Page 45 of Twisted Steel

“No.Don’t comfort me.”

“I wasn’t going to.”

She laughs softly.“Right.Of course not.”

I stare down the hall, at the shadows beyond the weak yellow light.“Wanting a threat gone doesn’t make you like me.”

“No,” she says.“But calling you instead of the police might.”

That shuts me up quickly.She doesn’t say anything else after that, and eventually, her breathing changes.

****

Hours pass.

Men move outside, the compound is tightening down for war.I should be in the war room.I should be out hunting leads.I should be doing the thing I’m built for.Instead, I sit outside Harper Quinn’s door like a dog waiting for its owner.

Near dawn, Savage finds me.He stops at the end of the hall, eyes taking in the gun beside my hand, the cracked door, the fact that I haven’t moved in hours.

“Saint found footage,” he says quietly.

I stand without a sound, and every muscle protests, but I ignore it.Harper shifts inside the room, and I freeze, but she doesn’t wake up.

Savage notices that too, and something unreadable passes over his face.“Reaper’s not just pushing at you.”

“I know.”

“He’s baiting the club.”

“I know.”

“You go after him wrong, and men, good men, will die.”

I look at the door, and then back at Savage.“He said healers bleed.”

Savage’s gaze hardens.“And he’ll pay for that.But not with Harper caught in the blast.”

Her name from his mouth doesn’t hit me wrong.Because Savage says it like a president.Like a man measuring the cost of war.Like a man who knows what a woman can do to your insides.

Not like prey.Not like leverage.

I nod once.“Show me the footage.”

We step away from her door, and I make it three steps before her voice stops me.

“Steel.”

I turn around and find her standing in the doorway, hair loose, face pale with sleep, wearing an oversized shirt and an expression too soft for this place.Too soft for me.

“What?”

Her eyes flick to Savage, then back to me.“Don’t disappear without telling me.”

I feel Savage’s attention sharpen, but I don’t look away from her.“I’m going to the war room.”

“That sounds dramatic.”

“It’s not as bad as it sounds,” I deflect.