Page 115 of Blood & Throttle

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Blood mists across the concrete.

Five bikes left.

Maybe.

“HUD’s showing spike in pressure up ahead,” Sin says. “Could be a vent burst.”

“Could be a bomb.”

She leans into me. “Can’t wait.”

I snort, then twist the throttle harder.

A scream erupts behind us.

Then another.

The bike shakes, the rear coil’s hot. Too hot.

“Back suspension’s fucked,” I mutter.

“I’ve got it,” she says, reaching for the manual override.

Her hand glides under my arm and finds the trigger near my leg. She adjusts the valve, fluid hisses, and the pressure stabilizes.

HUD flickers green. TEMP RESTORED.

“Remind me why I don’t just let you drive,” I say.

She laughs, low. “Because you’d never survive my road rage.”

Something flares in my chest.

Not fear.

Not anger.

Just her.

This track’s designed to kill us.

And the Syndicate wants it to.

The deeper we go, the more I know this isn’t a race anymore—it’s a purge. Cameras stream every second. Handlers watch every move. And Kane?

He’s waiting to see who falls first.

Sin presses tighter against me. Her gloved hand trails down my stomach, steadying herself as we slam through another bend.

“Still with me?” I mutter.

Her voice is a breath in my ear. “Like I could ever escape you.”

I push the bike harder.

We’re not escaping.

We’re declaring war.

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