Page 92 of Blood & Throttle
Not fear, focus.
Riot moves to the locker without a word. I peel off my jacket and drape it over the back of the chair, jaw tight, hands steady. Every move I make is quick, practiced. He watches me for a second like he wants to say something, then turns back to the gear.
He pulls out a handgun, checks the mag, then holds it out toward me.
“Take it. Loaded. Clean shot.”
I meet his eyes, fingers brushing his for just a second as I take it. No hesitation. No questions. I holster it at my thigh and nod once.
He offers me a blade next. Compact. Curved. Meant to end someone fast.
“Backup,” he says. “We’ll probably be outnumbered.”
I smirk and reach into my boot, sliding out the serrated blade I’ve had stashed since Noxhaven—slightly longer, sharper, stained with old blood.
“You think I wouldn’t carry?”
His mouth ticks up at the corner. “Expected you to. But more steel never hurts.”
I slide the knife back into my boot and shrug, grinning. “Especially when you’ve got a habit of pissing off entire districts.”
“And you’ve got a habit of running toward the chaos.”
“Maybe I just like the view.”
He doesn’t respond, but the look he gives me? It says enough.
We finish gearing up in silence. No nerves. No hesitation.
Just two predators, armed, synced, and ready to paint the walls red.
Hell’s waiting.
And we’re walking straight into it.
Seventeen
Riot
Animal - Badflower
There’sa certain kind of rage that doesn’t burn.
It calcifies.
Turns to stone in your gut and wraps around your ribs until breathing feels like punishment.
That’s what this is.
Not fire. Not fury.
Something colder and meaner.
Something that wants blood and doesn’t give a fuck if it gets mine too, as long as it takes enough with it.
Doc's face won't leave my head.
The bruises. The fucking wires in her jaw. The fact that she tried tocrawlback to us, bleeding, broken, alone. Because Jace wanted to send a fucking message.
