Page 23 of Twisted Steel

“I am.”

“Is there anything you can use as a weapon?”

“A shoe.”

“What kind?”

“One with a heel.”

“Good.Aim for the eyes.”

A tiny, terrified laugh escapes her.“You’re insane.”

“That sounds about right.”

I swing onto my bike, and the engine roars alive under me.Too loud for this hour, but that’s too fucking bad.

“I’m five minutes out,” I tell her.

“What if they get in before you get here?”she asks, and for the first time, I hear real fear in her voice.

I feel it too, and I don’t waste breath pretending otherwise.“I’m five minutes out.”

“Steel.”

The way she says my name cuts under my ribs.Not Marcus.Not gargoyle.Not asshole.Steel.

“What?”

“Don’t hang up.”

My hand tightens around the throttle.“Never.”

I ride like hell is chasing me.The city blurs.Red lights become suggestions.Empty streets stretch under my tires while Harper’s breathing fills my helmet speaker.Every inhale is too sharp.Every exhale too thin.

I hear another sound through the line.Glass, not breaking, but scraping.Someone is testing the window.

My teeth grind together.“Talk to me,” I say.

“I’m going to throw up.”

“Later.”

“Your bedside manner sucks.”

“You’re not my patient.”

“Thank God,” she huffs, and I imagine her rolling her eyes.

The scrape comes again, and Harper goes silent.I don’t like her silence.

“Harper.”

“I’m here.”

“Keep talking.”I need to keep her attention off what is happening outside.

“About what?”