Page 37 of Twisted Steel

He stops.That’s good.Or is it bad?I swear to God, I don’t know anymore.

“I need air,” I say, moving toward the door I know leads outside, and no one stops me.

I step outside into the yard, gulping cool desert night air like it can rinse the clubhouse out of my lungs.The sky is black and wide.The compound lights buzz overhead.Somewhere beyond the fence, Vegas keeps glowing, selfish and bright.

The door opens behind me, and I know who it is without turning.

“You have a listening problem,” I say.

“Yeah.”At least he admits it.

Steel comes to stand beside me, leaving a few feet of space.We both stare at the fence.

“That man tonight,” I say.“At my window.”

His jaw tightens.“What about him?”

“You hurt him badly.”

“Yes.”

“Would you have killed him?”

“Yes.”No hesitation.No apology.

I close my eyes.There it is again, the truth of him.Violence doesn’t live in Steel like a habit.It lives in him like language.Like breath.Like purpose.

“You understand that should make me run, right?”

“Yes.”

“But it doesn’t.”

His head turns, and I feel his gaze on the side of my face.I hate how warm it feels.

“I don’t know what to do with that,” I admit.

Steel’s voice is rougher when he answers.“Neither do I.”

A laugh slips out of me, small and humorless.“Great.So we’re both emotionally qualified for this disaster.”

“This?”

I look at him then, which is a big fucking mistake.His face is hard in the floodlight, the old scar casting a shadow along his jaw.But his eyes are fixed on me as if I am not a problem, not a witness, not a civilian dragged into the club business.Like, I am the only thing he is trying not to touch.

My pulse kicks.

“This,” I say quietly, gesturing between us.“Whatever keeps happening when you’re close.”

Steel doesn’t move.“I won’t take what you don’t give,” he says, the words deadly.

The words hit deep in my soul, too deep.“Stop saying things like that.”

“Why?”

“Because they make it harder to hate you.”

His eyes darken, and for a second, I think he’ll step closer.I almost want him to.That terrifies me more than the man at my window.Because I know what to do with danger.I don’t have a single fucking clue what to do with wanting the thing that brings it.