Page 2 of Twisted Steel

Cold eyes.Hard mouth.Thick neck.Tattoos crawling down both arms, disappearing beneath a black cut that reads “Sons of Sin MC.”

Perfect.Fucking outlaws.Because apparently my night needed seasoning.

“Stay down,” he says.His voice is low and rough.Not shouted but somehow still louder than everything around us.

I blink at him.“Get your hand off me.”

His gaze cuts down to mine.Most men would argue.Most would bark something about saving my life.Most would squeeze harder to prove a point.This one releases me.

Immediately.

That should make me feel better, but it doesn’t.Because his hand leaves, but the heat of it stays.I shove that stupid observation into a dark corner of my brain and crawl back to my patient.

“Don’t move,” the scarred man growls.

“I’m a paramedic,” I snap.“That’s literally the opposite of my job.”

His jaw flexes before he moves with me.Not in front of me this time.Beside me.Between me and the alley.A human shield made out of muscle, ink, and bad decisions.

Fine...Let him be useful.

The biker on the ground laughs wetly.“Steel.”

Steel.Of course, his name is Steel because Brick Wall was too subtle.

“Shut up, Jax,” Steel says without looking at him.

I tape the pressure dressing in place and check Jax’s pulse.Fast but thready, and his skin is going clammy.

“Milo!”I shout.“I need the stretcher!”

“On it!”

More engines roar somewhere beyond the lot.Not motorcycles.Cars peeling away into the night.The shooting slows, but that somehow makes things worse.Gunfire is chaos.Silence means someone is thinking.

Steel steps away from me, just far enough to bark orders at men I can’t see clearly.His voice stays even.Controlled.Terrifying.

“You.Gate.You.Roofline.Nobody breathes near that alley unless I say so.”

Men obey.No hesitation.No questions.And I pretend that doesn’t impress me.

Milo rushes in with the stretcher, eyes wide behind his glasses.“Jesus Christ.”

“Focus,” I say.“Abdominal GSW.Pressure dressing is in place.We need him loaded.”

Jax groans.“I ain’t going in no ambulance.”

I lean close enough that he can see my face.“Listen to me, road rash.You can either get in my ambulance, go to a hospital, and let surgeons keep your insides where they belong, or you can die in a parking lot because your ego is bigger than your blood volume.”

Milo makes a choking sound that might be a laugh as Jax continues to stare at me.

Then he mutters, “Bitch.”

“I may be a bitch, but I’m staying alive,” I say.“You should try it.”

Steel’s eyes land on me again, but there’s something different in them now.Not softness.Men like him don’t do soft.But focus.Attention sharpened to a blade’s edge.I hate that I notice.

We load Jax with help from two bikers who look like they eat nails for breakfast.I direct them sharply, and to my surprise, they listen.Nobody grabs me again.Nobody crowds me.Nobody tells me how to do my job.