Page 186 of Blood & Throttle
“Kane’s control room,” I say. “Northwest wing, top floor.”
“Perfect,” Ghost says. “Don’t torch anything yet. I want to plug in, see what dirt we can dig up. Maybe rip the whole Syndicate net out by the roots.”
Sin glances at me. “Think it’ll be enough?”
I flex my knuckles, stepping over Kane’s body. “I don’t know, but it’s a damn good start.”
A few minutes later,a metal security door groans open down the corridor, hinges screeching like a warning siren as it’s pried back. Footsteps. Heavy, purposeful. Boots against concrete. Then they’re here.
Ghost first. Silent as death, dragging wires like a noose in one hand and his laptop in the other. He doesn’t say a word,just surveys the room with that unreadable gaze like he’s already dissecting the entire system.
Bishop comes in behind him, rifle still up, eyes sweeping left to right. Luca follows, bleeding from his knuckles, scowling like he’s still itching for another body to drop. And Taz, Taz barrels through and straight to Sin. She drops to her knees the second she sees her.
“I’m okay,” she murmurs, wrapping her arms around the mutt, burying her face in her fur. “I’m okay, baby. I’m okay.”
Ghost moves past me without a glance, heading straight for the control rack like he’s done this shit a thousand times. Fingers already flying—no hesitation, no wasted movement. Yanking cables. Snapping on adapters. He drags a busted chair across the floor with his foot, props the laptop on it, and starts slicing into the system like it’s already pissed him off.
No barking orders. No dumb questions.
Just Ghost doing what Ghost does.
The rest of the crew floods in through the compound bay doors behind us—boots slamming, voices rising, energy spiking like the fight’s not over.
“Jesus,” Bishop mutters, taking one look at Jace’s body on the floor. “’Bout fucking time. Piece of shit should’ve died ten Gauntlets ago.”
Luca pushes past him, glancing at Sin, then me. “You good?”
I nod once. “Still breathing.”
I lean against the wall and light a smoke, sucking down that first hit like it’s oxygen. The nicotine tears through my lungs and I let the burn settle somewhere under my ribs. We’re alive. All of us. Fucking miracle.
I fish another from the crumpled pack and hand it to Luca.
He takes it without a word, eyes scanning the room likehe’s still waiting for a second wave of hell to break loose. I flick my lighter, watch the tip catch.
“What the fuck happened?” I ask, voice low, raw.
Luca exhales, the smoke curling out of his mouth in a tight, frustrated stream. “Everything went sideways the second you took off after her. You were the spark, man. As soon as people saw you going for blood, others followed.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. The crowd turned first—handlers started catching hits from racers, then from spectators. They couldn’t contain it. Syndicate leaders were being escorted out while the rest of us were fighting to stay alive. No one made it to the end of the race.”
My jaw grinds.
“You said leaders. Voss?”
Luca nods, face tight. “He made it out. Barely. Word is he was the first one they got off-site, he vanished before anyone could grab him.”
Of course he fucking did.
“Coward,” I mutter.
I push off the wall as Ghost cracks open the main panel, silent as a scalpel. His fingers tear through the mess of wires like he's dissecting a beast, methodical and merciless.
The hum kicks in. Power coils up in the walls like it’s holding its breath.
Then a whine. Static.
