Page 160 of Blood & Throttle
“I swear to god,” Sin mutters, tugging the zipper with her teeth, “my ass is gonna be broken by the time we get there.”
I push off the bike, drag the smoke from my lips. “I’ll fix it for you.”
She shoots me a look over her shoulder—half grin, half warning—and it burns hotter than the cigarette between my fingers.
“Yeah? You offering physical therapy now?”
“I’m good with my hands.”
“You meandangerouswith your hands.”
“Same thing.”
Luca groans, slapping the side of the bus. “For the love of god bro, please don’t let them stick me next to their room. I’d rather sleep outside with the stray dogs.”
“Shit, you’d probably have better luck trying to get some sleep out there anyway,” Bishop mutters, slinging a bag into the back of the rig. “I feel like even they’re less feral than those two,” he smirks, pointing to Sin and I.
“Aww, jealousy’s ugly on you, boys,” Sin says sweetly, standing and stretching like she doesn’t know what it does to me. Her tank rides up just enough to show the scabbed edge of my name carved into her skin, and I lose track of the world for a second.
Then I hear it. The low, rumbling sound of a threat.
Jace’s bike.
I glance up, and there he is, leaning back on that blacked-out machine like he’s fucking untouchable. One boot on thepedal, helmet off, his pretty-boy smirk carved into place. He’s watching us like it’s a game he already won.
Then his gaze lands on her, and he fucking licks his lips.
My vision goes red.
My firsts clench as I step forward. My smoke drops to the ground, forgotten. But Sin’s faster. She steps in front of me, plants her tiny hand against my chest, and shoves hard.
“Hey,” she snaps. “Look at me, Carter.”
I do.
Because I always do.
Her eyes burn like they’ve always burned—defiant, daring me to lose control and begging me not to at the same time.
She steps closer, fierce and unflinching. “He’s not worth it.”
My pulse still thrums like a war drum beneath my skin, but she doesn’t flinch.
“Look at me,” she says again, quieter now. “He is not worth getting yourself killed.”
Her eyes flash, that wild sea-glass green narrowed and burning. “We’ll handle him on the track. The right way. Besides…”—she smirks, but it’s full of venom—“if anyone gets to take his head, it’s going to be me.”
I swallow hard.
Fuck, I love her like this.
Like hellfire in a leather jacket. Like war wrapped in soft skin and wicked grins. She means every word, and it punches through the rage enough to steady my hands. Barely.
My mouth twitches at the edge. “Fine. But if he eye fucks you again—”
“He won’t,” she says, already turning back to her pack. “Because I’ll cut his fucking eyes out and feed them to Taz.”
A sharp crack from the overhead speakers silences the yard.
