Chapter 24 #2
Jace smirks, eyes flicking past my shoulder, right to her. “Didn’t realize she needed a leash.”
I’m in his face before the words finish leaving his mouth. One hand in his collar, the other slamming him into the nearest steel post. The crack echoes, drones swivel, heads turn and the pit holds its breath.
Jace grunts, but that smug bastard’s smile stays pinned to his face like it’s tattooed there.
“You really don’t learn, do you?” he mutters, like I’m the one wasting time. “Pretty sure you can’t keep her alive forever, Carter. Might wanna enjoy her while you can.”
I lean in close. Close enough he can smell the smoke on my breath.
“You so much as breathe in her direction again, I’ll make sure they don’t find enough of your body to scrape into a fucking urn.”
He laughs, but there’s a crack in it now. A twitch in his jaw.
“That right? Because from where I’m standing, she looks like a fucking target.” His grin widens. “And I’m just the guy to take the shot.”
My fist slams into the post next to his head, metal denting under the impact.
“Try it,” I growl. “Fucking try. And I will bury you in whatever’s left of this district. You think handlers are gonna stop me? You think having someone’s protection means shit to me? Touch her, and I won’t aim for the kill shot. I’ll aim to fucking destroy you.”
His mouth opens, but I press in tighter, voice like gravel dragged through blood.
“She is mine.”
The words are a fucking oath. A warning. A death sentence.
“You’ll have to take me out to get to her.”
Jace doesn’t smile this time. Because behind me, boots scuff against concrete. Not fast. Not loud. Just enough.
Bishop steps in first, hands at his sides, visor lifted, knuckles flexing like he’s already picturing how Jace’s jaw breaks on impact.
Ghost flanks him, quiet and unreadable, but his eyes don’t blink.
They’re locked on Jace like he’s just a blueprint waiting to be taken apart.
And Luca—fuckin’ Luca—cracks his neck like he’s warming up for the kind of fight they don’t televise.
None of them say a word.
They don’t have to.
Because Jace sees it. He sees them. The way we move without a cue. The way Sin doesn’t flinch, doesn’t retreat, because she knows we’ve already drawn the line.
It won’t be just me.
He’ll have to go through all of us, and judging by the slight shift in his stance, the way his cocky mask falters just enough, even he knows he won’t make it.
Not even fucking close.
From behind me a hand grabs my arm. Hard. Tight enough to make my shoulder twitch.
“Enough,” a flat voice says.
I turn, slowly, and meet the mirrored goggles of a Syndicate handler. Black suit, combat boots, comms piece in his ear. Official. Armed.
And apparently assigned to him.
“You lay a hand on him again,” the handler says, voice flat and cocky, “and I put you down. Right here. Right now.”
No hesitation. Just the cold weight of a man who thinks his trigger finger makes him god.
I don’t flinch. “Then pull the fucking trigger.”
The handler’s mouth twitches like he’s hoping I give him a reason.
Jace’s laugh slithers out behind him. “Damn, Reaper. Didn’t know you were so emotional.”
I tilt my head, keeping my eyes locked on him. “You want emotional? Try threatening her again.”
He smirks, then lets his eyes trail over my shoulder slowly, deliberately landing on Sin like he’s making a fucking point. “You sure sound like a man afraid to lose his girl.”
That’s when I move. Fist clenched. No warning, I punch him straight in the mouth. Bone cracks, his head snaps back and blood spatters against the pit floor. The second the handler steps in, gun drawn and safety off, the pit explodes.
Shouts. Curses. Rage.
“What the fuck is this?”
“Since when does the Syndicate play bodyguard?”
“Thought this was no-rules, no mercy!”
“All of us fight to the death, but this prick gets a leash?”
A fist slams into a workbench on the far side and metal tools scatter to the floor.
One crew’s mechanic flips over an oil drum.
Someone else kicks in the side panel of a junked-out racer.
Drones tilt wildly trying to track the chaos.
Even the betting boards glitch for a second before resetting with a sharp mechanical whine.
All eyes are on us now, on him. On me.
Not a single fucker in this pit likes Jace.
Not really. They want the bounty, sure. Want the payday.
The title. But they still believe in what The Gauntlet is supposed to be—kill or be killed.
Earn your spot or die screaming. There’s no mercy.
No rules. No protection. Until now, and it’s not just pissing them off.
It’s making them hungry. Because if the Syndicate’s playing favorites? Then someone’s gonna bleed for it.
Jace wipes his bloody lip, but the arrogance is thin now. His eyes flick to the other racers watching, calculating.
Fucker isn’t protected. He’s caged. The handler presses his gun to my temple, popping the safety off with a sharp click. “Back off,” he growls.
I don’t.
“I warned you,” I snarl, voice like cut wire. “Don’t even fucking look at her.”
“What’s the matter, Carter? Scared someone’s gonna break her in right? I bet she’s all bite ‘til you pin her down. Pretty little thing like that? Bet she tastes better when she cries.”
I step into him again, close enough that my breath hits his face. My voice drops dead calm, and full of the kind of promise that makes grown men piss themselves.
“No one touches what’s mine and walks away breathing.”
He laughs but it’s not as smug this time. There’s hesitation behind it, a flicker of something real. Fear, maybe. Or maybe just the realization that I’m not bluffing.
“Seems to me like her sweet ass may be more than just your prize, there, Carter,” he mutters, lip bleeding. “Maybe even your weakness.”
I lean in, low and lethal. “She’s my fucking warpath.” Then I grin, and it’s not fucking friendly. “She’s the last thing your eyes will see before I carve them out.”
I swing again, my fist connecting with his jaw. Hard enough to stagger him back into the pit post, hard enough to split his lip deeper. He grunts, but I don’t stop. I get in close, voice low and lethal.
The handler steps between us. “Enough,” he barks, but I don’t flinch.
“I don’t give a fuck who you’re taking orders from,” I snarl, eyes still on Jace. “You think I won’t snap his spine just because you’re standing there? Try me.”
Jace’s smirk is cracked and bloody now. He spits again, but this time there’s no cocky comeback, just that flicker of realization. I’m not fucking bluffing, and he knows it.
“You hear that?” I say louder, for the whole pit to catch. “Whatever deal you made to stay breathing, enjoy it. Because the second that leash slips—” I drag a thumb across my throat. “You’re done.”
No rules and no fucking mercy. Not a single Syndicate shield will matter when the lights go out.
Because this time?
I’m not just racing to win. I’m racing to fucking end him.