Page 170 of Blood & Throttle

Love the sound of her breaking.

She moans—high, breathless, sharp. Her hands fly to the edge of the table, white-knuckled grip as I devour her, tongue relentless, mouth hot, messy, and unyielding.

She’s not quiet.

She never is.

Her fingers claw through my hair, pulling, anchoring, grounding herself in the only way she knows how—by grabbing onto me like she’ll fucking drown without it, and I let her.

Because if she’s gonna fall?

It’s gonna be on my tongue.

And she does. She writhes and bucks and shakes for me,coming hard on my tongue while I groan like I’m tasting salvation.

I stand, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand as I unbuckle my jeans. My cock’s out, hard and leaking, and I press the head against her soaked entrance, teasing her just to hear her whimper.

“I’m not done,” I growl.

She smirks, shaky but defiant. “Of fucking course you’re not.”

I’m about to.

One hand fists in her hair, the other digs into her hip as I line up to thrust—and then a knock cracks through the air.

“Riot.” Ghost’s voice, behind the door.

“Motherfucker,” I snarl, forehead dropping to hers as she laughs breathlessly against my mouth.

“Of course,” she mutters.

I groan, yank my pants halfway up, and crack the door.

Ghost’s standing there, tablet in hand. Pale skin lit by the flickering hallway lights. His jet-black hair is pulled back tight, one side of his head buzzed down clean. Layers of black tactical gear cling to him like shadows. His belt’s weighed down with tools, and a headset clings to one ear, wires disappearing into his collar. His expression’s cool, but there’s a fire in his gray eyes as he thrusts the tablet toward me.

“Race is in two days,” he says. “But you’re gonna want to see this now.”

Sin slides off the sink, legs still shaking, pulling her clothes back on as she joins me at the door. Her eyes flick to the screen, freezing when she sees the footage. Old hospital feed. Her face, younger. Scared. Hooked up to machines.

“Where the fuck did you find this?” I demand.

“Hard drive,” Ghost says, low. “Started runningrecovery protocols. Some files are corrupted, but more are coming through. They scrubbed her from the system, Riot. Like she was never there.”

Sin’s silent. Jaw tight. But her hand slides into mine, squeezing once.

I look at the screen. Then at her.

Deadmoor’s trying to dig up ghosts.

But we’ve already been through hell.

And we’re still standing.

Thirty-Three

Sienna

Fast Lane - Bad Meets Evil