Chapter 19
Grim
Grim drove Sophia to the hospital for her night shift, the late afternoon sun sinking low and casting long amber streaks across the windshield. The world felt warm and quiet, the kind of quiet that settles right before a storm.
Sophia leaned across the console, brushing her fingers along his jaw. “You’re staring.”
“Can’t help it,” he murmured, voice low and rough.
She smiled and kissed him, slow and lingering, her hand sliding into his hair. Grim kissed her back with a tenderness that still surprised him, thumb brushing her cheek like he couldn’t believe she was real.
They kissed again at a red light. And again when he parked. And again when he got out and walked around to open her door.
They were openly in love now, no hesitation, no hiding, no pretending.
Sophia stepped out of the car, smoothing her scrubs. Grim took her hand, lacing their fingers together as they started toward the hospital entrance.
“See you after shift,” he said softly.
She leaned into him. “You better.”
As he kissed her forehead, a shadow shifted behind a parked SUV. Sophia didn’t see it. Grim did.
His entire body went rigid. “Sophia, behind me.”
But the warning came a second too late.
A Reaper lunged from the side, grabbing Sophia around the waist and yanking her backward. Her scream tore through the quiet lot, her bag hitting the pavement with a thud.
Grim’s vision went red. Grim didn’t think — his body executed. Distance. Angle. Weapon. Threat hierarchy. He processed all of it in a single breath, the way he had in sand-blown alleys where hesitation meant death.
He didn’t hesitate. He launched himself at the man holding her.
Another Reaper came from behind. A third from the left. A fourth stepped out from between two cars.
Sophia’s heart slammed against her ribs. “Maddox!”
He slammed his elbow into the first man’s throat, ripping Sophia free. She stumbled, gasping, scrambling backward.
He caught the pipe bare-handed, twisting his wrist the way his old sergeant drilled into him — redirect, break momentum, counterstrike.
The man’s eyes widened right before Grim drove his fist into his jaw, sending him sprawling across the pavement.
The third man rushed him with a knife. Blade. Right hand. Underhand grip. Amateur. Grim stepped inside the arc before the man even finished the swing. He grabbed his wrist, twisted, and slammed him into the hood of a car hard enough to dent the metal.
The fourth Reaper tried to grab Sophia again.
Grim saw red.
He tackled the man, slamming him to the ground, punching until the man stopped moving.
Sophia watched, shaking, breath trapped in her chest.
Grim wasn’t fighting. He was destroying. He took down four men with nothing but his hands, his rage, and the terror of losing her fueling every blow.
When the last Reaper hit the ground, unconscious, Grim spun toward Sophia.
He was shaking, not from exertion but from fear.
He scooped her into his arms, holding her tight against his chest as he backed toward the hospital doors.
“You okay?” he rasped, voice shredded.
She nodded, trembling. “I—I think so.”
He cupped her face with both hands, his thumbs brushing her cheeks, his breath ragged.
“I can’t lose you,” he whispered, forehead pressed to hers. “I can’t. I can’t.”
Her hands slid up his arms, grounding him. “I’m right here.”
He kissed her, not gentle or slow but desperate and terrified and alive.
Then he pulled back, jaw clenched. “We’re leaving. Now.”
“Maddox—my shift—”
“No.” His voice was a growl. “You’re calling in. You’re not staying here. Not after this.”
She didn’t argue.
Not when she could still feel the imprint of the Reaper’s hands on her waist.
Not when Grim was shaking like he’d been the one grabbed.
He guided her back to the car, keeping her tucked against him, scanning every shadow, every corner, every movement.
He opened her door, helped her inside, and shut it hard.
Then he got in, started the engine, and peeled out of the lot.
Sophia called in from the passenger seat, voice trembling as she told her supervisor she wouldn’t be coming in.
Grim didn’t speak.
His jaw was clenched so tight she could see the muscle ticking. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel. His breath came in sharp, uneven bursts.
She reached over and touched his arm.
He flinched, not away from her but like the touch hit something deep.
“Hey,” she whispered. “I’m okay.”
He shook his head, eyes locked on the road. “You’re not. You were almost—” His voice broke. “I can’t even say it.”
Sophia slid closer, cupping his face with one hand, her thumb brushing the tension from his jaw. “Maddox… I’m here.”
He leaned into her touch for half a second, just long enough for her to feel the tremor running through him, before he forced his eyes back to the road.
“I almost lost you,” he whispered, voice raw. “Sophia, I— I can’t—”
She pressed her forehead to his shoulder, her hand still on his cheek. “You didn’t lose me.”
His breath shuddered out, uneven and ragged. One hand stayed on the wheel, but the other slid across the console, gripping her thigh like she was the only thing anchoring him to the earth.
And for the rest of the drive, they stayed like that, her leaning into him and his hand holding on like he’d drown without her, two people breathing through fear and adrenaline and the terrifying relief of still being alive.