Page 162 of Blood & Throttle
Luca groans. “Please, for the love of what’s left of this world, get a room.”
“I plan on it,” Riot smiles, all teeth.
I shove past him, pretending the grin pulling at my mouth doesn’t exist as Ghost mutters something about setting himself on fire.
The motel ahead looks like every bad decision ever made had a baby. Cracked stucco, a flickering neon sign that barely spellsSUNN—ST MOTOR INN,and a pool that’s more swamp than water. A palm tree leans like it's given up hope, and the whole place smells like mildew, rust, and cigarette ghosts.
The Syndicate’s already posted up—handlers at every corner, watching like wolves in suits.
The ride might’ve felt like freedom. But this? This is the calm before the slaughter.
Drones buzz overhead, low and slow, watching. Recording. Always watching. One of the handlers—mid-thirties, shaved head, no soul in his eyes—starts handing out keycards like he’sdoing charity. No eye contact. No words. Just a flick of the wrist and a sneer.
“Room twelve,” he grunts, handing me ours.
“Thanks for the hospitality,” I deadpan.
He doesn't respond. Just moves on.
Ghost gets one with a quiet nod. Taz growls low at the handler’s retreating back before hopping off the bus and trotting toward him.
“Uh-uh,” I call. “No murdering handlers, Taz. Not yet.”
She trots back, tail swishing, clearly unimpressed with the accommodations. Ghost crouches beside her, rubbing behind her ears.
A Syndicate handler steps off the bus, clipboard in hand, looking like he’s two seconds from getting decked by someone.
“Carter and Vega, room six. Bishop and Luca, room nine. Ghost, you’re in Room three. Alone.”
Ghost raises a brow. “Alone?”
I glance down at Taz, who’s still pacing in tight, anxious circles. “She should go with you.”
Ghost kneels, rubbing a hand along her neck. “Guess you’re with me tonight, girl. We’ll set up the drone rig and watch the feed.”
Taz huffs and leans into him, tail finally swaying.
Riot exhales smoke through his nose and cuts his gaze to me. “You sure you’ll be okay without your foot-warmer?”
I smirk, stepping past him. “You’ll just have to figure out a way to keep me warm.”
His head tilts, the corner of his mouth lifting into something dark and amused. “Yeah? I can do that. Besides…” He flicks ash from his cigarette and lowers his voice. “I’ve got a challenge to beat.”
I arch a brow, biting back my grin. “Cocky much?”
“Confident,” he mutters. “Big difference.”
Across the lot, Bishop swings his duffel over his shoulder and heads toward the motel doors. “Let’s go, lover boy. And you better not be a blanket hogger.”
Luca blinks. “Wait—what? There’s only one bed?”
Bishop grins. “Do you wanna be the big spoon, or the little spoon?”
“I hate you.”
“You say that now. Wait ’til you find out I sleep naked.”
“Likefuckyou do.” Luca looks around, desperate. “Hey Ghost, can I crash with you?”
