Page 116 of Blood & Throttle

Twenty-One

Riot

On The Hunt - Houndrel

The tunnel tightens like a noose,walls closing in with every meter. Cracks in the ceiling bleed molten steam, and the temperature spikes as if the whole place is seconds from erupting.

HUD: STRUCTURAL FRACTURE. INTEGRITY LOW.

No surprise. This track isn’t built to challenge us—it’s built to kill us.

I bank hard left, metal grinding. Sin shifts behind me, tightening her grip, one hand already flying to the mod panel near my hip. She moves fast, flawless under pressure. Always.

“Rear coil’s shot,” I grit through my teeth, feeling every jolt in my spine.

“I’ve got it,” she says, calm but clipped, flipping open the manual access hatch along the side housing. Her fingers dive into Ghost’s emergency stabilizer valve, buried behind grimeand dust. It hisses violently, and the pressure stabilizes, HUD flashing green again.

TEMP STABILIZED.

“Try not to tear the whole thing apart while you’re at it,” I snap, breath ragged.

She leans into me, voice sharp with heat. “Try not to die before I’m done.”

I almost smile. Almost. There’s no time for that now.

We cut through the carcass of a wrecked bike—bent steel, steaming rubber, and blood slicking the road like an oil spill. Another racer who didn’t make the last turn. Helmet cracked. Rider split in two. The scent of burning leather and flesh clings to the heatwaves rolling through the corridor.

Three left. Maybe less.

And then I hear it, the low, guttural purr of an engine I’d know anywhere. Slick. Tuned for speed and blood.

Jace.

He slips into view behind us, modded chrome reflecting firelight. Vex rides behind him, legs braced wide, rifle across his lap like a toy he’s been dying to unwrap. No helmet. No fear. Just that fucked-up grin.

“Left flank,” Sin says, her voice low in my comms.

“I see them.”

Vex lifts the rifle.

I see it.

A split-second calculation. One breath. One choice.

I twist the bike—hard left—shielding her with my body.

“Riot!” Sin yells, just as the shot fires.

It hits me clean in the side—high, just under the ribs. Not deep enough to drop me. Not high enough to kill but it burns. Fuck, it burns.

Better me than her.

Every time.

Pain blooms instantly, white-hot and sharp. My whole body lurches forward, and my grip on the throttle slips for half a heartbeat. The bike jerks beneath us. My HUD glitches out. Everything screams.

I grunt and lock my hands tighter, breath caught in my throat as I bite it back. The blood soaks through the leather fast, hot and sticky under my jacket.