Page 47 of Blood & Throttle
He yanks the bike into a brutal swerve, forcing me to grip him tighter.
"That’s the fun part."
Another racer surges up beside us, engine screaming. He’s got a Glock 19, custom-modded with an extended mag and a laser sight cutting through the dust and smoke. The bastard doesn’t hesitate, he raises it, aiming straight for my head.
I jerk hard to the side, the bullet whizzing past.
"Fuck this," I growl.
I grab the switch under the seat, activating the mod I installed last night.
The tailpipe spits a cloud of burning oil laced with metal shavings, turning the air behind us into a blinding, choking haze. The racer lets out a strangled curse, his bike wobbling, gun hand flailing as he fights for control.
He doesn’t get the chance.
Another racer, too focused on taking us out, plows into him from behind. The gun goes off—wild, uncontrolled—before both bikes slam into the side of a rusted shipping container in a mess of twisted metal and splattered blood.
"Nice touch," Riot shouts.
"Yeah, yeah," I mutter. "Just keep us alive, asshole."
Ahead, the track narrows into a collapsed overpass, forcing the racers into a single-file choke point.
A death zone.
The perfect place for an ambush.
Jace knows it, too.
He and his remaining crew are waiting.
"Riot—"
"Yeah, I see ‘em."
The second we hit the choke point, it’s chaos.
Jace’s crew drops homemade spike traps, the jagged metal shards blending into the asphalt. A few unlucky bastards hit them first—tires pop, bikes flip, and bodies slam into rusted steel.
One guy doesn’t even get the chance to scream before he’s crushed under another racer’s wheels.
We veer left, barely dodging the spikes, but Jace is already closing in.
His bike grazes ours, and for a split second, I see his twisted grin beneath his helmet.
Riot yanks the bike to the right, forcing Jace toward a section of weakened scaffolding.
Jace sees it too late.
The whole rusted structure collapses.
It crashes down, swallowing half of Jace’s crew, their screams lost beneath the screech of metal.
But Jace gets through.
Of course he fucking does.
We blast past the wreckage, hitting an open stretch—a crumbling bridge leading to the final stretch of the race.
