Page 62 of Blood & Throttle
The handler jerks his chin toward her.
“She’s a convict,” the handler grits out, eyes flicking to Sin like she’s dirt on his boot. “Vega rides in the bus—cuffed—with the rest of the trash.”
I step forward, already boiling.
“Like fuck she does. She’s riding with me.”
His jaw tightens. “Standard protocol, Carter, and you know it. She hasn’t been cleared by the Syndicate. So, she gets the shackles or a bullet to the head. Either way, I’m not about to get my head blown off because some bitch got special treatment. Kane’s men see her riding free after what she did? They’ll lose their fucking minds, and I’m not dying for her.”
My fists curl so tight my knuckles crack. “Say that again.” I’m in his face before the next breath, close enough to feel his fear start to set in. “You eventhinkabout laying a hand on her, and I’ll show you what standard fucking protocol looks like when your jaw’s wired shut.”
His hand inches toward the radio clipped to his vest.
“Try it,” I sneer. “I fucking dare you.”
That’s when the suit shows up.
Voss.
His boots hit the ground heavy, long black coat slicing behind him like a blade. Perfectly pressed slacks. Steel-grey eyes that don’t blink. He’s Syndicate top tier. The kind of man whowrites checks with blood. I’ve only seen him up close once before and that was enough to know he’s not just powerful. He’s dangerous.
“Problem?” Voss asks, voice smooth as oil.
The handler stiffens. “Carter’s trying to bypass clearance.”
“She’s riding with me,” I say, jaw locked. “I’ll buy her clearance,” I say, voice low and cold. “Full rate. No questions, no paperwork. Just name your fucking price and make this problem disappear.”
My eyes stay locked on his, daring him to say no. Because we both know this isn’t about rules—it’s about power. And I’ve got enough cash to tip the scales any way I fucking want.
Voss turns his head slightly, eyes cutting to me.
I see it—the flicker of interest.
Not because of her.
Because I just tried to bribe a Syndicate handler right in front of one of the most powerful men in the company. A move that’d get anyone else shot in the fucking head without ceremony.
But I’m not anyone else.
And Voss? That sick bastard loves a good show.
“You carrying enough to cover it?” Voss asks, his voice like velvet stretched over a fucking blade.
I let out a sharp laugh. “What, you think I don’t have it? Don’t insult me.”
He studies me, unreadable, but I don’t flinch. Don’t blink. I stand my ground, every inch of me daring him to push.
“She rides with me,” I say again, slower this time. “Cleared. No cuffs. Or I swear to every god you sick bastards stopped believing in, I’ll make this pit a fucking bloodbath.”
A thick pause stretches.
Then Voss turns his head, eyes sliding to the handler like he’s already bored. “Let him pay. Run the clearance.”
The handler’s face twists. “That’s against—”
“I said run it.”
The fucker flinches, muttering a quiet “Yes, sir” before disappearing into the shadows with his clipboard and what’s left of his pride.
