Page 36 of Twisted Steel

The injured man blinks at me.“Who the hell...”

“Wrong question.”I cut him off.“Sit down.”

He looks at Steel.“Sit.”The man sits.

I cut his sleeve open before he can argue, to find a knife wound.Deep, but not arterial.Lucky idiot.

“Clean towel,” I call, and someone hands me one immediately.

“Not that one,” Mama M barks from somewhere behind me.“That’s for dishes.”

A different towel appears just as quickly.I press it to the wound and check sensation in his fingers.“Can you move these?”He wiggles them.“Congratulations.You get to keep the arm.”

The man grins weakly.“You always this mean?”

“Only when men interrupt my nervous breakdown.”

A few laughs ripple through the room, but Steel doesn’t laugh.He stands close, not interfering, eyes on the injured man, like pain might become contagious if it reaches me.I clean the wound, numb around the edges with what I have, and stitch him under bad lighting while half the club watches.

“Stop hovering,” I tell no one in particular.

Half the room steps back.Steel doesn’t.

I look up at him.“That includes Mount Murder.”

His eyes lower to mine, and the injured man wisely looks at the ceiling.Steel takes a single step back.

I finish the final stitch and bandage the wound.“Change this tomorrow.If it gets hot, red, starts leaking pus, or smells like old cheese, it's time to go to the hospital.Immediately.”

The man grimaces.“Old cheese?”

“I paint vivid pictures.It helps retention.”

Mama M appears with a trash bag.“She’s handy.”

“I’m not a club service,” I say flatly.

“No,” Savage says from behind me.“You’re a guest.”

The word guest hits strangely.So does the way Steel looks at him after he says it.Like it matters.Like the distinction between guest and possession is a line he intends to carve into the floor with his own hands.

The injured man stands, mutters thanks, and disappears with a friend, and I start cleaning up.Steel crouches beside me and picks up bloody gauze.I slap his hand, and he freezes.Actually, the whole damn room freezes.

I point at the gauze.“Biohazard.”

He looks at me, and I look back.He drops it into the bag without argument.

Someone at the bar whispers, “Holy shit.”

Steel’s head turns in that direction and silence descends once more.

I tie the trash bag and stand.“If any of you develop sepsis because you think infection is masculine, I’ll let you die out of spite.”

Savage’s mouth twitches.“Noted.”

My adrenaline fades all at once, leaving me shaky.Steel sees, and his body shifts toward me.

I hold up a hand.“Don’t.”