first time I'd orgasmed from killing, and I knew I was completely lost."

His breathing has gone silent. Not horror. Something darker, hungrier.

"Then came Antonio Rossini, Stefan Mueller, David Chen. Each one selected for maximum psychological impact. The bigger their ego, the more beautiful their destruction." Heat spreads through my chest at the memories. "But Antoine Beaumont was different."

"Different how?"

"Because I was thinking of you when I killed him."

The confession hangs between us like a blade. Jax goes completely still.

"Three weeks ago. That pharmaceutical executive who died in his penthouse. The news said suicide but the details never quite fit." His voice is barely above a whisper. "That was you."

"I was supposed to seduce him. Get close, gather intelligence, make him trust me completely." My hands tremble with the memory. "But every time he touched me, I thought about your hands. Every time he kissed me, I tasted you instead."

"Christ."

"I killed him ahead of schedule because I couldn't stand another night of him when I wanted you. And when I came, when I touched myself while he died, I was imagining you inside me. Imagining how you'd feel, how you'd sound, how you'd make me lose control completely."

"That was three weeks ago." His voice has gone rough, calculating. "Before the warehouse. Before you knew—"

"I knew the moment I walked into that garage." The admission tears from my throat. "Knew you'd destroy everything I'd built to protect myself. And I was right, weren't I? Three nights ago I let you fuck me where anyone could see. Let you own me completely."

He pushes off the wall, moving closer with predatory intent. "You said you're mine."

"I was compromised."

"You were honest." He cages me against the brick, hands braced on either side of my head. "For once in your life, you were completely honest."

"You want honesty?" The words come out desperate, angry. "Fine. I haven't slept in three days because every time I close my eyes, I'm back under that pier. I count the hours because my body's keeping score of how long I've been empty. That tiger sits on my nightstand because it's the only thing that makes the ache bearable."

"Mira—"

"Vanessa, cross-reference those financial transfers with the victim profiles Mira identified." Jax's voice suddenly fills our earpieces, professional mask slamming back into place. "Cole, her psychological expertise just revealed Alexei's targeting methodology."

Right. The mission. The reason we're here instead of tearing each other apart in this alley.

Movement across the street catches my attention. Viktor Kazakov exiting with two associates, body language suggesting urgency.

"Target's mobile," I manage, raising the camera with unsteady hands. "Heading north toward the port district."

We follow at a careful distance, maintaining surveillance while my body screams for contact. Every brush of shoulders in the crowd sends electricity through me. Every accidental touch makes my core clench with need.

"Tomorrow's briefing will require explaining these psychological insights." My voice sounds almost normal. "I'll provide tactical intelligence. Nothing more."

"You just told me you came thinking about me while killing someone." His voice stays conversational, but I hear the edge underneath. "That's a hell of a lot more than tactical intelligence."