Page 88 of Blood & Throttle
“Not tonight.”
“Why the hell not?”
“You’re hurt,” he mutters, brushing his thumb across my cheek. “And I’m still pissed enough to bite you for real.”
I smirk. “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”
He grabs his bag and pulls out a book—the same one I saw on his shelf in Noxhaven—and sits in the chair in the corner.
“You better not sulk-read at me like some wounded poet,” I say, adjusting on the bed. “That’s not the vibe.”
He doesn’t answer.
I glare. “Seriously. Bed. Now.”
A pause.
Then he sets the book down, kicks off his boots, and slides in beside me.
He leans against the wall, broad chest rising and falling like he’s finally letting himself breathe. I curl into him, head tucked under his arm. Taz jumps up onto the mattress, circling twice before settling at our feet like a furry little heater.
“Better,” I murmur.
Riot flips the book open and starts to read. His voice is low, steady, surprisingly nice to fall asleep to. And as I listen—wrapped in his warmth, fingers brushing the line of his ribs—I realize something: He’s still the same cold, vicious asshole I met weeks ago. But he’s also the only person who’s ever looked at me like I was worth keeping alive.
And maybe that’s the scariest part of all.
The blastof the door slamming open rips through the quiet like a gunshot.
Taz launches off the bed,snarling.
Riot’s already moving, his hand snapping to the gun on the nightstand. He spins toward the noise and raises it without hesitation.
“Whoa, whoa!” Ghost’s voice cracks through the doorway. He stumbles in, hands flying up. “Easy! It’s just me, man. Chill.”
Riot doesn’t lower the weapon.
Not immediately.
His jaw is locked. Breathing shallow. Finger restingtooclose to the trigger.
Ghost freezes under his stare, like even he doesn’t know if Riot’s going to pull it.
“Talk,” Riot growls, voice sharp enough to cut steel.
Ghost swallows hard. “It’s Doc.”
That one name pulls me all the way up. The cold under my skin turns electric.
Riot doesn’t ask if she’s okay.
He just waits.
“She’s alive,” Ghost says quickly, voice steadying. “But it’s bad. Maggie found her outside the med pit. Said she almost didn’t see her—Doc had crawled halfway behind the crates, covered in blood. Looked like she was trying to get back to us.”
I shove the blankets off and reach for my jacket, ignoring the throbbing in my leg.
Riot’s already halfway dressed, pulling on his shirt and sliding a new clip into his sidearm.
