Chapter 4
Grim
The ER doors slid shut behind Grim, leaving the chaos sealed inside. The night air was thick and heavy, clinging to his skin like the blood he still hadn’t washed off.
Havoc stood near the curb, pacing hard enough to wear a groove in the pavement. His shirt was still stained with Brick’s blood. His hands kept flexing like he didn’t know what to do with them.
Ghost stood beside the truck, shoulders tight, jaw clenched, hands fisted at his sides. He wasn’t leaning. He wasn’t relaxed. He looked like a man trying not to fall apart.
A motorcycle engine roared into the lot.
Vandal.
He swung into a hard stop, didn’t bother straightening the bike before he was off it and moving fast. The kickstand scraped the pavement as he let it fall into place and sprinted toward them.
“Where is he?” Vandal demanded, breath ragged. “Where’s Brick?”
Ghost didn’t look at him. “They took him back.”
Vandal froze, chest heaving. “Is he…?”
“He’s alive,” Grim said. “They’re working on him.”
Vandal dragged both hands over his head, pacing a tight, angry line before stopping beside Ghost. He didn’t touch him, but he planted himself close, the way brothers did when the ground went out from under them.
Grim stopped in front of them. No one spoke.
Finally, Ghost swallowed. “They… they said he was still breathing when they took him back.”
His voice was steady, but barely.
Havoc stopped pacing, but only because he ran out of space. “Kid shouldn’t’ve gone back in,” he muttered, voice rough. “I told him to stay on my six. I told him.”
“He saw someone on the floor,” Ghost said quietly. “He yelled for me to grab the other bartender. Said he’d get the woman by the window.”
Havoc’s jaw clenched. “I should’ve kept eyes on him.”
“You were dragging a bleeding man out,” Grim said. “You did your job.”
Havoc shook his head, anger and guilt twisting together. “My job was to keep him safe.”
Vandal swore under his breath. “He always does that. Runs toward the danger. Idiot.”
But his voice cracked on the last word.
Ghost’s eyes burned. “When the glass fell… I had to move. When I looked back…he was gone.”
Guilt flickered across his face, sharp and raw.
Grim stepped closer. “You did what you were told. Brick made a call.”
“A stupid one,” Havoc muttered again, quieter this time.
“A brave one,” Ghost said, voice cracking before he forced it steady again.
Vandal’s voice was rough. “He shouldn’t have been alone.”
Havoc flinched, barely, but Grim saw it.
Grim looked at them, really looked. Ghost wasn’t just worried. Vandal wasn’t just angry. Havoc wasn’t just guilty. They were scared. For their friend. Their brother.
“Brick’s a fighter,” Grim said. “He’ll hold on.”
Ghost nodded, but his eyes stayed fixed on the hospital doors like he could will Brick to walk back out.
Vandal swallowed hard. “I should’ve been there.”
“You weren’t assigned,” Grim said. “This isn’t on you.”
Vandal didn’t look convinced.
Havoc exhaled hard, rubbing a hand over his face. “Stone needs the full rundown. We need to move.”
Ghost straightened immediately. “I’m coming.”
“No,” Havoc said. “You stay here. If Brick wakes up, he needs a familiar face.”
Ghost hesitated, torn between duty and loyalty.
Grim stepped in. “He’d want you here.”
That settled it. Ghost nodded, shoulders dropping just a fraction.
Vandal stepped forward. “I’m staying too.”
Havoc hesitated, then nodded once. “Fine. You stay with him. Keep us updated.”
Vandal swallowed hard, relief and fear tangled in his expression. He moved closer to Ghost, shoulder to shoulder, grounding him without a word.
Havoc opened the truck door. “Let’s move.”
Grim swung onto his bike. The engine rumbled beneath him, grounding him just enough to breathe.
He looked back once, at Ghost under the harsh hospital lights, fists clenched and eyes burning with fear and fury. At Vandal beside him, jaw tight and shoulders rigid. At Havoc gripping the steering wheel like it was the only thing keeping him upright.
Then Grim tore out of the lot, Havoc’s truck right behind him.
Brick was in surgery. Ghost was barely holding it together. Vandal was one breath away from breaking. Havoc was drowning in guilt.
And Stone needed answers.
The ride back to the clubhouse should’ve cleared Grim’s head.
It didn’t.
Rain misted across the pavement as he tore down the back roads, the night air sharp against his skin. The cut on his forearm stung where the glass had sliced him, but he barely felt it. He’d had worse. He’d had much worse.
What he did feel, what he couldn’t shake, was the echo of her voice.
The road blurred beneath him, but the sound of her voice wouldn’t let go.
It dragged up a memory he’d buried deep— a cramped office, peeling paint, the smell of old carpet and burnt coffee.
Eighteen years old. A trash bag of clothes at his feet. A social worker he barely knew flipping through paperwork.
“Sign here, Maddox Hale.”
The last time anyone said his name like it belonged to him. The last time he’d been a kid. The moment he aged out, walked out, and didn’t look back.
He’d gone straight to the recruiter’s office. Gave the same name. Left it behind the second he stepped onto the bus.
Until she said, Then Maddox it is.
Soft. Steady. Like she wasn’t afraid of him. Like she didn’t know she should be.
He hated how it lingered, how it settled under his skin. He hated that he kept replaying the moment her fingers brushed his wrist and his whole damn body went still.
He pulled into the clubhouse lot too fast, gravel spitting under his tires. The bike fishtailed slightly before he corrected it, boots hitting the ground hard enough to jolt his knees. He ripped off his helmet, jaw clenched so tight it felt like his teeth might crack.
The front door swung open before he reached it. Stone stood framed in the doorway. The overhead light caught the silver in his beard, the lines around his eyes, the weight he carried like a second cut.
Grim didn’t slow.
“Inside,” Stone said. Not a request.
Grim followed him into the meeting room. Havoc trailed behind, quieter than usual. Rook was already there, seated at the table with his forearms braced on the wood, jaw tight, eyes sharp. Ledger leaned against the wall with a laptop open, glasses sliding down his nose.
Fish stood in the corner, silent, half in shadow, arms crossed over his chest. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. His presence alone meant the situation was bad.
Switchblade stood near the far wall, posture straight, hands clasped behind his back. He wasn’t talking. He rarely did. Grim recognized it instantly as the quiet readiness found in men trained to stay steady under pressure.
Older than the other prospects. More disciplined. Less noise, more awareness.
He gave Grim a small nod, respectful and precise. Grim returned it. Switchblade didn’t waste movement or words. Grim respected that.
Stone shut the door.
“What happened?” he asked.
Havoc answered first. “Reapers hit La Luna. Hard.”
“Casualties?”
“Three critical,” Rook said, voice low. “Brick’s stable. For now.”
Havoc scrubbed a hand over his face, jaw tight. “He shouldn’t’ve been alone. I should’ve kept eyes on him. I was right there, Stone. I was right there.”
Stone’s gaze softened, barely, but enough that the room felt it. “Havoc,” he said quietly, “you pulled three people out of that bar alive. Brick made a call. That’s on him, not you.”
Havoc shook his head, guilt twisting hard in his expression. “He’s my responsibility.”
Switchblade shifted his stance slightly. He didn’t fidget like the younger prospects would’ve. He held still, jaw tight, eyes on Havoc.
Grim clocked it. Switchblade understood guilt. Understood responsibility. You could see it in the way he stood, braced and steady, like he’d carried weight before.
“No,” Stone said, voice firm but steady. “He’s ours. And he’s alive because of you. Don’t carry weight that isn’t yours.”
Havoc nodded once, jaw tight. The guilt didn’t leave his eyes, but the freefall stopped.
Stone let the moment settle, then turned back to business. Stone nodded once. “You think Reyes was the reason they hit La Luna?”
Ledger didn’t look up. “This isn’t new. The pattern started months ago.
Same bikes we flagged near the mill last fall.
Same routes. Same timing.” He tapped the screen.
“We thought they were just passing through. They weren’t.
They were mapping us. Same slow creep as last fall,” Ledger added.
“Never loud. Never sloppy. Just close enough to watch.”
Then he finally answered Stone’s question. “But Reyes doesn’t fit that pattern.”
Ledger’s fingers flew across the keys, screens reflecting in his glasses. “Daniel Reyes. Same guy who reached out earlier. Background still clean… no record, no known affiliations, nothing that explains why the Reapers want him.”
Rook frowned. “So what’s the link then?”
“I haven’t found it yet,” Ledger said. “But I hacked into the hospital system. Reyes was brought in right before Brick. Critical condition. They rushed him straight to surgery.”
The room stilled.
Stone’s jaw tightened. “Is he alive?”
Ledger nodded once. “Barely. He coded twice. They moved him to ICU. He’s unconscious.”
“So they were tracking him,” Havoc muttered. “Had to be. They moved too fast.”
“Exactly,” Ledger said. “They didn’t want him talking. Doesn’t matter that he never got the chance; they’ll assume he did. He hasn’t spoken since he got there. But he tried to type something on his phone before he collapsed. We got a partial message from the club’s cell number.”
He turned the laptop so they could see. A half-typed message glowed on the screen:
I saw something. They’re
Havoc whistled. “Well, that’s ominous.”
Stone ignored him. “Who did he talk to at the hospital?”
“No one,” Ledger said, pushing his glasses up with one knuckle.
“He was barely conscious. But the Reapers don’t know that.
I watched the camera feed after getting into the hospital systems. I shut down the open servers the second I got in.
Locked every unsecured port and set traps on the rest. If anyone tries to poke around, I’ll know before they do. ”
“Good. That buys us time.” Stone’s voice stayed low, but the tension in his jaw eased a fraction.
Rook’s eyes narrowed. “So they’ll assume he talked.”
“Exactly,” Ledger said. “And they’ll go after anyone who might’ve heard him.”
Havoc groaned. “So basically the whole damn ER.”
“No,” Ledger corrected. “Just the ICU nurses. They’re the ones assigned to him now.”
Stone crossed his arms. “Names?”
Switchblade’s gaze flicked to Stone, waiting for orders, ready to move. Grim noted it. Prospects like that were rare.
Ledger clicked. “Day shift: Amanda Lewis. Night shift: Sophia Martinez.”
Grim’s pulse kicked, and his body tightened.
Sophia.
Stone looked at him. “You know her?”
Grim didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.
Havoc blew out a breath, tension bleeding off just enough for him to smirk. “Oh yeah, she was in the ER when we arrived. She called him Maddox, and he damn near melted.”
Grim shot him a look that could’ve peeled paint.
Rook huffed a quiet laugh. “Didn’t think anything could rattle you.”
Ledger didn’t look up. “I bet she was also competent. Which is probably why Grim’s spiraling.”
“I’m not spiraling,” Grim snapped.
Fish shifted in the corner, just a slight tilt of his head, the kind he did when he was cataloging threats. His gaze flicked to Grim’s cut, then to the tension in Grim’s shoulders. He didn’t comment, but the assessment was clear: Grim was off-balance. And that was dangerous.
Havoc leaned back in his chair. “Brother, you froze like a statue when she touched you. I thought you were gonna pass out.” Havoc smirked. “Never seen you go still like that. Impressive, honestly.”
Stone raised a brow. “She touched you?”
Grim glared at all of them. “Shut up.”
Stone cleared his throat. Everyone shut up instantly.
“Switchblade,” Stone said, turning toward the prospect near the door. “You take Amanda. Stay close. Blend in. Don’t screw it up.”
Switchblade straightened. “Yes, sir.” He didn’t puff up or grin like the younger prospects would’ve. He just nodded once, sharp and clean, accepting the responsibility like it was weight he’d carried before. Grim respected that about him. Switchblade didn’t chase attention. He chased the job.
“Havoc,” Stone continued, “you’re on standby for him. If anything goes sideways, you move.”
Havoc nodded. “Got it.”
Stone turned to Grim. “You take Sophia.”
Havoc snorted. “Of course he does.”
Stone ignored him. “She’s night shift. Reyes is unstable. If the Reapers make a move, it’ll be when the hospital’s quiet.”
Grim didn’t argue. Stone didn’t pick him by accident. Grim was the most lethal man in the room, the one who didn’t hesitate, the one Stone trusted when the stakes were highest.
Stone’s gaze sharpened. “You good for this?”
Grim’s jaw ticked. “I’m fine.”
Havoc grinned. “Yeah, you look real fine. Totally not thinking about that nurse who said your government name.”
Grim didn’t bother responding. He walked out, helmet in hand, the cut on his arm throbbing in time with his pulse.
Fish’s eyes followed him to the door, quiet, unreadable, but watchful.
Switchblade watched too, posture straight, expression steady. He didn’t hover or pry. Just took in the room, took in Grim, the way a man did when he understood the stakes without needing them spelled out.
Grim wasn’t thinking about the Reapers. He wasn’t thinking about Reyes. He wasn’t even thinking about Brick.
He was thinking about her. The nurse with the steady hands and the soft voice. The one who said his name like it wasn’t something broken. The one who touched him and made him forget how to breathe.
Sophia.
He swung onto his bike, engine roaring to life beneath him.
He didn’t know her. He didn’t trust her. He didn’t want to feel anything about her. But he knew one thing with absolute certainty:
If the Reapers were coming for her, they’d have to go through him first.
And he’d kill every last one of them before he let them touch her.