Page 27 of Blood & Throttle

Then I rip the knife free, and he drops like the worthless sack of shit he is.

Silence.

I stand there, chest heaving, blood dripping down my cheek, adrenaline pounding in my skull. The air is thick with copper and sweat, the scent of violence clinging to my skin. My fingers twitch around the handle of the knife, but there’s no one left to use it on.

Riot turns, eyes dropping to the body at my feet. Then to the blade still tight in my fist.

Slowly, his lips curl.

"Didn’t know you cared, Little Stray."

Riot steps closer, slow and deliberate, like he’s already decided how this ends. The brass on his knuckles is slick with blood, his other hand flexing at his side, still loose, still in control. Like he barely broke a sweat while slaughtering the men who tried to take me apart.

I wipe the blood from my lip with the back of my hand and snort. "Yeah, well, don’t get your dick hard over it. Just didn’t feel like watching you get shanked because you weren’t paying attention."

His smirk stretches, slow and taunting. "That so?"

I roll my shoulders, ignoring the sting of bruises already forming. "Mmhm. Can’t have the so-called king of The Gauntlet dropping dead before I get a shot at ruining your life properly."

He chuckles, low and amused, like I just said something cute. "Bold words from someone still alive because of me."

I tilt my head, leveling him with a glare. "That how you see it?"

"That’s how it is." His eyes flick down to the knife still in my grip. "Unless, of course, you wanna prove me wrong. You gonna use that, or just wave it around like a brat throwing a tantrum?"

I twirl the blade between my fingers, shifting my stance. "Keep running your mouth,Carter, and I might."

He laughs, deep, dark, and entertained. "Oh, sweetheart, if you pull a knife on me, you better not hesitate. ‘Cause you won’t get a second chance."

"Who said I’d need one?"

That grin sharpens, wicked and cocky. He steps even closer, close enough that I can smell the sweat and blood on his skin. His fingers brush my wrist, barely touching, but just enough to make it a threat. "You really think you could take me out?"

I lift my chin. "Wouldn’t be the first time I put a bastard in the ground."

His tongue drags over his teeth, eyes glinting with something dark. "Maybe. But I ain’t just any bastard, Vega."

I smirk, flicking the knife shut with a snap. "That’s what they all say… right before they choke on their own blood."

Riot chuckles, low and dark, heat curling beneath the amusement. "Careful. Keep talking like that, and I might start thinking you like playing with fire."

I step around him, refusing to break eye contact as I brush past. "I don’t play, Riot."

His voice follows me, smug and fucking certain. "Oh, you will. But you’ll do it from the back of my bike. From this moment forward, you ride with me, and you stay with me. That’s not a request, it’s the way it fucking is."

Not a question.

Not an offer.

A goddamn command. Like my choices don’t fucking matter.

My spine locks up, rage twisting through me, sharp and hot, burning like a live wire under my skin. I snort, wiping theblood from my lip with the back of my hand. "Oh? That so? Funny, 'cause I don't remember asking for a babysitter."

Riot’s smirk is slow, and dangerous. Like he was waiting for me to push back, like he enjoys watching me fight it.

"You don’t have a bike," he drawls, amusement lacing his tone. "Last I checked, it was scattered across the track in a thousand fucking pieces. And The Gauntlet doesn’t keep dead weight around for long."

My jaw tightens. Fuck, he’s right about that, which of course only pisses me off even more.