Page 3 of Twisted Steel

That also should make me feel better.But it doesn’t either.Because it means Steel told them not to, and I don’t like being managed.

I climb into the ambulance, already reaching for fluids, when a hand lands on the door.Steel stands outside, blocking the view of the lot behind him.Blood marks one side of his shirt.Not his, judging by the way he ignores it.

“You take him to County,” he says.

I pause.“Are you asking or ordering?”

His face doesn’t change.“Telling you where he survives.”

“I decide where my patients go.”

His gaze flicks to Jax, then back to me.“County has a surgeon who knows how to keep his mouth shut.”

My stomach tightens.There it is.The line, the moment the emergency stops being medicine and becomes a crime.

“I don’t work for you,” I say.

“No.”

“Or your club.”

“No.”

“And I don’t take orders from men with guns.”

His eyes hold mine.God, they are cold but not empty, though.Empty would be easier.His are full of things locked behind steel doors.

“Then don’t take the order,” he says.“Take the truth.”

I hate him a little for that.Because he’s right.County is closer than Memorial by four minutes and better equipped to handle trauma.Whatever shady surgeon he thinks is waiting there doesn’t change the fact that my patient needs an OR ten minutes ago.

I slam the door in his face as Milo jumps into the driver’s seat.“County?”

I exhale through my teeth.“County.”

“Thought so.”

“Just fucking drive.”And the ambulance lurches forward.

I work the whole ride.Pressure.Vitals.Oxygen.Two large-bore IVs.Jax curses, fades, and comes back when I dig my knuckles into his sternum.

“Stay with me,” I order.

He blinks up at me.“Are you always this mean?”

“Only when men bleed on my floor.”

His mouth twitches.Then his eyes roll.

“Jax.”I slap his cheek.“Nope.Not on my shift.”

By the time we hit the ambulance bay, my gloves are slick red, and my back aches from bracing against every turn.The trauma team takes over in a blur of blue scrubs and clipped commands.I give my report fast and precise, with no mention of club politics, guns, or the giant named Steel, who apparently thinks he can direct ambulances with his jawline.

Once Jax disappears behind double doors, the adrenaline starts to drain.That’s the part nobody warns you about.Not the blood or the screaming, but the quiet after.

My hands shake when I peel off my gloves.I stare at them as though they belong to someone else.My palms are clean underneath.Of course they are.That’s what gloves are for.Still, I can feel blood on them.Warm.Sticky.Human.

Milo leans beside me, pale under the harsh lights.“Are you okay?”