Page 180 of Blood & Throttle

Who am I kidding, of course he knows I’m gone. He’s fucking Riot Carter.

A slow clap echoes through the warehouse-sized room. And that’s when I see him. Jace. That smug, polished bastard pacing like a goddamn jungle cat, too clean for the dirt he crawled out of, eyes gleaming like he just won the fucking lottery.

“Well,” he drawls, “look who’s awake.”

“You piece of shit,” I rasp, voice ragged and raw. “Of course you snuck up behind me. Too much of a coward to face me head-on, huh? Gotta slither out of the shadows like the spineless little freak you are. Tell me, was I out long enough for you to finally touch a woman without sobbing about it after?”

He grips my chin, rough and claiming, forcing my face up to his. His thumb drags across my bottom lip, slow and deliberate. “Still got that mouth,” he mutters, voice low. “Can’t wait to finally shut it up for good. After I’m done using it, of course.”

“Aww, still making empty threats?” I tilt my head, smirking. “It’s cute how hard you try to compensate. What’s the plan, kill me to distract from the fact your dick’s too small to do anything else?”

He moves closer. Too close. His breath reeks of peppermint and rot. His fingers twitch near my chin, like he wants to touch but knows he shouldn’t. Good instinct.

“I should fuck the attitude out of you before he gets here,” Jace murmurs. “Make sure you’re nice and broken when Riot shows up here trying to save your ass. Think he’d cry when I toss your used up corpse at his feet?”

I spit in his face.

He flinches. Wipes it off with the back of his hand, eyes blazing. “You’re going to die screaming.”

“Screaming? You’re going to die in under two minutes, like you do with every woman you’ve ever disappointed. So let’s not pretend we’re both not on a clock.”

He swings. A sharp backhand cracks across my jaw, but I laugh through the pain. His hands are shaking. Mine would be too, if they weren’t zip-tied to a chair.

“He’s on his way, you know,” Jace says, voice lower now, edged with nerves. “Your precious savior is coming, but he’ll be too fucking late.”

Good. Let him be scared.

A flicker of motion behind him draws my eye. And that’s when I see him.

Kane.

Not on a screen. Not behind a wall of guards. In the flesh, and goddamn is he worse up close.

He’s broad. Built like a tank wrapped in tailored wool. Suit blacker than sin. Hair slicked back, streaks of gray at the temples. No emotion in his eyes. Just calculation. The kind of man who doesn’t need to yell to be dangerous. He breathes power. And right now, that power’s directed at me.

“Jace,” Kane says, voice smooth as oil. “Enough.”

Jace doesn’t move. His lip curls. “I’m handling it—”

“I said enough.”

Jace scoffs, defiant. “What, you scared of her now? She’s just a—”

The gun’s already out.

Click.

Boom.

One clean shot.

Jace’s body hits the floor like a dropped weight, a singlebullet carved into the center of his skull. Silence crashes into the room. Thick. Unforgiving.

Kane exhales through his nose, like he’s brushing dust off his coat. “I don’t like repeating myself,” he mutters, sliding the gun back into its holster. “He was a tool. And tools that talk too much get replaced.”

Then his gaze cuts to me. Sharp. Unblinking.

“You’re even more like her than I thought,” he says.