Page 101 of Blood & Throttle
I flick ash from my cigarette, watching his new crew shift uncomfortably behind him.
Sin steps forward, blade still sheathed, but the way she carries herself makes the air feel thinner.
“Do they even know?” she asks, eyes sliding over his new crew. “Do your shiny new boys know what you did? How you ran like a whipped dog while your crew bled out on the floor?”
Jace’s jaw tightens. “I was repositioning—”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she cuts in, mock surprise curling her lips. “Repositioning?Is that what we’re calling pissing yourself and sprinting like a bitch now?”
He moves like he’s about to rush her.
Taz steps forward with a snarl before I even twitch, fangs bared, ears pinned back. She’s locked on him like she’s waiting for a reason.
Jace’s crew hesitates. Smart.
“I’ll bring you to your knees, Riot,” Jace snaps, redirecting the heat. “You’re not untouchable. I’m gonna be the one to end your streak. Break your legacy. And her?” His eyes flick to Sin, colder now. “She’s gonna get a real ride before I snap her neck.”
The air goes ice fucking cold.
Sin’s hand moves faster than I can process. She grabs him by the collar and slams him into the wall. Metal groans behind his back. Her blade is out and pressed to the underside of his jaw before his next breath.
Blood beads where the edge digs in.
One of his guys starts forward but Taz lunges, growling so low and vicious it vibrates through the floor.
The pit goes deadly silent.
Sin leans in, eyes black, voice like a blade through bone. “Try that shit again, and I won’t just kill you. I’ll make it last.”
Jace freezes. Not a twitch. Not a blink.
“You so much aslookat him wrong,” she says, “and I will carve your fucking name into the pavement with your teeth.”
A pair of Syndicate handlers step in from the shadows. Guns holstered, but not far from their hands.
“Enough,” one of them says. “We’re rolling out in under an hour. I don’t care who started it. We don’t need another body bag slowing transport.” Sin doesn’t move. The handler steps closer. “Last warning.”
She pulls back. Just a little. But not before dragging the blade slow enough to slice open a shallow line across Jace’s throat. He flinches and grabs at the cut. It’s not deep, but it’ll sting like hell when he tries to pretend it didn’t happen.
“You should’ve kept your mouth shut,” she whispers, then turns her back on him like he’s already irrelevant.
We walk away.
Taz falls in step behind her. I light another cigarette, watching Jace out of the corner of my eye as we leave him standing there.
He doesn’t say another word.
And he won’t.
Not until he’s ready to die.
The infirmary’s too quiet,making everything worse.
Doc lies still, her skin pale against the blood-stainedbandages. Tubes trail from her arms into machines that look more salvaged than sterile. Nothing here is high-grade. This isn’t a med bay. It’s a converted storage room with blackout tarps, scavenged equipment, and warehouse grease still smeared on the walls.
The people working on her, they’re not doctors. Not medics. Just pit crew who know how to sew skin and keep a pulse.
Sin steps in first. Shoulders tight and eyes locked on Doc like the rest of the world’s a blur.
