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He keeps his jet-black hair so neat, some days sweeping it to the left, others sleeked right back. I prefer it when it’s to the side.
His pale skin and sharp features give him uniqueness. I can admit Grimm is fucking hot in his own edgy way. He’s full of darkness, and I can’t help feel a little drawn to him.
He’s never picked up a shift in the garage before, and words have never passed between us. Maybe that’s why he intrigues me so much. Damaged souls can usually mark each other out, and I sense that Grimm is as empty and black inside as I am.
I watch him disappear before I take a deep breath, paste on a smile and get to work.
Skid will find himself again soon, he’ll come back to us. And I’m determined to keep this place ticking over until that happens.
PRESENT DAY
“So we all agree, Storm’s in.” Prez slams the gavel to the table after a unanimous vote, and Storm officially becomes the Dirty Souls new Prospect.
It’s been a long time coming, Nyx got his full patch almost a year ago, and although we all tolerate Tommy for Skid’s sake, he can’t be trusted with anything club related. I know I'm not the only one sick of hearing Squealer bitch about having to do shit for himself.
I follow the guys out of the smoke filled room, through the doors to where the air is much fresher. Storm’s waiting, pacing anxiously on the chapel porch, and every brother manages to keep their mouths straight, giving nothing away.
When Storm looks up from the ground, he makes it clear we made the right decision, his eyes show how much he wants in.
It’s only been a few weeks since the hot head tore into the clubhouse like a tornado on a warpath for Brax. After taking down the Agency, and saving his old lady, Brax had killed the kid’s only link to finding his missing sister. Any fucker mad enough to raise a fist to a man like Brax deserves some respect.
Prez knows potential when he sees it. The boy is lost, he needs guidance and like the rest of us, he needs a channel for all that anger. Now that he’s one of us, we can help him with that. We’ll also help him find that missing sister of his, at any cost.
The club learned that ‘the Agency’ were much bigger than we’d originally given them credit for, and we needed to finish them. Prez and Nyx needed it for Ella, finding out the man who’d raised her was one of the sick fuckers, really messed with her head. Brax wanted it for Gracie, whose Mom died while working the case for the CIA. And the rest of us? Well, we just like an excuse to get our hands dirty.
There were some big names connected to the Agency. The fact that our rivals, The Bastards’ Prez had been involved has worked majorly to our advantage, we’re profiting massively out of the blackening of their name. They claim they had nothing to do with Clunk’s actions but unfortunately, their brush has already been tarred, and that shit ain’t easy to clean off. No one respectable wants to run deals with nonces.
The only worry we got now is retaliation from Adriano’s younger brother, and it appears he’s too busy trading women to want to kick up shit with the likes of us.
“You vote?” Storm scratches the back of his neck, and Prez nods for Jessie to put the boy out of his misery.
“We voted,” Jessie answers, his face not giving anything away.
“And?” Storm eagerly pushes for more.
“You’re in, kid.” Brax, who agreed to be his sponsor, tosses him the Prospect cut he’s been holding behind his back. When Storm catches it against his chest, his worried face relaxes into a smile.
He wastes no time pulling the cut over his shoulder, then shakes everyone’s hand, one by one. When he gets to me, I nod him congratulations as he drops his hand and smiles at me awkwardly. Storm may have only been here a short time, but he’s already noted that I avoid unnecessary touching.
“Follow me, kid.” Squealer takes our new Prospect under his arm, leading him toward the club. “Things got a bit messy in room three last night. Bitch is probably still in there. She’s gonna need some Advil, antiseptic cream, and a ride home.”
I roll my eyes and leave them to it, noticing how Prez hangs back to answer his phone. While all the others filter into the club to celebrate, I stand and watch his face intensify as he listens to the person on the other end of the line.
“Grimm, get over here,” he calls across at me after he’s hung up. “That was Skid…” Slipping the phone back inside his cut, he checks around the yard for anyone without a patch. “Seems that Rogue’s got herself into a situation.”
“Rogue?” hearing that name immediately gets my attention. I don’t know much about her, just that she works at the garage and that Skid seems to care a whole lot about her. Not that she needs him to. She’s always come across to me as the kinda bitch who knows how to take care of herself.
“Yeah, he’s gonna message you an address, he wants you to go check it out.”
I nod back at Prez. There’s only one kinda trouble she could be in if it’s me they’re sending, and I haven’t even made it to the clean-up cage before my phone buzzes with an address.
“You got this covered, Grimm?” Prez calls. “I gotta send five brothers on a run to Utah. Me, Jess, and Troj got a meeting with the Russians. I’m kinda low on hands.”
“Sure. How much mess can one tiny person make?” I shrug back, before checking the back of the cage for the basics and slipping into a pair of overalls.
I shouldn’t have underestimated that tiny person…
After driving out to the roughest part of town to the address Skid gave me, I grab the baseball cap from the dash and slide it backward over my head. When I let myself into the small but well-kept bungalow, the metallic stench hits me before I’ve even fully opened the door. I recognize it straight away, it's fresh, barely a few hours, I'm guessing, and I tie my black bandana around my face to cover my nose. When I’m inside, I’m shocked at how much there is of it. Whoever’s blood it is, is splattered all over the walls and ceilings, it’s soaking into the carpet, and I see no sign of the body it belongs to.
