Chapter 30
Thirty
Riot
Vicious - Bohnes
She’s mine.
Sienna Vega—mouthy, feral, tattooed with my name on her skin like a fucking signature—is mine.
Not just by the bruises on her neck, scratches down my back, or the way she moaned my name like a goddamn prayer last night. But in the way that matters. In the way that means I’ll kill anyone who tries to take her from me.
Sin's body is tangled with mine, her breath soft where it ghosts across my neck. Her skin’s marked up from my mouth—bruises on her neck, hips, the curve of her thigh where I held her too tight.
But she didn’t complain. Not once. Last night she gave me everything, every tiny piece of her, and I took it like a fucking starving man.
After, we crashed into bed like it was gravity and we were done pretending we could fight it.
Now she’s curled into me, legs tangled, my arm draped heavy across her waist. Her breath steady against my throat.
Taz is passed out at the foot of the mattress, chin on her paws, one ear twitching at every sound like she never sleeps too deep when Sin is nearby, and for the first time in too fucking long, I feel calm.
Not safe.
Never fucking safe. But grounded. Like this brutal, broken world finally gave me something to hold onto.
It doesn’t last.
Raised voices echo from the corridor. Then come the boots—rushed, heavy, and urgent. I’m already up, bare-chested and pissed when the door slams open.
The first handler charges in like he owns the place, he doesn’t even make it a full step before I slam my fist straight into his face. Cartilage gives. His head snaps back with a sickening crack as blood sprays across the wall.
Then the second one goes for Sin.
He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t ask, just grabs her by the arm and yanks her right out of the bed like she’s nothing.
She stumbles forward with a shout, hoodie riding up her thighs, hair a wild mess around her face.
Wrong fucking move.
I catch him before he gets two steps.
One hand fisted in the front of his gear, the other already cocked back. He releases Sin as I lift him off the ground and slam him into the wall so hard the concrete splits.
Something cracks. Bone. Steel. Doesn’t fucking matter.
He touched what’s mine.
Another handler lunges from the hallway, trying to capitalize on the chaos. But before I can turn, a wrench whistles through the air and slams into his knee.
He drops like dead weight, howling. That crunch? That was femur.
I glance left.
Sin’s beside me now—no shirt beneath the hoodie, one shoulder bared, blood spattered across her collarbone, fury in her veins and defiance in her eyes. And that wrench? Still clattering across the floor where she fucking launched it.
That’s my feisty bitch.
I should be focused on the threat, on the hallway, on the handler still moaning at my feet but all I can think is fuck, the way she fights back, the way she takes no shit and throws harder than half the men here?
Makes my goddamn dick hard.
She doesn’t need saving.
She never has.
But fuck if it doesn’t turn me on every time she reminds the world why.
“What the fuck!” she shouts. “Back the hell off!”
The handler on the ground groans, blood staining his chin. “She left the perimeter,” he coughs. “That’s against protocol. She’s a convict. You can’t just take her out whenever he wants.”
A low growl rips through the room
Taz. Hackles raised, ears pinned, teeth bared, standing in a protective stance in front of Sin like she’s daring anyone to try again. One more wrong move, and she’s not just going to bite, she’s going to rip their fucking throat out.
I step over the handler slowly. Controlled. My voice low and sharp. “She’s not yours to control.”
Then I drive my fist straight down into his face. Cartilage caves. His head bounces off the floor with a wet crack.
Taz snarls, vibrating with bloodlust.
Sin plants a hand against my chest, trying to calm me. “Riot,” she whispers, but her other hand’s clenched tight. She’s not scared.
She’s just making sure I don’t kill him too fast.
I stop. Barely.
Chest heaving. Knuckles bleeding. Rage still simmering under my skin like an exposed wire. The scent of blood, sweat, and something primal curls between us.
Then the door hisses.
Of course.
Fucking Voss.
He walks in like this is a casual business call, not a warzone. Same polished shoes. Same fake smile stretched tight over hollow cheekbones. A pair of guards flanks him, rifles low but ready. Eyes sharp. Watching.
He surveys the scene like it’s a minor inconvenience. “I see we’ve had a misunderstanding.”
“Wasn’t a misunderstanding,” I growl, voice like gravel. “He touched her.”
Taz bares her teeth next to me, her eyes fixated on Voss.
He raises an eyebrow, but the fake smile doesn’t slip. “And you nearly shattered his spine for it.”
“Should’ve finished the job,” I spit.
The handler at my feet groans again. I don’t move. If anything, I lean closer to remind him I could cave his skull in before Voss even blinked.
Voss clicks his tongue and steps through the mess, shoes crunching on broken tile.
“You know, I broke protocol for you, Riot. She’s not supposed to be out roaming free.
She’s a convict, she’s in here for punishment, and yet I let it slide.
Because you asked. Because I thought we had an understanding. ”
I don’t answer. My jaw’s clenched too tight.
“But then you take her off Syndicate grounds entirely?” His voice dips, cold and venom-laced. “You spat in my face. After I broke the rules for you, you pissed on the deal like it meant nothing.”
I feel Sin shift beside me, watching, listening, every nerve in her on edge. I step in front of her.
“You want to talk about broken deals?” I snarl. “You treat racers like dogs. Chain them, starve them, sell their blood for your fucking ratings. She’s not your pawn. She’s not your fucking toy.”
Voss steps in close, too close. The kind of close that says he knows no one here can touch him. Not without paying for it in blood.
His eyes flick to Sin, then back to me. That smirk stretching wider. Colder.
“Oh, but she is,” he says, voice slick as oil. “You all are. Property. Assets. Trash we’ve dressed up for the cameras and promised a way out.”
His gaze hardens, the amusement dropping like a mask sliding off.
“You want to pretend you’re the good guy, Riot? Fine. Protect the girl. Play the hero. Just don’t confuse freedom with power. You’ve got enough fans to make you untouchable, for now. But don’t test me again.”
His smile twists darker. “Because next time you take her off the premises, I won’t send a couple of grunts to drag her back to a cell. I’ll put a bullet in her pretty little skull and string her naked corpse up for the crowd.”
I don’t blink. Don’t move. My jaw flexes as his words burn hot and heavy.
He steps back, brushing invisible dust from his shoulder. “And just so we’re clear—when she falls, you fall too.”
Sin stiffens. I feel it.
I stare him down. Not flinching. Not even fucking breathing.
“I’ll burn this whole fucking district before I let you or anyone else, touch her again.”
Voss’s smile never quite fades. “I hope you don’t make me test that, Riot. Really, I do.”
Voss turns without another word, that smug-ass smile still carved across his plastic fucking face.
His guards follow, rifles slung low, eyes sweeping the wreckage like they’re above it.
The two handlers I wrecked are groaning on the ground—one coughing blood, the other still cradling what’s left of his knee—until more Syndicate dogs file in, dragging them out like trash.
Sin steps beside me, sliding her hand into mine, her voice cutting through the rage that’s still roaring in my ears.
“Well,” she mutters, “that was subtle.”
I don’t smile. I don’t breathe. I stare at the door like I could tear it off the hinges and use it to bash Voss’s skull in.
She steps closer, tilting her chin up. “Hey. I’m okay.”
I’m not. Not even close. My pulse is a war drum and all I can see is the way that bastard grabbed her. Yanked her like she was fucking property. Like she wasn’t mine.
“I’m okay,” she says again, softer now.
That’s when I grab her.
One hard yank and she’s against me, flush to my chest, her breath catching in surprise as I cage her in my arms like I need to feel her alive just to keep from losing it.
My hand runs up the back of her hoodie, over the curve of her spine, and under the hem where her skin’s still warm and marked.
My name. Fresh ink. My blood on hers. I find the spot on her hip, brush my thumb across the scabbed flesh—gentle, reverent—and press my lips to her forehead.
A slow exhale leaves me, but the fire’s still there, crawling under my skin.
“I should’ve killed him,” I mutter. “Should’ve snapped that motherfucker’s neck for even looking at you.”
Her fingers curl into the front of my waistband. “Yeah, well… you kill him now, we don’t make it to the final district.”
I pull back just enough to look down at her. “Fuck the final district.”
“Riot,” she says firmly. “You can kill him later. Slowly. In creative and painful ways, but right now, we pack. We ride. You win. Then we burn it all down. Together.”
Fuck, I love her.
The storm’s still brewing behind my ribs, but I nod, jaw tight, and drop my forehead to hers for a second before I let her go. My hand lingers on her hip, thumb brushing over the raw, healing flesh where I carved her future into skin. Mine.
Taz lets out a sharp bark beside us, shaking her head like she’s ready for war. Ears pinned back. Muscles tense. She felt the shift too.
Sin gives her a quick scratch and mutters, “Yeah, same.”
She looks back at me, that wicked little smirk tugging at her mouth like she didn’t just stop me from tearing a man’s spine out with my bare hands. “You good?”
Not even close.