Page 107 of Blood & Throttle
He doesn’t look at me, but I know he’s listening. I can feel it.
“Ghost. Luca. Me. We’re not yours to hold up,” I continue. “We can take care of ourselves.”
His jaw tightens.
I keep going.
“And Doc? What happened to her wasn’t your fault. You didn’t fail her.”
Now he does look at me. Eyes sharp enough to gut.
“You need to stop thinking you can protect me from everything,” I say. “Because you can’t.”
He tenses, like his whole body’s fighting the urge to break something.
“I’ve been a dead girl walking since the moment Kane’s men threw me into The Gauntlet,” I murmur, quieter now. “You didn’t make that happen. But you can’t undo it either.”
Silence.
Thick. Coiled.
Then Riot moves, fast, rough, but not cruel. His handgrabs my jaw, tilting my face up to his. His eyes are fire and fury, jaw tight enough to crack.
“You are mine,” he growls. The words are low. Dangerous. “And no one,” he says, voice like gravel and thunder, “not the Syndicate, not Jace, not even that sadistic fuck Kane is taking you from me.” His forehead presses to mine, his breath hot. “You will cross that finish line. With me.”
I swallow hard.
“And when you do,” he adds, softer now, “I’ll finally fucking breathe.”
Something twists in my chest. Not weakness. Not fear.
Just... him.
I nod, just once, because I don’t trust myself to speak.
Then he presses a kiss to my forehead, rough and ungraceful but honest in a way that makes me ache.
We say nothing after that.
Just work.
Side by side, hands greasy, nerves frayed, hearts loaded like live rounds.
Whatever’s waiting in the dark, let it come.
We’re not backing down.
Not now. Not ever.
The last boltclicks into place a few hours later, and we both sit back, covered in grease and grit.
Then the air shifts.
Boots scuff concrete. Two Syndicate handlers step in from the far corridor—full armor, mirrored visors, rifles slung loose, but fingers twitchy like they’re hoping someone makes a wrong move.
They don’t say a word.
They never do, but they don’t need to. Their presence is enough.
