Page 68 of Twisted Steel

“No.”

Anger flares, sharp and grateful.“I am not in the mood for caveman persistence.”

“I know.”

“You don’t know anything.”I seethe.

“I know you’re scared of what you wanted.”

That shuts me up.Steel stops several feet away, too far to touch, but close enough that I can feel him.

“I didn’t want anyone dead,” I say.

“Yes, you did.”

I spin around.“Don’t put that on me.”

“I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

His face is hard under the parking lot lights.Blood stains his throat.His hands hang open at his sides, like he’s forcing himself not to reach for me.

“You wanted the threat gone,” he says.“That’s not the same as wanting blood.”

“It feels the same.”

“No.”

I laugh, bitter and shaky.“You’re really going to explain morality to me?”

“No.I don’t have enough to spare.”That hurts more than it should.He looks away first, jaw tight.“You should go back inside.”

“I thought you didn’t run.”

“I don’t.”

“Then why are you retreating?”

His eyes snap back to mine.There he is.The man under the weapon.Bruised somewhere I can’t bandage.“Because you looked at me like you finally saw it,” he says.

“Saw what?”

“What everyone else sees.”

“The monster?”He says nothing but that silence is answer enough.I walk toward him before I can think better of it.“Did you think I didn’t know?”His eyes narrow.“Steel, the first time I saw you, you had a gun in your hand and blood on your shirt.You looked like violence got bored and built a man.I knew.”

“Knowing and seeing aren’t the same.”

“No,” I whisper.“They’re not.”I stop close enough to touch him, but I don’t, not yet.“You scare me,” I say, and his face locks down, but I push on before he can retreat again.“Not because I think you’ll hurt me, I don’t, and that’s the problem.You scare me because when you’re near, I feel safer than I should.You scare me because I called you before I called anyone else.Because you came back covered in blood and my first thought wasn’t to run.It was to make sure none of it was yours.”

His breathing changes and mine does too.

“And yes,” I say, voice breaking around the truth, “some part of me is relieved those men can’t come for me.I hate that part.I hate this world.And I fucking hate that you fit inside it so well.”His gaze burns into mine.“But I don’t hate you,” I whisper.

Steel moves then.Not fast.He lifts one hand slowly, giving me every chance to step away.His fingers stop beside my face, hovering.Waiting.So I make the choice, and I lean into his palm.

His eyes close, just for a second, like the touch hurts, and then his hand cups my jaw, rough skin warm against my cheek.