Page 111 of Blood & Throttle

I shift closer as Sin tightens the housing on the left mod. She’s got oil on her knuckles, a streak of grease across her cheekbone. Hair’s tied back but already falling loose, sweat sticking it to her neck. Focused. Sharp. Fucking lethal in her own way.

And she’s right where I need her.

“Looks good,” I say.

She glances at me. “Obviously.”

The corner of my mouth twitches. Just a little.

Ghost is off to the side, tapping away at his handheld like he’s trying to crack the Syndicate’s whole system before breakfast. Luca’s on the floor, arms elbow-deep in a sensor rig we ripped from a totaled bike two districts ago. Taz is curled up behind them, twitching in her sleep like she’s racing something in her dreams.

It’s almost peaceful. Or it would be, if we weren’t about to tear into The Dead Zone like demons on borrowed time.

The low hum of mod rigs and distant metal groans echo through the staging zone. Dust hangs in the air like static. Everything stinks of anticipation. Gasoline. Oil. Death in a chokehold.

Sin’s crouched beside the bike, checking something on the HUD. The blade’s still sheathed at her back like it belongs there. She hasn’t looked at me once in ten minutes, but she doesn’t need to. I feel her pulse in my ribs.

She got shot in the last race. Just a graze, but that’s all it takes out here. A little off-center, a little too slow, and she’d be a corpse instead of a rider. I told myself I had her. I always have her. But now?

I’m nervous. And I fucking hate that.

Every race gets dirtier. Deadlier. The more we win, the more the Syndicate pushes back. And Kane? He’s not watching us like entertainment anymore, he’s watching us like a problem. One they haven’t figured out how to solve without losing face.

She’s not just riding into darkness with me tonight. She’s riding into a warzone. And if I’m not perfect, if I’m not faster, sharper, more brutal than every other asshole on that line, she’s the one who’ll bleed for it.

We’re the most wanted people on the track.

Not because of skill. Not because of luck.

Because she wasn’t supposed to survive, and I wasn’t supposed to protect her.

Tonight, we’re using the dark to our advantage. We’re turning every shadow into a weapon. But that only works if I don’t fuck up.

And I don’t get second chances with her.

Not again.

“Stop overthinking it.”

Bishop steps into view, arms crossed, reading the tension I didn’t say out loud. He looks down at the bike, then at me.

“You know this track better than anyone. You’ve survived it more times than I’ve watched it. If anyone can get her across that finish line, it’s you.”

I nod once. No words.

Because he’s right.

And if anyone stands between me and that finish line?

They’re already fucking dead.

The launch rampvibrates beneath the tires, humming like the Earth’s holding its breath.

Above us, the final countdown pulses in crimson light—no announcer, no flashy intro. Just numbers.

Five…

Four…