Page 59 of Grim

A life without Grim? I couldn’t imagine it. I told about him my demons; I told him about my nightmares, my scars, my wounds, and he still wanted me. Would another man want me? Maybe? Possibly? But the pull to him was too strong to want to let go, and I loved his earth-shattering possessiveness. He wanted to protect me from everything as weak as I was, still healing from years of abuse.

“Wherever Grim goes, I go,” I said confidently.

Delilah gazed at me intently, assessing my words. My smile couldn’t be hidden even when I lowered my head to look at the half empty glass. “I know I don’t have a lot of experience in life, knowing how men are supposed to be, how they act, how a relationship works, especially coming into adulthood. I couldn’t define a healthy relationship if you asked me. But with Grim,” I sighed. “With Grim, I feel like this is where I am supposed to be. I would face my hardships again just so I could meet him.”

The long pause had me longing to be close to Grim again. The burly man, the man that everyone in the bar looked at with fear and respect, made my heart flutter. He didn’t sugarcoat things with the others; he didn’t act affectionate with any of them. Just a curt nod and grunt, but Grim spoke whole sentences to me, despite the raspiness in his throat.

“That’s really great, Journey. I’m happy for you.” Delilah grabbed my hand and squeezed. “I’m glad you have that.”

Hawke was no longer talking to Locke and Grim. One hand was on a hidden weapon beneath his vest, like most of the men carried in the bar. The other hand rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Delilah had feelings for Hawke, and he had them for her too.

Something told me in the pit of my stomach that would all change very soon. That Hawke would wake up when she packed her bags and left. He wouldn’t know what he had until it was gone.

“He’s never kissed me intentionally,” Delilah said. “Not when he was sober, anyway. And I keep letting him get away with it. I can’t have him abuse my emotions any longer. I have to leave, or I’ll never live.”

“And that is when he will wake up,” I promised. “Maybe you need to do it. Have him chase you.” I downed the rest of my drink, shaking my head when Anaki held out two fingers in question for another.

“I just need a thousand more, and I’ll have enough. I won’t have my emotions played with anymore.”

Delilah had a good head on her shoulders. Who knew how long she had been here, but if this sweet woman was already claiming she was done waiting, it must have been awhile.

The double doors of the bar burst open. The coldness swept the bar, sending a chill around us. The cold front that had followed us from the valley crept inside. It wasn’t that delightful cold you could feel when winter was around the corner. This was darker, more ominous.

The Moonlight Outcasts ceased the music, their eyes fixated on the group of men entering. These men were uninvited—no denim vests on their chests, no markings of any kind other than expensive, tailor-made suits, bulges in their jackets from weapons and deep chuckles.

Delilah held onto my arm, pulling me closer to her, her eyes widening in fear.

“What’s going on?” I whispered while the clicking of the expensive shoes entered the establishment.

These men walked with purpose, and the leader—with a small potbelly hanging over his leather belt, a receding hairline, and forehead wrinkles—rolled the cigar in his mouth.

Taking it from his mouth, he tapped it three times, letting the ash landed on the floor in front of him, a signal that stopped the caravan behind him.

The Iron Fangs stood from their seats around the various tables, their hands rubbing the weapons hidden in their vests. They glared at the intruder.

“That’s the mayor from the next town over,” Delilah whispered, pulling me closer to the wall next to the bar. The door beside us was closed, a sign that said “private entrance” painted in red. “He’s bad news. I’ve heard the guys talk about it. He smuggles women into trafficking rings. That’s the word on the street, anyway. All the citizens of their town love him though, think he is some kind of hero getting rid of the homeless, thinking that he is establishing some sort of housing. Instead, he’s killing the men and selling the women.”

My lips parted, watching Locke step forward out of the group of men that surrounded him protectively. They were loyal to him, despite him looking younger than some of the men here.

Yet, he wasn’t all bite when he was alone with Grim. He brought food several times to us and always gave a warm smile and wink before he closed the door.

But looking at him now, I saw there is something dark inside him. His pained expression, his clenched jaw, he was a biker I would never want to cross. However, he took care of his own; his club. He had protected me and other women like me, as well as given Grim time away from the brotherhood.

“Sorry to inform you,” Locke said. “But it’s club night. No outside customers on Thursdays. I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

A wave of uneasiness seeped into the room. The mayor rolled his cigar between his fingers and tossed it to the floor, without stepping on it to put out the light.

There was something oddly familiar about the man that caused me to squirm where I stood. Something dark, something evil, and it only appeared as soon as Delilah told me he was the head of a sex trafficking ring.

When he spoke, I recognized his voice, but I wasn’t sure from where.

“Greetings, President,” he boomed. “Just wanted to check out the establishment. My own citizens come out here to partake in your services. Had to see it for myself.”

The bar wasn’t anything fancy; it catered to bikers. It wasn’t some uptight establishment like he was thinking, apparently. His frown deepened, watching the club members circle his group.

“Thought it would be cleaner, but obviously I was mistaken.”

“Now that you had your look,” Locke said. “I’d appreciate it if you left. This is a private event. Why don’t you come back for karaoke night? I’m sure you’d fit in there.”

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