Page 31 of Blood & Throttle

“Try me, Sin.” My voice is gravel, a warning, a promise. “Keep testing me and see how that ends for you.”

Her smirk widens, smug, full of trouble, like she’s already planning her next move. Like she wants to see just how far she can push before I snap.

I bite down a curse and jerk her forward again, my grip tightening like I could anchor her to me through sheer force alone.

She fucking laughs, the sound full of smug satisfaction. “Thought so.”

God help me, I might actually kill her.

Or fuck her.

Maybe both.

I don’t let goof her wrist until we reach my door, shoving it open before pulling her inside. She stumbles forward a step but doesn’t fall, just straightens and sweeps her gaze over the space like she’s assessing a fucking battlefield.

It’s small, barely big enough for a cot shoved against the wall, a rusted metal table, and a single shelf holding ammo, smokes, and spare bike parts. A dim bulb flickers overhead, casting long shadows against cracked concrete walls.

Not much, but it’s mine.

And now, it’s hers too.

For however long this lasts.

My gaze flicks to the shelf, to the one thing that doesn’t quite belong among the bullets and engine grease—a battered copy ofBlood Meridian. The cover is worn, corners frayed, pages stained with oil and ash. I found it years ago in a dead man’s saddlebags, torn up and shoved between stacks of cash and a half-empty bottle of whiskey. Figured if it was worth keeping over the money, it had to be worth something.

I was right.

The story’s a fucking mess of violence, blood, and the kind of men who take what they want and leave the bodies behind. No heroes. No salvation. Just survival. Every time I’ve cracked it open, I’ve found something that sticks, something that reminds me why I keep breathing, why I keep fighting.

Andnow, it’s sitting there on the shelf, a quiet reminder of the world outside these walls. A world that doesn’t give a shit if we live or die.

The moment I shut the door, she turns, arms crossing, stance wide. “So, what? I’m your little pet now? Gonna keep me locked up in here like a fucking prize?”

I lean against the door, arms crossing to mirror hers. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

She scoffs. “In your fucking dreams, Carter.”

I smirk. “You’d be surprised.”

Her nostrils flare, lips pressing into a hard line, but she doesn’t deny it. Doesn’t push further. Just flicks her gaze to the cot, the single fucking cot, then back to me, arching a brow. “You expect me to sleep on the floor?”

I chuckle, low and dark. “You’re sleeping where I put you.”

She steps closer, right into my space, looking up at me like she’s trying to figure out how much she can push before I snap.

“What if I say no?” she taunts.

I reach up, trailing a single finger along her jaw, just enough to make her still. “Then I’ll make you.”

She swallows but holds her ground. “You gonna tie me up too? Seems to be a running theme with you guys.”

The corner of my mouth tugs up, amusement curling low in my gut. “Don’t tempt me.”

Then I whistle, sharp and low.

A second later, the sound of nails clicking against concrete fills the small space. A broad, muscular red-nose Pitbull trots into the room from the adjacent storage area, ears perked, pale green eyes sharp as she scans the space before locking onto me.

Sienna stiffens. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”