Page 55 of Twisted Steel

Chapter Eight

Become Precise

Steel

Harper Quinn is going to get me killed.

Not because she’s weak.Because she isn’t.

Weak would be easier.Weak would let me move her where I need her, put guards where I want them, tell her when to duck, and when to stay silent.Weak would look at the blood, the guns, the club, and fold.Harper looks at it all and starts giving orders.

And that’s the goddamn problem.

I stand in the hallway outside County’s surgical wing, watching her argue with a charge nurse like she has a personal vendetta against hospital policy.Blood still stains the edge of her sleeve.Dante’s blood.Vulture blood.Enemy blood.

And she simply doesn’t fucking care.To Harper, blood is blood.A body is a body.A life is a life until it stops being one.I don’t know how to think like that.

I know threat and target.Brother and enemy.Dead weight and useful leverage.I know how hard to hit a man before his bones break and how long it takes someone to stop fighting after fear gets into his lungs.

She knows how to keep people breathing and that alone should put miles between us.Instead, it keeps pulling me closer.

Savage stands beside me, arms crossed, eyes on the hallway.Saint is on his phone near the vending machines, pulling threads from the location Dante gave us.

“We need to move,” I say.

Savage doesn’t look at me.“We will.”

“Now.”

“No.”

My jaw locks.“Reaper is waiting.”

“That’s the point,” he grumbles.

“He thinks I’ll come alone.”

“And you’re proving him right by vibrating hard enough to crack hospital tile.”

I turn my head, and Savage meets my stare head-on.I trust this man.I’ve trusted him with blood on my hands and death at my back.But right now, trust has sharp edges, because every second we stand here is another second Reaper breathes after saying Harper’s name.

“He used Dante to get close to her.”

Savage’s gaze flicks past me.“I know, brother.”I follow his gaze.

Harper has stopped arguing with the nurse.She is rubbing the side of her neck, exhaustion starting to drag at her shoulders, but she’s still standing.Still stubborn.Still pretending she isn’t two steps from collapse.

Savage’s voice drops.“And she is still alive because you didn’t ride off half-cocked.”

Before I can feel or say anything, Saint approaches, phone in hand.“The warehouse is legit.It’s an old machine shop outside Henderson.Cameras picked up six Vultures entering in the last hour.Maybe more inside.”

“Reaper?”Savage asks.

“Not confirmed.”