Page 26 of Blood & Throttle
I don’t hesitate.
I drive my knee into his gut, twisting out of his grip as he chokes on a curse. The second one lunges but I duck, grabbingthe towel around my neck and snapping it across his face, hard. The sharp crack echoes through the corridor, and he stumbles back, hands flying to his eyes with a pained snarl.
The third is faster.
His fist slams into my ribs, white-hot pain exploding through my side as the air rips from my lungs. My body jerks, instinct fighting to stay standing, but the first one recovers and grabs me by the hair, yanking my head back so hard my scalp burns.
“Gotta say,” he murmurs, breath hot against my skin.. “Jace was real interested in breaking you in himself.”
I don’t react.
Not at first.
Just breathe through the pain, forcing my body to relax, waiting.
He chuckles, mistaking my silence for something it’s not. “But he ain’t here, is he? Not after Carter fucking ruined him. Heard it took four guys to drag his sorry ass out of the pit after Riot was done with him. Poor bastard can barely stand, let alone—”
I spit blood in his face, and he reels back with a roar, wiping at his eyes, rage twisting his features.
Then, just as he raises his hand to hit me, the room shifts again.
The air goes thick, heavy.
Because we’re not alone anymore. A shadow moves.
The next second, his skull caves in.
Blood splashes across the lockers as Riot’s brass-knuckled fist smashes into the first guy’s temple, bone cracking like wet gravel. The bastard drops instantly, collapsing into a heap, his limbs twitching before going still.
The second doesn’t even get a chance to react before Riotsnatches him by the hair, yanking his head back. The brass glints under the dim light as he drives the metal-clad fist into the guy’s face—once, twice, three times—each hit louder, wetter, more final. By the time Riot lets go, the body slumps against the rusted lockers, blood smearing down the dented metal as he crumples to the floor.
The last one makes a last minute decision and goes for Riot.
I see it before Riot does—see the shift in the bastard’s stance, the way his fingers tighten around the broken bottle in his hand, the flash of something desperate in his bloodshot eyes.
He’s gonna take a shot.
Riot’s back is turned.
I move.
My fingers close around the knife tucked into the back of my waistband, pulling it free in one smooth motion.
The guy lunges.
I beat him to it.
One step.
I slam the blade into his side, right between the ribs.
He chokes out a strangled breath, body seizing as the knife buries deep. His grip loosens, the bottle slipping from his fingers, shattering uselessly at my feet.
I twist the blade, feeling the resistance give, feeling him go slack.
His breath stutters, blood bubbling at his lips as his knees give out.
I lean in close, voice sickly sweet. "What’s wrong, sweetheart? Thought you were gonna break me in?"
