Chapter 11
Grim
Grim waited. All night. He sat in the hard plastic chair outside the ICU, boots planted wide, elbows on his knees, eyes fixed on the double doors like he could burn a hole through them. Nurses came and went. Doctors passed by. A janitor mopped the floor twice.
He didn’t move until Sophia walked past the glass window of the unit, focused on her charting, hair pulled back, eyes sharp and tired. She didn’t see him. He saw everything.
He grabbed coffee from the vending machine. It tasted like burnt dirt, but he drank it anyway. He stalked the hallways, checking exits, scanning faces, memorizing every person who lingered too long.
Nothing happened. But the tension in his chest never eased.
By the time Sophia stepped out of the ICU at the end of her shift, the sun was starting to rise. She looked exhausted, but when she saw him standing, waiting, something in her expression softened.
“You stayed,” she said quietly.
“Wasn’t leaving.”
They walked toward the parking garage together, her steps slow, his stride matching hers without thinking.
The garage was dim, shadows stretching long between the concrete pillars.
The sun was just beginning to rise, a pale wash of pink and gold bleeding across the horizon.
The parking garage caught almost none of it.
The concrete swallowed the light, leaving long, cold shadows stretching between the pillars.
Grim noticed instantly. He moved closer without a word, his presence a wall of heat against the early-morning chill. “Stay near me.” She didn’t argue.
Their footsteps echoed through the garage, too loud, too alone. The air smelled faintly of oil and damp concrete, the kind of scent that clung to the back of the throat. A lone bird chirped somewhere outside, the sound oddly sharp in the quiet.
Sophia wrapped her arms around herself. “It’s too quiet.”
Grim’s eyes swept the garage. “Yeah.”
They walked together, her shoulder brushing his arm every few steps. The sun’s first rays filtered through the open slats, slicing the darkness into thin, uneven stripes. It should have made her feel safer. It didn’t.
Halfway to her car, Grim slowed. Sophia felt it before she understood it, the shift in his body, the tension coiling through him like a drawn bowstring.
“What is it?” she whispered.
He didn’t answer. His head tilted slightly, listening. His hand hovered near her hip, not touching, but close enough that she felt the heat of it.
A sound drifted through the garage. Soft. Wrong. A scrape of rubber on concrete.
Grim went still. Not frozen — calibrated. His head tilted a fraction, isolating the sound the way he’d been taught in buildings that smelled like dust and gun oil. Weight distribution. Pace. Intent.
Not a civilian. Not someone lost. Someone hunting.
Sophia’s breath hitched. “Grim…”
He stepped in front of her, blocking her with his body, muscles going rigid. His eyes narrowed, scanning the shadows with lethal precision.
His stance widened automatically, center of gravity dropping, body angled to shield her while keeping his dominant hand free. Muscle memory. Years of clearing rooms and surviving ambushes.
Another sound. A footstep. Slow. Deliberate. Too controlled to be an accident.
Sophia’s pulse hammered in her ears. Grim’s voice dropped to a low growl. “Behind me.”
She moved without thinking, pressing close to his back. He shifted just enough to shield her completely, his stance widening, his shoulders squared.
The garage felt colder now. Smaller. Like the walls were closing in. Sophia swallowed hard. “Maddox…”
He didn’t flinch at the name this time. He was too focused. Too still.
A figure stepped out from behind a pillar—broad shoulders, dark jacket, the unmistakable patch of the Iron Reapers glinting in the low light.
Sophia froze. Grim didn’t. He moved so fast she barely saw it. One second he was beside her, the next he was between her and the threat, body coiled, eyes gone cold and lethal.
The Reaper lunged.
Grim met him head-on.
The impact was brutal, fists, elbows, the scrape of boots on concrete. Grim landed a blow that cracked against the Reaper’s jaw, sending him stumbling.
But the Reaper recovered fast. Too fast.
He drove a fist into Grim’s side, right into the kidney. Grim dropped to one knee, breath punched out of him.
“Grim,” Sophia gasped. The Reaper bolted.
Grim surged to his feet, fury igniting like gasoline. He took off after the man, every muscle in his body screaming to chase, to hunt, to destroy.
He was terrifying. A force of violence barely contained. Sophia’s heart hammered—but she wasn’t scared of him. Not even a little.
“Grim!” she called.
He didn’t stop.
“Maddox!”
He stopped mid-stride, like someone had cut the power. His whole body locked tight, chest heaving, breath ragged, fists clenched so hard his knuckles blanched. He turned slowly, eyes wild, burning, the kind of heat that didn’t fade just because he’d gone motionless.
Sophia stepped toward him, reaching out.
Her hand brushed his arm.
Just a touch. He stopped shaking. Just like that.
She swallowed. “Will you take me home?”
His jaw flexed. He nodded once. “Yeah.”
They got into her car. Grim drove, one hand on the wheel, the other pressed against his side where the Reaper had hit him. Sophia watched him from the corner of her eye, how tense he was, how angry, how controlled he forced himself to be.
When they pulled into her driveway, Grim didn’t let her out until he’d scanned the entire street. Then he walked the perimeter of her house, checking windows, doors, shadows, the tree line.
Only when he was satisfied did he come inside.
Sophia made coffee while he locked the door behind them. The house felt warm, safe, familiar. She moved around the kitchen with practiced ease, pulling out cinnamon sticks, piloncillo, and coffee grounds.
Grim watched her, leaning against the counter, arms crossed.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“Café de olla,” she said. “My mom used to make it when I was growing up.”
He grunted like he didn’t care. He cared.
She poured two mugs and set one in front of him. He took a sip, face unreadable.
“You hate it?” she teased.
“No.”
“You love it.”
He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. She watched him drink it—slow, deliberate, like he was savoring it even though he’d never admit it. Something warm curled low in her stomach.
He looked good in her kitchen. Too good.
She cleared her throat. “I’m gonna get ready for bed.”
He nodded. “I’ll call it in.”
Grim waited until Sophia disappeared down the hallway and the shower started running before he finally pulled out his phone. He dialed.
Stone answered on the first ring. “Talk to me.”
“Reaper in the parking garage,” Grim said, voice low and lethal. “Came out from behind a pillar. Got a hit on me and ran.”
Stone swore under his breath. “Ledger’s been digging through Reyes’s phone all night. Found some encrypted files. Locked tight.”
Grim straightened. “Encrypted?”
“Yeah. He thinks they’re photos,” Stone said. “Something Reyes saw. Something worth killing him over.”
Grim’s jaw flexed. “He’ll crack it.”
“He’s working on it now.”
There was a pause, then Stone continued, “I’ve got prospects keeping eyes on a few Reapers. Vandal and Ghost are tailing two of their runners. No movement yet, but they’re watching.”
Grim nodded to himself. “Good choices. They’re steady.”
“Brick’s out tomorrow,” Stone added. “Doc says he’s hurt, but he’ll heal.”
Grim exhaled slowly. “Good.”
“And we’re talking about patching Ghost in,” Stone said. “Turns out he was a big reason there were no civilian casualties at La Luna. Got a lot of people to safety.”
Grim didn’t hesitate. “He’s earned it. Put in his time. He’s ready.”
“Also brought up Switchblade’s patch. I think it’s time.” Stone said.
“I agree, he’s reliable, steady,” Grim stated, “He should have been brought in a while ago.”
“That’s what I told the table.”
Another pause.
Then Stone’s voice dropped. “Sophia’s the target, Grim. Not Amanda. Not the hospital. Her.”
Grim’s grip tightened around the phone. “I know.”
“Stay with her,” Stone said. “Don’t let her out of your sight.”
“I’m not leaving,” Grim said quietly.
He hung up and walked to the couch. Sophia’s house was small, warm, lived-in. Family photos lined the walls—her with her brothers, her parents, her grandmother. A crocheted blanket draped over the back of the couch. A candle on the coffee table that smelled like vanilla and something sweet.
Grim sat down slowly. He looked around. And something in his chest ached. He had never belonged anywhere. Not like this. Not in a place filled with warmth and laughter and memories. Not in a place that felt like home.
He leaned back, staring at the ceiling, listening to the shower run, the soft hum of her house settling around him.
For the first time in a long time, he wanted something he didn’t know how to name.