Page 29 of Blood & Throttle
Her smirk widens, but her eyes flash with something sharp. “Not with you.”
The rejection should piss me off. Should make me let go, shove her ahead of me, remind her exactly who the fuck she’s dealing with.
Instead, I fucking grin.
Because the thing about Sienna Vega? She doesn’t lie. She’s not taunting me for the sake of it, she means it. And that just means she hasn’t figured it out yet.
I lean in just enough that my breath ghosts over her cheek. “Shame,” I murmur, voice rough, teasing, but laced with something darker. “Bet you’d sound real pretty moaning my name.”
She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t look away, just scoffs.
“Keep dreaming, Carter.”
I fucking knew she’d shut it down. And fuck if that doesn’t make my dick hard anyway.
I don’t give her a chance to fight it. I pull her after me, leading her through the corridor, past the bodies cooling on the floor. She doesn’t resist, but I feel it, the moment she glances back, taking in the wreckage we left behind.
“What about them?” she asks, casually, like she didn’t just stab a man for me.
I don’t even break stride. “The pit rats’ll deal with ‘em.”
She huffs out a breath, something close to a laugh. “Efficient.”
I smirk. “The Gauntlet never sleeps, Little Stray.”
She mutters something under her breath—probably a curse, definitely meant for me—but she doesn’t pull away. Smart girl. Even smarter if she’d stop fighting the inevitable. But fuck if I don’t enjoy watching her try.
As we step through the doors into the open warehouse, and the entire place fucking shifts— The noise dips, not silent, but hushed, the kind of quiet that comes right before a storm.
The men in the warehouse, the same ones who would’ve happily torn her apart an hour ago, smell the blood. Their eyes follow us, dark, hungry, waiting.
I don’t slow.
The Gauntlet doesn’t do second chances. The moment you step onto this world, you’re either dead or you’re a target, and after they find out what went down in that corridor, the price on her head will only get bigger.
Sienna Vega isthefucking target.
She knows it, too.
She doesn’t fight me, doesn’t stumble, but she doesn’t shrink either. She keeps her shoulders squared, head high, mouth curved in that same cocky smirk like she enjoys the attention, like she’s daring them to try something.
The tension snaps. A few men mutter under their breath,some sneer, others shift on their feet like they’re considering whether it’s worth it to get in my way.
I don’t give them time to think about it.
My grip tightens, just enough to send a message, and I cut her a sharp look. “The fuck was that?”
Sienna tilts her head, looking up at me through dark lashes, and smiles.
Fucking smiles.
"Just saying goodnight," she murmurs, all fake sweetness and sharp edges.
I exhale slowly, running my tongue along the inside of my cheek, debating whether I want to throw her over my shoulder or bend her over the nearest crate and remind her who the fuck she’s playing with.
Instead, I pull her closer, lowering my voice. "You wanna tease a pack of starving dogs, Little Stray?" I drag her flush against my side, voice dropping to something only she can hear. "Maybe I should show them who you really belong to."
Her smirk falters for a fraction of a second, just a flicker, but I catch it.
