Page 12 of Grim

Her lips curved, just barely. “Then Maddox it is.”

He stared at her. No one called him that. Not anymore.

The name sounded different in her mouth. Softer. Like it belonged to someone who hadn’t been carved up by life and stitched back together with violence.

She finished cleaning his arm and pressed a piece of gauze over the cut, her fingers lingering a second longer than necessary.

“Hold that,” she said.

He did. Because she told him to. Because her voice made it hard to do anything else.

She turned toward the next stretcher being rushed in, a middle-aged man clutching his chest, pale and sweating. “I’ve got him,” she called, snapping on a fresh pair of gloves as she moved to his side.

Her tone shifted instantly, calm and steady and commanding. “Sir, look at me. Tell me where it hurts.”

Grim took her in as she moved from one crisis to the next without hesitation. Efficient. Focused. Fierce. And every so often, she murmured a soft word under her breath—ándale, eso, good—little fragments of comfort that steadied her as much as her patients.

Grim watched her, confused by the way her presence softened the edges of the room.

Confused by the way his chest felt too tight.

Havoc appeared at his shoulder. “You good, brother?”

Grim didn’t answer. Because he wasn’t. Not even close.

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.”