Page 67 of Blood & Throttle

“Yeah, well,” she leans in, voice dropping, breath brushing my neck, “if I’d really been begging, sleep would've been the last thing either of us did.”

Fuck me.

I fire up the bike, the engine snarling beneath us, but it’s nothing compared to the way her words punch straight to my spine.

“Careful, Stray,” I growl. “Keep talking like that and I might decide to finish what you started.”

She presses closer, all smug and sinful. “You say that like I’d stop you.”

Wraithmoor looms ahead, and if she keeps this shit up, I might not make it there with my sanity intact.

Thirteen

Sienna

Worst Behavior - KWN, Kelhani

I’ve sleptin some pretty shitty places.

Back alleys. Storage closets. The floor of a Syndicate van with a busted heater and blood-stained seats. Butthis? This place takes the fucking cake.

Wraithmoor’s idea of luxury is a half-collapsed warehouse that smells like wet cement, sweat, and old engine grease. The walls are tagged in every language of ‘fuck off,’ and the lights flicker like they’re just as anxious as we are. The whole place feels like it's one deep breath away from giving up and crumbling into the dirt.

And of course, the cherry on top?

I’m sharing a room with Riot.

Because the universe has atwistedsense of humor.

Our ‘quarters’ are shoved in a rusted foreman’s office overlooking the garage pit. The sliding metal door jams halfway. The windows are cracked. There’s one flickering bulb above, one cracked mirror in the corner, and two beds shoved aboutthree inches too close together for comfort—or, let’s be honest, for myself-control.

I step inside, boots crunching over broken tile.

“Well, damn,” I mutter. “They really rolled out the red carpet for us, huh?”

Riot grunts behind me. That’s his thing. Gruff silence, brooding presence, and grunts that somehow mean about seventeen different things.

I toss my bag on the mattress closest to the door. Not because I want it but because I knowhewants that one. Petty? Absolutely. Worth it? Always.

Taz hops up after me, sniffing around like evenshe’sunimpressed. Can’t blame her.

Riot plants himself near the window, surveying the yard like we’re under siege. Which, knowing this place, we probably are.

He finally speaks. “Stay here. I’m going to help Bishop unload the bus.”

I shoot him a smirk. “Aw, how romantic. Bringing in the groceries together?”

His eyes snap to mine. Flat. Dark.

“I’m serious, Sin. Don’t leave this fucking room.”

I give a slow, sarcastic salute. “Aye aye, Captain Buzzkill.”

He doesn’t laugh. Of course he doesn’t. Just stares for a beat too long before sliding the door shut behind him with a bone-deep growl of steel.

The second he’s gone, I flop back onto the bed, arms spread wide, staring up at the ceiling like it owes me an apology.

“Stay in the room,” I mock under my breath. “Don’t wander off. Be a good little girl,Sienna.”