Page 51 of Twisted Steel

Dante panics weakly.“No hospital.”

“Yes, hospital.”

“Reaper has men...”

I cut him off.“Then they can take it up with the giant homicidal gargoyle behind me.”

Steel’s gaze cuts to me.Even now, even with blood soaking my hands, his mouth almost moves.Almost.

Savage stands.“We move him.Steel, you ride with her.”

“No,” Dante gasps.

I look down.“You don’t get a vote.”

“Not ...ambulance.”

“Do you have a preference?Magical unicorn?Luxury sedan?You have internal bleeding, Dante.Beggars, choosers.”I lift one hand, then the other, showing balance or whatever.

His breathing gets worse.Too fast.Too thin.I check his pupils.His pulse.The bleeding.He needs surgery.Now.

“Help me lift him,” I order, and Steel steps forward immediately.

Dante recoils, Steel freezes, and I look up.This is the moment.The room holds its breath.Steel could grab him anyway.He could treat fear like an inconvenience.He could prove every terrible thing I believe about men like him.

Instead, he looks at me and waits for my call.

My chest tightens.“Saint,” I say, because Dante won’t fight him as hard.“You and Savage lift on my count.Steel, clear the path.”

Steel’s jaw tightens before he nods.Just once, and he does what I asked.That makes something inside me shift, small and dangerous.

We move Dante into the back of a club van because, apparently, an ambulance rolling out of an outlaw compound with a rival biker inside raises too many questions.Steel hates it.I can feel that from twelve feet away.But he lets Saint drive, lets me work, and lets Dante keep breathing without adding fear to the blood loss.

That shouldn’t feel intimate, but in some seriously fucked up way it does.

Steel climbs into the back with me, crouched near the doors, gun in hand, body angled between me and the world.

The van lurches forward, and Dante groans.

“Sorry,” Saint calls from the front.

“Don’t apologize to me,” I snap.“Apologize to his spleen.”

“Is it his spleen?”Saint asks.

“I don’t know, but it might be.”

Steel’s eyes flick to me.There it is again.That almost-smile that makes me want to do something stupid.Instead, I look away and focus on my patient.Dante fades twice on the ride.Both times, I drag him back.I talk to him.Insult him.Order him.Tell him if he dies after making me do all this work, I’ll personally haunt him and judge his afterlife choices.

By the time we reach County, he is barely conscious as the trauma team rushes him in.I give reports fast, clean, and without mentioning that half the emergency room security staff has started sweating because Steel is standing behind me, looking like execution got bored and grew legs.

The doctor takes Dante, and the doors close.And then there’s nothing for me to do.That’s always the worst part.My hands are red again, my shirt, and my forearms.Under my nails despite the gloves because blood always finds a way.

I step back from the trauma bay and hit the wall with my spine.Steel is beside me instantly, not touching, but there in case I need him.Fucking gargoyle.

“Harper,” he says my name softly.

“I’m fine.”My automatic response.