Page 45 of Blood & Throttle
I squeeze his arm, voice low. “He’s not fucking worth it.”
He doesn’t speak, but I feel the tension slowly unwind.
Jace smirks, stepping back as he blows me a kiss. “See you on the track, sweetheart.”
I keep my grip firm until he’s gone. Then, and only then, do I release Riot.
He exhales slowly, rolling his shoulders. “You shouldn’t have done that.”
I arch a brow, tilting my head just enough to challenge. “You shouldn’t be so fucking easy to bait.”
His smirk lingers, slow and dangerous, but there’s something else behind it now, something darker. His fingerstwitch at his side like he’s resisting the urge to touch, to grab, to do something neither of us will come back from.
A loud crackle erupts from the overhead speakers, cutting through the tension like a knife.
“Racers, take your positions. The Bone Yard is set. Countdown begins in thirty seconds.”
The crowd surges, a tidal wave of noise. Cheers, shouts, the hungry roar of thousands of voices demanding blood.
I flick my gaze back to Riot, watching the way his smirk deepens, his dark eyes dragging over me like he’s memorizing something. Like this moment belongs to him.
His voice drops lower, rough and edged with something thick and unspoken. “Get on the bike, Sin.”
For half a second, I consider pushing him just a little more, seeing how far I can go before he snaps. I step forward, closing the small space between us, so close the scent of smoke and leather curls around me. I tilt my chin up, locking eyes with him, my smirk slow and taunting. Defiant. Daring.
“Don’t tell me what to do.” My voice is a purr, smooth, edged with something sharp, something reckless.
Riot doesn’t move, doesn’t flinch. Just watches me, his dark eyes unreadable, like he’s debating whether to throw me on the back of the bike or pin me against the nearest wall and remind me exactly who’s in charge.
The tension is suffocating, crackling between us like the electricity before a storm.
Then, without another word, I snap my visor down, cutting off his view of my smirk, and swing my leg over the bike.
His grin widens, just a fraction, before he lifts his own helmet, sliding it over his head, the countdown still ticking down over the speakers.
“Five seconds to launch.”
The roar of engines swells, vibrating through my bones, filling my chest.
And just like that, the world narrows.
Four.
Me, Riot, the bike, and the chaos waiting ahead.
Three.
Engines rev.
The air is electric, thick with the scent of gasoline and sweat.
Two.
Riot swings onto the bike, his boot resting against the peg, his fingers drumming against the throttle like he already knows how this ends. I slip my arms around his waist, feeling the flex of his abs beneath my grip. His hand covers mine for a second, squeezing once before gripping the handlebars.
I swallow hard.
One.
