Chapter 10
Grim
Sophia stepped out of her bedroom in fresh scrubs, hair pulled back, cheeks still warm from sleep. His pulse kicked. Scrubs shouldn’t be attractive, but on her they were. Too much. He forced his expression flat, refusing to let any of it show.
The late afternoon sun slanted through the blinds, painting soft gold across the floor. It would be dark by the time she got to the hospital.
Grim was waiting by the door, arms crossed, eyes tracking her like he was cataloging every detail.
“You ready?” he asked.
She grabbed her bag. “Yeah.”
“I’m driving you.”
She blinked. “You’re what now.”
“You heard me.” She opened her mouth to argue, then closed it. He was staying anyway. He’d follow her anyway. And honestly… she didn’t hate the idea of not walking through the parking garage alone.
“Fine,” she said. “But I’m not riding on the back of your bike.”
He jerked his chin toward her driveway. “Took your car keys off the counter.”
Her jaw dropped. “You—Maddox!”
He stiffened. Her calling him that always did something to him. Something he didn’t like. Something he couldn’t stop.
“Don’t call me that,” he muttered.
She ignored him. “You can’t just take my keys!”
“You left them out,” he said, unbothered. “I’m driving.”
She stared at him, incredulous. “You can’t just…”
“Get in the car, Sophia.”
She huffed, but she got in.
Grim slid behind the wheel, adjusting the seat back to accommodate his size. The car looked too small for him, like the frame strained to contain him.
They pulled out of the driveway, the sun dipping lower, shadows stretching long across the road.
For a few minutes, it was quiet. Then Grim’s eyes flicked to the rearview mirror.
Once. Twice. A third time.
Grim’s pulse didn’t spike — it narrowed. Training slid into place, cold and automatic. He tracked the car’s distance, speed, lane discipline. Not random. Not casual. Patterned.
His brain mapped the streets ahead without thinking — exits, choke points, blind corners. Evasion routes he’d learned overseas, now repurposed for a quiet Alabama suburb.
Sophia noticed the tension in his jaw. “What?”
“Car behind us,” he said. “Been there since we left.”
His breathing slowed the way it used to before an ambush, vision narrowing, cataloging distance, speed, angles. His body locked in place in that way it only did when danger was real.
Her stomach dipped. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
He changed lanes. The car changed lanes.
He turned right. The car turned right.
Sophia’s pulse quickened. “Maddox…”
He didn’t correct her this time. “Hold on.”
He took a sudden left, tires gripping hard. Then another. Then another.
He mapped the streets automatically, the way he used to map villages overseas — exits, choke points, blind corners. His hands moved before he thought, muscle memory from a life he didn’t talk about.
He wove through side streets with practiced precision, eyes sharp, body coiled tight.
The car behind them tried to keep up, then sped up.
Sophia’s breath hitched. “They’re still…”
“I see them.” He cut through a residential street, then a narrow alley, then a sharp turn that made Sophia grab the door handle. The tailing car clipped a trash bin, swerved, and disappeared behind a row of houses.
Grim didn’t relax. Not yet. Soldiers didn’t relax until the world stopped moving. He watched the mirror for a long moment.
Then exhaled. “Lost them.”
But the tension didn’t leave his spine. Losing a tail didn’t mean losing the threat — not in the places he’d learned to survive.
Sophia’s hands were tight around her bag. “You think that was…”
“Yes.”
She swallowed. “We should go to the police.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because they won’t do shit until someone gets hurt.” She hated that he was right.
Grim turned the car around, heading back toward the main road.
“We’re going to the clubhouse,” he said.
“No, we’re not,” she said, her voice sharp.
His head snapped toward her. “Sophia…”
“I have a shift,” she said firmly. “People are counting on me.”
“This is about your safety.”
“And this is about my job,” she shot back. “I’m not abandoning my patients because someone might be following me.”
Grim’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. “You don’t understand what these men are capable of.”
“And you don’t understand what I’m capable of,” she said quietly. “I don’t run.”
He stared at her for a long moment.
Then something softened in his expression, respect that was reluctant and heavy.
“Fine,” he muttered. “Hospital it is.”
They pulled into the hospital parking lot. The sun was low now; the sky was streaked with orange and purple. Grim parked right at the front, ignoring the “Doctor Only” sign like it didn’t exist.
He got out and walked around to her side, opening her door before she could reach for the handle.
“Maddox,” she said, exasperated.
His hand brushed the edge of the door, steady and sure, and something warm flickered in her chest before she could stop it. “Get used to it.”
He walked her inside, staying close enough that she could feel the heat of him at her back. When they reached the ICU doors, she turned to him.
“You don’t have to stay.”
“I’m not leaving.”
“Maddox…”
He stepped closer, voice low. “I’m not leaving.”
She nodded, unable to argue with the intensity in his eyes.
He watched her badge in, watched her disappear into the unit, watched the doors close behind her.
Then he sat down in the waiting room outside the ICU, elbows on his knees, phone in hand. He dialed. Stone answered on the first ring. “Report.”
“Had a tail,” Grim said. “Persistent. Tried to follow us. Took a while to shake.”
Stone swore under his breath. “Reapers?”
“Most likely.”
“Ghost checked in,” Stone said. “No incidents with Amanda today. No tails. No suspicious activity.”
Grim’s jaw flexed. “So it’s Sophia.”
“Yeah,” Stone said. “She’s the primary target right now.”
Grim’s voice dropped to something dark. “They’re not touching her.”
“Didn’t think they would,” Stone said. “Stay on her. Don’t let her out of your sight.”
“Wasn’t planning on it.”
He hung up and leaned back in the chair, eyes fixed on the ICU doors. He wasn’t moving.
Not until she was off shift. Not until she was safe. Not until he knew exactly who the hell was following them.
He knew this feeling. The tightening in his chest. The edge of panic he’d learned to bury deep. It was the same fear that had carved him hollow overseas. He wasn’t afraid of her. He was afraid of what losing her would do to him.
He’d buried enough ghosts.
He didn’t need another.