Page 108 of Blood & Throttle
Bishop lobs a ration pouch at my chest without looking up from his toolkit. “Dinner,” he mutters. “Try not to gag.”
I peel the thing open, and the smell hits first—like wet socks soaked in gasoline. “If betrayal had a flavor, this would be it.”
Ghost’s already halfway through some wafer brick that looks like drywall. “Starve or suffer. Pick your poison.”
Luca grins around his teeth, still chewing. “Tastes like regret with a side of drone oil.”
“Y’all are lucky I love you,” Bishop says with mock solemnity. “That was theleastmoldy option.”
I flick a chunk of congealed something off my lap and glance up. Riot’s next to me, silent as ever. Arms folded, jaw tight, that quiet storm energy rolling off him in waves.
He hasn’t relaxed since this morning.
Probably not since Luma-9.
I elbow him, light. “You always this romantic at dinner?”
He doesn’t look down. “Thinking.”
“Dangerous,” I murmur, licking sauce off my thumb.
That gets his attention. His gaze drops to my mouth like it’s a weapon. Or a trigger.
“Only if I’m thinking about you.”
Heat flares up my neck and I shove another bite in just to avoid saying something that’ll make me sound like I’m catching feelings.
Spoiler: I am.
I nod toward the Syndicate suits hovering by the crates. “Think they’re picturing your corpse or mine?”
“They’re not that brave.”
“And if they are?”
His voice drops lower. “Then I’ll remind them what fear tastes like.”
God, I hate how much Ilikethat.
He tilts his head slightly, signaling,Time to call it a night.
We walk together, shoulder to shoulder, past crates and tools and broken-down bikes, the smell of sweat and metal thick in the air. The other racers track us like wolves scenting blood.
Not curiosity.
Calculation.
We’re the pair to beat.
The ones they whisper about.
The ones who won’t fucking die.
And if we do?
There’s a whole line of assholes waiting to wear our bones like a trophy.
The Syndicate handlers don’t stop us. Just stare. Still hoping for a reason to raise those rifles.
