Page 32 of Blood & Throttle

I grin. “Meet Taz.”

Taz stops, head tilting as she studies Sienna, then sniffs the air. She moves forward slow, cautious, nose twitching.

Sienna watches her, her expression unreadable. “Didn’t peg you for a dog guy.”

I shrug, watching as Taz circles Sienna once before stopping in front of her. “Wasn’t. Found her half-starved in the ruins outside of Carson City. Barely had any fur left, covered in scars, mean as hell. Thought about putting her down.”

Sienna arches a brow. “But?”

I smirk. “She bit me first.”

Sienna snorts. “Seems fitting.”

Taz, proving her good taste, ignores me completely and nudges her head under Sienna’s hand, demanding scratches.

Sienna blinks, lips parting like she’s waiting for a punchline. “She friendly?”

“No.”

Taz, proving me a goddamn liar, pushes closer, her tail giving a single, slow wag as she presses against Sienna’s legs.

I scowl. “She fucking hates everyone.”

Sienna smirks, fingers sinking into the thick fur at Taz’s neck. The damn dog practically melts under her touch, tilting her head into it like she’s been waiting her whole life for this exact moment.

Sienna hums, still scratching. “Clearly not.”

I exhale sharply, watching, unimpressed, as my hellhound of a dog licks her fucking chin.

Jesus Christ.

Sienna’s eyes flick up to mine, something unreadable in them, but she doesn’t push, doesn’t ask anything else. Just keeps petting my goddamn dog like she belongs here.

I roll my shoulders. “Don’t get attached.”

Her smirk sharpens. “To you or the dog?”

“Both.”

She laughs, shaking her head, then moves toward the cot like she fucking owns it. Taz follows, curling up beside her without hesitation.

I stare, scowling, but she doesn’t even glance my way as she kicks off her boots. They hit the floor with a dull thud before she peels her tank over her head, tossing it onto the pile. I pull out my pack of smokes, placing one between my lips as I light it, filling my lungs with nicotine. My jaw tics as I scan every inch of ink and scar lining her skin, the stories carved into her body. Some jagged, some clean, all of them proof that she’s crawled through hell and came out swinging.

She must feel my gaze, because she smirks, tossing me a lazy glance as she slides out of her leggings, leaving nothing but a thin, black bra and a pair of barely-there underwear between her and my fucking patience.

“Like what you see, Carter?” she murmurs, stretching long and slow, arms over her head, knowing exactly what she’s doing.

I take a slow drag of my cigarette, exhaling through my nose, letting the smoke curl between us. “Get some sleep, Sin.” My voice is rough, edged with something I don’t have a name for.

She snickers but doesn’t push further. Just settles onto the cot, letting Taz curl against her side like the fucking traitor she is.

I don’t move.

Don’t crawl onto the bed.

Don’t let myself think about the fact that no one has ever shared my space like this before.

Instead, I drop into the small chair in the corner, bootresting against my knee, smoke trailing lazily from between my fingers as I keep my eyes on the door.