Page 28 of Blood & Throttle

"I'll find a bike." The words snap out of me, sharp and defiant. "I'll build one if I have to. I don’t need you."

Riot tilts his head, his smirk widening just a fraction. "You sure about that, Little Stray?"

My stomach twists. I fucking hate that name. I hate the way it sends a shiver down my spine when he says it, like he’s branding me with it.

But more than that? I hate that, for once, I might have to admit I can’t do this alone. Not if I actually want to walk out of the shit Kane’s men tossed me into.

Because I don’t have a bike. I don’t have a way to fight, to run, to survive. And in this place, being alone is the same as being dead.

I bite the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste blood, forcing myself to think past the fury clawing up my throat. I hate him. But I hate being helpless more.

Slowly, I drag in a breath, leveling him with a glare. "Fine." It tastes like poison.

Riot watches me, letting the silence stretch, then nods once, like he just won something.

His smirk deepens, dark and knowing. "Smart girl."

I glare, my chest still burning. "Go to hell."

"Already there, Little Stray."

I roll my shoulders, already planning how the second I don’t need him anymore, I’m gone.

But until then?

I guess I’m riding with Riot Carter.

Six

Riot

No Love - Eminem Ft Lil Wayne

Well,fuck me. I knew she was a fighter, but I didn’t see her taking someone out for me. That was a fucking surprise. A turn-on, if I’m being honest.

But I was almost too fucking late.

A few more minutes, and she wouldn’t be standing here, mouthing off, full of fight and fire. No, she’d be broken, bleeding, used up and discarded like fucking trash in some piss-stained corner of this shithole. That’s how these bastards work. I’ve seen it before. I know their patterns.

And she’s not the first woman they’ve tried this shit with.

But she’s the last.

Because she’s fucking mine. And if any of these motherfuckers are still too goddamn stupid to get that, I’ll carve the message into their fucking skulls.

Sienna Vega, the smart-mouthed, reckless little stray who’d rather bite than beg, didn’t just save herself back there—she saved me.

My fingerscurl around her wrist, grip firm but not bruising, as I yank her forward, harder than I need to. She stumbles, just for a second, and suddenly, we’re chest to chest.

Close enough that I can feel the sharp rise and fall of her breath, the way her body tenses against mine.

Close enough that I can smell the sweat and blood clinging to her skin, feel the heat rolling off her like a goddamn furnace, see the defiance still burning in those dark fucking eyes.

Neither of us move.

Her chin tilts up, that sharp little smirk tugging at her lips. “You stink,” she mutters, nose scrunching just slightly. “Should probably hit a shower before you start offending people.”

I huff out a low chuckle, my grip on her wrist tightening just enough to remind her she’s not going anywhere. "That an invitation, Little Stray? ‘Cause you don’t strike me as the kind that minds getting a little dirty.”