Page 31 of Twisted Steel

Chapter Five

Welcome To The Circus

Harper

The Sons of Sin clubhouse looks worse at night.

That’s saying something, considering everything connected to this place already screams bad decisions, open warrants, and tetanus.

Steel rides ahead of the truck carrying me and my hastily packed life, his motorcycle cutting through the dark like a warning everyone else on the road should obey.I sit in the passenger seat beside a man named Saint, who says almost nothing and somehow makes silence feel like an interrogation technique.

He doesn’t look like Steel.

Steel is blunt force.Saint is the knife you don’t see until it’s already between your ribs.

“Do all of you brood professionally,” I ask, “or is there a training seminar?”

Saint’s mouth twitches.“It’s included with the cut.”

“Do you get dental?”

“No.”

“Shame.With your lifestyle, that feels irresponsible.”This time, I see him actively fight a smile.

The truck slows as we approach the compound gate.Floodlights wash over chain-link fencing, parked motorcycles, men I assume are armed even if I can’t see it, and enough testosterone to qualify as an environmental hazard.

My stomach knots.

I hate that it knots.I hate that Steel’s bike pulls up beside the truck, and the knot loosens just a little.

He doesn’t look at me right away.He scans the gate, the roofline, the men posted near the entrance.His world is made of threats and angles.Mine is made of vitals and pressure, and keeping people alive long enough to get them to someone with a scalpel.We don’t make sense in the same sentence.

The gate opens, and Saint drives through.

“Welcome to the circus,” he says.

“I hate circuses.”

“Smart woman.”

Inside, the compound is awake despite the hour.Men move with purpose.Some stare at the truck.Others pretend not to.Women linger near the clubhouse doors, eyes sharp, curious, not unfriendly but not welcoming either.I am not a guest.I am a problem with a pulse.

Steel parks and reaches my door before I can open it myself.He pulls it open, then steps back.Not offering a hand, not touching, just waiting.

That shouldn’t matter, but for some unnamable reason it does.

I climb down on my own, duffel over one shoulder, and a first aid kit clutched in the other like a security blanket with bandages.

Steel’s gaze drops to it.“You brought supplies.”