Page 96 of Twisted Steel

“She should stay gone,” I say.

Raven laughs once.Not amused but bitter.“That’s noble.Also, stupid.A common combination in dangerous men.”

Savage’s gaze cuts to her.She looks at him.“What?You had the same disease.”

“This isn’t about us.”

“It’s always about us when one of your men starts confusing self-punishment with sacrifice.”

Saint’s phone buzzes, he checks the screen and goes still.

That pulls me back faster than comfort ever could.“What?”I ask.

Saint looks at Savage first, which is absolutely the wrong fucking move.

I step toward him.“What?”

“The ambulance never made it to County.”

Everything stops.“What did you say?”

Saint’s face hardens.“The ambulance diverted.Dispatch logged a route change after a traffic block near Charleston.The unit went dark four minutes later.”

The quiet comes back, but it's not empty this time.

Savage turns to the gate.“Move.”

But I’m already running.

Raven is right behind us.Savage snaps, “Raven.”

She keeps moving.“We can argue about this later.”

For once, he doesn’t stop her.

****

The ambulance is onits side beneath an overpass, lights still flashing weakly against concrete pillars.One back door hangs open, and there’s blood on the asphalt.

Too much blood, and not enough bodies.

I’m out of the van before it stops moving.“Harper!”My voice tears raw through the night, but there’s no answer.

I hit the wreckage hard, ripping the half-open door wider.Inside, medical supplies are scattered everywhere.Gauze.Tubing.A broken oxygen mask.A monitor blinking useless numbers into the dark.Tyler’s blood smeared across the bench.

The driver is dead behind the wheel.Tyler is unconscious but breathing, strapped to the stretcher, face white and slick with sweat.

Harper is gone.

The world tilts before it sharpens.Savage appears beside me, Saint behind him, while Fury swears near the front of the rig.Raven climbs into the wreckage from the opposite side, careful over broken glass.Savage makes a sound low in his throat.

“Don’t,” she snaps without looking at him.“I know what I am doing.”She crouches near the bench and looks at the floor.“Steel,” she says.

I turn, and she points.There’s blood on the floor near the rear doors, not pooled, but dragged.A snapped piece of trauma shear lies under the bench, the metal stained red.

My fingers close around it.Harper’s weapon of choice.A raw sound claws up my throat at the sight.I let her leave, and now she could be hurt, and the thought alone is driving me insane.

Savage grips my shoulder.“Steel.”