Page 49 of Twisted Steel

“Yes.”

“He’s part of the Broken Vultures?”

“Yes.”A look of disgust flashes over his face.

“Do you always answer in one-word caveman format when you’re hiding things?”

“Yes.”Mama M mutters.

Steel ignores her.“We’re moving against them tonight if Saint confirms the location.”

My stomach drops.“Moving against them,” I repeat.“That’s a very tidy phrase for violence.”

“It’s violence.”

At least he doesn’t pretend.That should make it easier to hate him.Surprise!It fucking doesn’t.

Before I can answer, the clubhouse door slams open, and a man staggers inside.He’s not one of the Sons of Sin.I know that instantly from the way every weapon in the room snaps toward him.

He’s young, maybe late twenties, leather cut hanging open over a blood-soaked shirt.His face is gray.His hands are raised, but one barely gets past his ribs before he collapses to his knees.

“Don’t shoot,” he rasps.

Steel moves in front of me so fast I barely see it happen.One second, I’m sitting at the table.The next, his body is a wall between me and the stranger.

The injured man lifts his head, and I see the patch on his cut.Broken Vultures MC.The room turns lethal, guns rise, and safeties click off.

I stand, but Steel’s arm shifts back, blocking me without touching.“Stay behind me.”

“No.”I push forward again.

“Harper.”His voice is a threat and a plea woven into one.

“He’s bleeding,” I point out, like that will change his mind.

“He’s Vulture.”

“He’s bleeding.”The young man coughs, and blood spatters the floor, making my point for me.

My body decides before my brain can argue.I duck under Steel’s arm and move toward him.Steel curses, low and vicious as he follows me.

Savage’s voice cuts through the room.“Hold fire.”

Thank God someone here has half a brain.I drop to my knees in front of the injured man.“Where are you hit?”

He blinks at me, unfocused.“Need ...need Savage.”

“You need a hospital.”

“No hospital.”He grabs weakly at my wrist.Steel growls, and the man lets go fast despite actively dying.“Please.They’ll kill me there.”

“Who?”

“Reaper.”The room goes thick with tension.

I cut open his shirt with the trauma shears I had the good sense to put in my pocket.There’s a gunshot wound high on his abdomen, right side.Bad placement, there’s simply too much blood to make a decent assessment.

“Pressure,” I snap.No one moves, and I look up, furious.“Unless every man in this room wants to stand here and watch him die for dramatic effect, I need clean towels and my kit now.”