Page 66 of Twisted Steel

“Disappointing for you, I’m sure.”

“Put the medic on.”

Raven’s eyes cut to mine, and every survival instinct I have says no, but my mouth says, “I’m here.”

Raven’s expression turns approving in the worst possible way.

Reaper breathes into the line.“Steel isn’t going to make it back in one piece.”

My chest goes hollow.Raven steps closer, but she doesn’t touch me.

“Then he’ll be very annoyed,” I say.

The laugh softens.“You’re brave when you’re surrounded.”

“No.I’m sleep-deprived and aggressively done with men who think threatening women is a personality trait.”

Raven’s mouth twitches.

Reaper’s voice thins.“Tell Steel I left him something pretty at the warehouse.”

The call cuts, and for one second, I can’t move.Then the surgical doors open, and I whirl, expecting blood, death, Reaper, the collapse of everything.Instead, a surgeon steps out, mask hanging loose around his neck, exhaustion carved into his face.

“Are you family?”

“No,” I say.“I’m the medic who brought him in.”

His eyes flick over me, Raven, the pinned attacker, the guards, the overturned medication cart, and the general emotional crime scene of the hallway.He decides not to ask questions.

“He’s alive.We repaired damage to the liver and controlled the internal bleeding.He’s critical, but stable for now.”

Relief hits hard enough to make my knees weak.I nod.“Thank you.”And he disappears again.

Dante is alive.I should feel better.Instead, I feel the absence of Steel like a hand around my throat.

The elevator dings and every gun in the hallway shifts toward it.The doors slide open, and Steel walks out.Alive.Blood streaks his shirt.His knuckles.His neck.Not all of it his.Maybe none of it.Maybe some.His cut hangs open, dark eyes locked on me before the doors finish sliding apart.

The world goes silent, and my body moves before my brain gives permission.

I cross the hallway and stop two feet from him because launching myself at a blood-covered outlaw in the middle of County Hospital feels like a life choice I’m not ready to explain.

“Are you hurt?”I demand.

His gaze drags over me.“No.”

“Are you lying to me?”

“Not this time.”

I grab his arm anyway and check him because I don’t trust men, bikers, or anyone with testosterone and access to weapons.His forearm is bruised.His shirt is torn near the ribs, but the skin underneath is intact.There’s blood on his jaw, dried and dark.

I touch the edge of it, and his breathing changes.

“You came back,” I say, and I hate how small my voice sounds.

Steel’s eyes go darker.“I said I would.”

Like promises are simple.Like men don’t die after making them every day.