Page 157 of Blood & Throttle

Raised voices echo from the corridor. Then come the boots—rushed, heavy, and urgent. I’m already up, bare-chested and pissed when the door slams open.

The first handler charges in like he owns the place, he doesn’t even make it a full step before I slam my fist straight into his face. Cartilage gives. His head snaps back with a sickening crack as blood sprays across the wall.

Then the second one goes for Sin.

He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t ask, just grabs her by the arm and yanks her right out of the bed like she’s nothing.

She stumbles forward with a shout, hoodie riding up her thighs, hair a wild mess around her face.

Wrong fucking move.

I catch him before he gets two steps.

One hand fisted in the front of his gear, the other already cocked back. He releases Sin as I lift him off the ground and slam him into the wall so hard the concrete splits.

Something cracks. Bone. Steel. Doesn’t fucking matter.

He touched what’s mine.

Another handler lunges from the hallway, trying to capitalize on the chaos. But before I can turn, a wrench whistles through the air and slams into his knee.

He drops like dead weight, howling. That crunch? That was femur.

I glance left.

Sin’s beside me now—no shirt beneath the hoodie, one shoulder bared, blood spattered across her collarbone, fury in her veins and defiance in her eyes. And that wrench? Still clattering across the floor where she fucking launched it.

That’s my feisty bitch.

I should be focused on the threat, on the hallway, on the handler still moaning at my feet but all I can think isfuck, the way she fights back, the way she takes no shit and throws harder than half the men here?

Makes my goddamn dick hard.

She doesn’t need saving.

She never has.

But fuck if it doesn’t turn me on every time she reminds the world why.

“What the fuck!” she shouts. “Back the hell off!”

The handler on the ground groans, blood staining his chin. “She left the perimeter,” he coughs. “That’s against protocol. She’s a convict. You can’t just take her out whenever he wants.”

A low growl rips through the room

Taz.Hackles raised, ears pinned, teeth bared, standing in a protective stance in front of Sin like she’s daring anyone to try again. One more wrong move, and she’s not just going to bite, she’s going to rip their fucking throat out.

I step over the handler slowly. Controlled. My voice low and sharp. “She’s not yours to control.”

Then I drive my fist straight down into his face. Cartilage caves. His head bounces off the floor with a wet crack.

Taz snarls, vibrating with bloodlust.

Sin plants a hand against my chest, trying to calm me. “Riot,” she whispers, but her other hand’s clenched tight. She’s not scared.

She’s just making sure I don’t kill him too fast.

I stop. Barely.