Page 101 of Twisted Steel

Raven is already behind her, fingers on the rope.“These knots are fucking tight.”

“I’ve got them,” I say.

Raven looks at Harper, not me.“You want him to cut you loose?”

Harper’s eyes move to mine.“Yes,” she says.

I cut the rope behind her with hands that don’t shake until the bindings fall away.Her wrists are raw.I stare at them.At what happened because she walked away and I let her go without enough protection.

“I’m sorry,” I say.The words are ugly in my mouth.

Harper rubs her wrists and looks up at me.“For what?”

“All of it.”

She laughs once, broken and sharp.“That’s a big apology.”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t take me.”

“No.But my world did.”Her eyes soften, and that hurts worse than anger.I step back before I can touch her.“Savage has men outside.They’ll take you to County.”

Her brow furrows.“You’re sending me away?”

“I’m giving you what you asked for.”

“Peace?”

“Choice.”

The word lands between us, and she goes still.Raven steps away, giving us space.Not leaving.Just making room.I make myself keep talking because if I stop, I’ll beg, and she deserves more than a monster on his knees asking her to mistake devotion for safety.

“You were right to leave.You were right to hate what you saw.I can’t give you clean hands.I can’t give you a normal life.I can’t promise there won’t be blood.”Her throat works.

Behind us, Reaper groans as Saint cuffs him.Men move through the building, clearing shadows, but I see only her.

“I can promise you this,” I say.“I won’t cage you.I won’t choose for you.I won’t call protection love if it takes your life away.”Her eyes shine, and I force the next words out.

“You can leave, tonight, and I’ll make sure no one follows.No club.No Reaper.No me.You can walk out clean.”

Pain flashes across her face.“And if I don’t?”

My chest cracks open.“Then you ride with me.Not behind me because I say so.Not beside me because the club expects it.With me because you choose it.”

She stares at me, and for once, Harper Quinn has no quick answer.I think that’s when I feel it most.The terror of waiting to see whether the only woman who ever made me want to be more than violence can survive loving what violence made.

Harper stands slowly.I don’t help her because she doesn’t ask.She sways once, and I move on instinct, then stop myself.Her mouth trembles.

“You really would let me go,” she whispers.

“Yes.”

“It would hurt you.”

“Yes.”

“But you’d do it anyway.”