Page 184 of Blood & Throttle
His lips twitch, like he still thinks this is a bluff.
I lean in closer.
“You never should’ve underestimated me.” Pause. “Save me a seat in hell… Daddy.”
I pull the trigger.
Blood sprays. His body drops, twitching once before going still. I lower the gun. My breath shudders out of me, then Riot’s hands are on my face. Holding me. Steadying me.
“I’m okay,” I whisper.
He shakes his head, throat working. “I would’ve killed him.”
“I know. But it needed to be me.”
He presses his forehead to mine, blood and sweat and air between us.
“So,” I murmur, cocking my head as I run my tongue across a split in my lip, “how many people did you kill to get here?”
Riot’s eyes flash like he’s still halfway feral, blood crusted along his knuckles, chest heaving under the weight of violence he hasn’t fully shaken. He steps closer, towering over me, and something almost tender flickers beneath the storm in his gaze.
“Not enough,” he says, voice low, gravel-thick. “And I’d fucking do it all over again—twice as loud, twice as bloody—if it meant getting to you in time, Little Stray.”
His hand cups my jaw, thumb brushing against the smear of blood on my cheek like he’s memorizing me. Like he still can’t believe I’m here.
Alive.
His.
Thirty-Six
Riot
Ashes 2 Ashes - Chetta, Scrim
The room’sstill humming with the aftershock of death.
Smoke coils through the air, hanging like the ghost of a scream. Kane’s body is a heap of meat and bone at our feet, his blood soaking into the grates. Hole in his forehead. Eyes frozen wide, staring at nothing.
And Sin, fuck, Sin is a goddamn vision of ruin, rage and raw defiance. Blood splattered on her face. Smoke in her hair. A gun clenched in her hand like it was made for her. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t crumble.
Instead she’s standing over him like the Valkyrie she is.
She did it.
She pulled the fucking trigger.
I’m still trying to catch up to that fact. Still trying to slow the whiplash of adrenaline crashing through my system. My muscles are twitching. Vision flickering. Hands shaking from the storm that finally broke.
She’s safe, she’s here, and yet again, my little stray, saved me.
Sin turns to me like she just woke up from a dream, her eyes glassy but locked onto mine.
“Riot?” she says. Her voice is hoarse, cracking. “Hey, look at me.” She drops to her knees beside me, cups my face in both hands, and forces my gaze to meet hers. “I’m okay,” she whispers.
Fuck. That wrecks me. Everything I’ve been holding in. The rage, the desperation, the drive that kept me from falling apart when they took her—it hits all at once. My hands snap around her waist and I yank her into me, burying my face against her shoulder as I collapse back against the floor.
She straddles my lap without hesitation, arms around my neck, holding tight. Her chest heaves against mine. Our breathing syncs—broken and ragged, like we’ve both been underwater too long.
