Chapter 27
Twenty-Seven
Riot
Nightmare - Halsey
Sin slumps against me, head jerking back from the force of the gas. I feel her go limp before she stops breathing into the comms.
Fuck. No. Not like this.
The world around us is melting light and madness.
Fluorescent ribbons pulse from the cracked pavement, coiling up like digital vines.
Holos glitch across shattered billboards—twisting symbols, screaming faces, Syndicate betting ads that flicker into violent strobe patterns.
Above us, a network of kaleidoscopic lights casts everything in electric pinks, glitchy greens, and ultraviolet blues.
The Verge doesn’t look like a city anymore.
It looks like a goddamn rave designed by hell.
I tighten the throttle and lean hard into the next turn. Her dead weight is strapped against my back, arms limp. She’s not moving, but she’s warm. Still warm.
She’s gotta be alive.
The track fractures around us, flashes of exposed circuitry under glass, gas-lit tunnels glowing with synthetic fire.
Neon flares explode across the upper lanes like mortars painting the skyline in glitching technicolor.
Glow sticks and scraps of racer gear litter the course like offerings to the gods of chaos.
Another rider cuts into our path ahead covered in jagged chrome, his helmet spiked, a rusted chain dragging from one handlebar like a reaper’s leash. He leans into the lane, crouched low, lining us up like he’s got something to prove.
Big mistake.
I shift to take him out, throttle twitching under my palm—
But before I can even move, his head snaps back with a wet pop. A high-velocity round shatters through his visor and explodes out the back of his skull. Brain matter sprays across the track in a fine red mist, catching the neon lights like gore-drenched glitter.
His bike veers left, lifeless, and slams into a barricade with a metal-warping shriek. Flames bloom behind us.
The comms crackles.
“Target eliminated.”
Luca.
I snap my head toward the sky. There, a glint in the neon smog. Not a Syndicate drone. This one’s been Frankensteined with copper wire and old circuit tape. Its lens pulses blue.
Ghost.
“You insane assholes,” I grit out.
“Relax,” Luca drawls, cool as ever. “You’re not the only ones out here who hates cheaters.”
Ghost’s voice slices in like a whip. “Thermals are up. Full scan active. Gas cloud ahead, left lane’s your only clean shot. Move your ass or suck Syndicate fumes.”
“You shouldn’t be out here,” I growl, cutting the throttle just enough to lean into the turn. “If they see you—”
“Then fuck ‘em,” Luca snaps. “I’m not sitting back while they rig this shit and take her or you out. You really think I’m gonna watch Kane’s little lapdog slit her throat while we sit in the stands?”
Ghost huffs. “We didn’t crawl through hell with you just to watch it end like this. You’re our brother. She’s family. And the Syndicate can choke on my fucking code if they think they’re calling the shots tonight.”
“They see you, they’ll put a bullet in your head.”
“Let ‘em fucking try,” Luca spits. “I’ve got two rounds left and zero fucks to give. They wanna start something? I’ll end it.”
Ghost adds, sharp and fast, “We fight together. That’s how it’s always been. That’s how it ends.”
I don’t answer. I can’t. Because the final stretch is coming hard and Sin still isn’t fucking awake. I grit my teeth and hit the comms, voice tight.
“Ghost, get Maggie in the pits. Full kit, now.” My voice wavers, just once. I shove it down. “She’s not—she’s not responding. We’re coming in hot. Be ready.”
“Copy,” Ghost says. “She’s already on her way.”
The track dives into a chaos tunnel, spinning lights and curved walls covered in blinking advertisements and dancing holograms that glitch from strippers to skulls to flames. The road pulses like a heartbeat on drugs. Every color burns.
The final stretch is coming fast, and Sin’s still out cold against my back.
“Another racer’s closing on your six,” Ghost warns. “Fast. Heavy engine. Sounds like—”
“Jace,” I growl.
He shoots up alongside us from the right, bike humming like a fucking predator.
He tilts his head like he’s already celebrating, then yanks a modified short blade from his harness and aims it toward Sin.
My blood fucking boils.
Before he can swing, a sharp blue light fires down from the air. One of Ghost’s drone-mounted EMP bolts smashes into the back of Jace’s bike, shorting his throttle and sending a jolt up his arm. His bike jerks violently, swerving across the line of fire.
He recovers. Barely. But he doesn’t crash, just falls behind.
“Keep going,” Luca says. “Three riders still on your tail. One went down two clicks back. We’re almost clear.”
I snarl and drop a gear. The finish line is burning up ahead—an arch of molten neon, shaking in the heat, collapsing in on itself like the fucking gods are done with this game.
“Hang on, Little Stray,” I whisper. “Just a little further.”
Sin groans against my back, barely conscious but a sign of life that lessens the tightness in my chest. Her fingers twitch at my sides.
I push the throttle to its limit.
We launch again, the grappler mod snapping out from beneath the exhaust and hooking the edge of a crumbling signpost. The swing carries us wide, fast, sparks raining down like a meteor storm while the track behind us gives out.
Racers drop like flies. Screams cut off mid-air. The Verge eats them alive.
We land hard, tires screeching, shocks groaning, and my grip locked so tight I’m surprised the bars don’t snap in half but we cross the line.
The pit detonates around us—sirens, floodlights, drones shrieking overhead. Heat from the blown-out track ripples through the air, stinging my skin even through the leathers. Neon flames curl along a ruptured fuel line in the distance. Everything’s glowing. Screaming. Alive.
Only six bikes make it through.
Six.
Jace is one of them.
He skids to a stop twenty feet away, that shiny new Syndicate bike still humming under him like a goddamn trophy. His helmet’s off, hair slicked back, blood on his jaw, and a smirk carved into his face like he fucking won something.
His eyes go straight to her.
Sin.
Still strapped to me, barely conscious, head lolling, and body too damn still.
My hand twitches toward the blade on my hip. My whole body wants to move, to end him. Now. Fast. Bloody. Final.
But not yet.
Not fucking yet.
I’ve got more important things to handle.
Sin groans weakly against me, and I tighten my arm around her, rage flickering hotter than the pit lights burning around us. I look at Jace again—still watching, still breathing. Kane’s little puppet. Untouchable.
For now.
I bare my teeth and spit blood to the ground.
Let him grin and pretend he’s already won.
Because next time?
I’m not crossing that finish line until he’s dead at my fucking feet.
I’m focused on her.
The second we hit the garage, I kill the engine and slide off the bike, tearing my helmet off. “Get Maggie,” I growl into the comms but she’s already there.
Maggie rushes over, peeling Sin off the bike straps. “Jesus,” she mutters, grabbing a small vial from her kit. “Hang on, sweetheart.” She snaps it under Sin’s nose. The reaction’s instant—Sin jolts, coughing and swearing as she blinks herself back to life.
“Shit—fuck,” she groans, voice hoarse. “What the hell hit me?”
“Hallucinogenic gas,” Maggie says calmly. “You’ll be fine. Just gotta breathe real air again.”
Sin blinks up at me, eyes still glassy. “Was it bad?”
I crouch beside her, brushing hair off her face. “You scared the shit out of me.”
She gives a dry laugh. “Can’t remember the last time I was that stoned. Maybe that one night at the docks… or the fire escape… or—”
“You’re not funny.”
“Tell that to the hallucination of your mom that kept yelling at me mid-race.”
I stare. “My mom?”
“Yep.” She grins, tired but smug. “Same scowl. Same growl. Arms crossed, jaw clenched like she was about to throw a flip-flop across the afterlife.”
Despite myself, I bark a short laugh. “Never told you shit about my mom.”
“Didn’t have to. That woman had ‘raised a demon’ written all over her. It was the posture.”
“Posture?”
“Yeah. She stood like she invented disappointment.”
Maggie snorts again and walks off muttering something about both of us being incurable.
I turn back to Sin. “Get your fucking coat, stray.”
She blinks at me. “Seriously?”
“Yeah. Doctor’s orders.” My tone softens just a little. “You need air, not more toxic exhaust fumes.”
She studies me, then gives a small nod. “Are you sneaking me out?”
“Already told you you’re my fucking problem, didn’t I? That means, if you need fresh fucking air, it’s my job to make sure you get it, so let’s fucking go.”
“You said that like it’s a burden.”
“Oh, I knew exactly what I was signing up for the second I bet on you,” I mutter, grabbing our helmets. “Mouthy. Stubborn. Pain in the fucking ass. But mine.”
She smirks, lips still cracked and raw. “Damn right.”
I help her pull her jacket on, keeping one hand on her back. She leans into it without protest.
The warehouse is already settling down behind us. Pit rats clearing wreckage. Drones rebooting. The buzz of static still hanging in the air.
I slip her onto the bike behind me. Her arms wrap weakly around my waist. And just before I hit the throttle, I glance toward the pit. They didn’t see what I did out there but they know. They know exactly how far I’ll go for her.
And I haven’t even started.