Page 64 of Blood & Throttle

Let them.

Because when they come?

I’ll be ready. And I’ll burn every one of them to ash before I let them touch what’s mine.

The ride’s quiet.Mostly.

The streets bleed into broken highways, then backroads swallowed by creeping roots and rusted husks of cars. Wraithmoor’s still hours away, buried deep in Sector Dusk. Not many make it out there and back. Even less come back whole.

We stop near what used to be a gas station, bones of the building still standing, half-collapsed with vines choking the signage. Cracked tables sit under a leaning awning, and Ghost hops out to start siphoning fuel from a tank that looks older than sin.

I kill the engine.

Sin slides off behind me, arms stretching above her head with a soft groan that has no business sounding that good.

“Tell me there’s food.”

Bishop tosses her a ration pack. “Eat fast. Don’t get comfortable.”

She drops beside Taz, who bolts from the bus like she’s been waiting hours just to be near her. Damn dog barrels pastme, tail wagging like a battering ram, and practically launches herself into Sin’s lap like it’s the only place that matters.

“Jesus,” Sin laughs, tearing open the ration pack. “You feed her, right?”

“More than I should. She’s spoiled,” I mutter, watching Taz immediately start begging like she hasn’t eaten in days.

Sin grins and pulls out the contents. A vacuum-sealed protein bar, a pouch of dried fruit, and a slab of synthetic meat that looks like hell but smells halfway decent. She breaks off a chunk of the jerky and holds it out for Taz, who snaps it up like she’s never tasted food in her life.

“She’s got good taste.”

I grunt. “She also eats her own puke.”

Sin pops a piece of dried fruit into her mouth and chews, eyes narrowing in surprise. “This isn’t bad.”

I raise a brow. “You hit your head on the ride?”

She shrugs and keeps eating. “Could be worse. Could be Syndicate stew.”

I snort. “You’d know. You were almost on the menu.”

She flips me off without looking up, still feeding the damn dog.

I sit nearby, watching. Not them. Him.

Jace.

He’s at the far end of the lot, helmet tucked beneath one arm, arms crossed over his chest like he’s carved from fucking stone. But his eyes? They’re locked on Sin—cold, calculating, full of that sick, twisted hunger he doesn’t bother hiding anymore. Like he’s already decided where he’ll dump her body when it’s done. Like he’s counting down the seconds until he gets his shot.

I stare back, jaw tight, pulse low and deadly.

He smirks, and all I see is red.

I don’t just picture his neck under my boot, I hear the snap. I feel the crunch of bone giving way beneath me, the warm spray of blood, the silence that follows when a man like that finally shuts the fuck up.

Soon.

Just give me a reason.

I tear my eyes off Jace before the need to put him in the ground overrides common sense.