Page 72 of Grim

Not being alone.

It pressed against his palm like it meant something. Like it was trying to tell him something he wasn’t ready to hear.

When he pulled back, he didn’t look away.

He didn’t shut down.

He didn’t disappear.

He stayed.

For one more breath. One more heartbeat. One more moment before the world demanded he become something colder.

He rested his forehead against hers. “I’ll come back to you.”

Her voice was barely a whisper. “I know.”

And for the first time in years, he believed someone when they said that.

Chapter 23

Grim

The clubhouse lot vibrated with the low, hungry rumble of engines. One by one, the Bloodline Saints mounted their bikes, leather cuts catching the moonlight, faces carved with purpose.

Grim stood beside his bike, tightening the last strap on the small directional charge he’d built in under an hour. His hands were steady. His jaw was set. His eyes were cold.

He wasn’t riding for vengeance. He was riding for the women in those cages, for Reyes’s wife, for Sophia.

He felt her before he saw her, soft footsteps behind him and the faintest tremor in her breath. Sophia stood in the doorway of the clubhouse, wrapped in one of his hoodies, eyes locked on him like she was memorizing every line of his face.

He moved to her without thinking. Her hands slid up his chest, gripping the leather of his cut. His fingers curled around her waist, pulling her in, grounding himself in her warmth.

“Be careful,” she whispered.

“I will,” he said, but it came out rough, like the words scraped his throat on the way out.

She rose onto her toes, pressing her forehead to his. His control slipped for a beat. He hadn’t realized how badly he needed this — her touch, her steadiness, her quiet strength.

“You come back to me,” she murmured.

His hands tightened on her hips. “Always.”

He kissed her, slow and fierce, a promise and a plea tangled together, then forced himself to pull back. Her fingers lingered on his jaw, sliding away only when he stepped back toward his bike.

Leaving her felt wrong. Necessary. But wrong.

Stone swung his leg over his bike. “We ride.”

The engines roared to life, a thunderous, unified growl that shook the ground.

County Line Road was a long, empty stretch of asphalt cutting through farmland and forest. The moon hung low, casting silver light across the cracked pavement.

Fish’s voice crackled through the comms. “Truck’s on schedule. Two miles out. Reaper escort confirmed.”

Stone’s voice was calm. “Positions.”

The Saints split, Havoc and Rook peeling off toward the blind curve, Fish taking the ridge above the road, Stone and Grim holding center, the others forming a loose perimeter.