Page 55 of Blood & Throttle
Still fucking there.
A voice cuts through the night.
“Lights out! Garage closes in ten!”
She groans. “Bedtime. Fucking adorable.”
She turns, taking my cigarette with her as she heads backtoward the garage. Taz follows after her, but Sin pauses and looks back over her shoulder when I don’t move.
“You coming, or you gonna mope out here like a broody teenager?”
I stare after her. This girl—this woman—who’s taken every ounce of pain the world’s ever dealt and somehow stayed sharp, alive, and strong enough to still fucking laugh.
And she thinksI’mthe dangerous one.
Fucking hell.
I run a hand over my jaw and follow her back in.
Because tonight? She didn’t just let me in. She gave me the truth. And for the first time in a long fucking time… someone finally trusted me with something real, and I’ll carry that weight like it’s mine.
Eleven
Sienna
Gangsta - Kelhani
Riot’s quartersare dim and quiet when we get back, just like always. The overhead light flickers once before settling into a low, warm glow that tries to make this place look less like a murder shack and more like someone actually lives here. Cute effort, but still fails.
Taz jumps onto the cot like it’s her goddamn throne, circles once, then flops down beside me with a grunt loud enough to shake dust from the ceiling. I scratch behind her ears absently, fingers trailing over the soft spot near her jaw, but my eyes are locked on the cracked plaster above, the exposed pipes, and peeling paint. The faint scent of smoke and motor oil that clings to everything in here—including me now.
And the memory of what I said out there? Yeah, that shit clings too.
I don’t know why the hell I told him. Maybe it was the way he didn’t interrupt. Didn’t make some pity face or ask stupidquestions. He just stood there, quiet and still, like maybe... he actually gave a shit.
But now?
Now he hasn’t said a word to me since we left the showers. Barely even looked at me. Just went back to being his usual broody, silent, emotionally constipated self. And yeah, I’m a dumbass, because some tiny part of me—one I thought I buried years ago—hoped he’d say something.
Something real. Something that might make me feel less like I ripped open my own chest just to bleed in front of someone who doesn’t bleed for anyone.
Instead, I’m sitting here in a pair of stolen pajama shorts that sayDr. Pepperacross the ass, swimming in one of his oversized shirts, with bruised ribs and a stomach full of regret. Taz’s big head is heavy on my thigh like she’s claimed me as her new pillow, and honestly, I’m not even mad about it. She’s warmer than the threadbare blanket and way less confusing than her asshole of an owner.
But the quiet? The quiet’s fucking eating me alive.
Because I didn’t just survive out there.
Itoldhim. I handed him pieces of me I don’t give to anyone, and now I’m sitting here wondering if I fucked that up, too. If maybe this was one of those moments where you think it means something, and it turns out, it didn’t mean shit at all.
I roll to my side, pressing my cheek to Taz’s fur. She huffs but doesn’t move. Maybe she gets it. Maybe she’s been here longer than I have and knows this is just how he is.
Still, a part of me wants to throw something heavy at his stupid skull and scream,Say something, dickhead. Let me know I didn’t just bleed for no fucking reason.
But I don’t.
Instead, I lie there in the silence, curled on Riot’s cot, the oversized tee I snagged from the bin falling off one shoulder, clinging to my skin in the heavy heat. Taz is pressed against my legs, warm and steady like a four-legged furnace, snoring softly like she doesn’t have a care in the world.
Must be nice.
