Pen to his throat—not stabbing, just pressing against his carotid with enough force to make his eyes go wide. My other hand locked around his gun wrist, twisted until his fingers spasmed open. The weapon clattered to the floor.
"One sound," I whispered, "and I puncture your artery. Nod if you understand."
He nodded frantically.
I kneed him in the kidney. He crumpled, gasping, curling into himself. I caught him before he hit the ground—quieter that way—and lowered him to the carpet.
One down.
I grabbed his gun. Checked the clip—full. Safety off. The weight felt wrong in my hands. I was a healer, not a killer.
But I'd use it if I had to.
"Jenkins?" Slash called from the living room. "You find him?"
I stepped over the groaning man and moved into the hallway, gun raised, sighting down the barrel.
"Jenkins is taking a nap." My voice came out steadier than I felt. "Want to join him?"
Slash stood in my living room, two more Devil's Dust flanking him. His cast-wrapped arm hung at his side, but his good hand held a pistol pointed at my chest. The other two had weapons drawn—one with a pipe, one with a knife.
And on my floor, shattered into a hundred pieces, lay my grandmother's vase.
The blue and white porcelain she'd brought from Japan. The only thing I had left of her besides the pendant around my neck. The vase she'd filled with cherry blossoms every spring, telling me stories about Kyoto while I sat at her feet and dreamed of a world bigger than our tiny apartment.
Something cold settled in my chest. Something that felt like murder.
"There he is." Slash's grin was all teeth. "Look, boys—the pretty nurse has claws."
"You broke my grandmother's vase."
"Aww." Mock sympathy dripped from his voice. "Was it special?"
"You have no idea."
"Here's what's going to happen." He stepped closer, glass crunching under his boots. "You're going to put down that gun. You're going to come with us. And if you're lucky—real lucky—Viper might let you live after he's done asking questions."
"Counter-offer." I kept the gun steady, aimed at center mass. "You leave. Now. And I don't put a bullet through your other wrist."
"You won't shoot." He took another step. "Nurses don't shoot people. You save lives, remember?"
"I save lives worth saving."
The standoff stretched. I could see them calculating—would I actually pull the trigger? Could they rush me before I dropped more than one?
My front door exploded inward.
For a split second, I thought it was more Devil's Dust. Then I saw the patches. Flaming phoenix. Steel Phoenixes.
Tank, whom I met at the clubhouse, came through first, a wall of muscle with a large shotgun, moving with surprising speed for a man his size. Irish—another member I recognized—followed right behind him, handgun already tracking targets, a manic grin on his face like this was the most fun he'd had all week.
Axel followed behind them.
He looked like walking death. Controlled fury in every line of his body, grey eyes burning with something between rageand terror. Those eyes found me first—checking for damage, cataloging injuries, making sure I was still breathing. Then they landed on Slash.
"I told you." His voice was barely human. "He's under Phoenix protection."
"This ain't Phoenix territory?—"
