Page 41 of Grim

The morning light hit her like it had been waiting for her, catching in her hair, warming her skin, softening every line of her face. She looked like something he shouldn’t touch. Something he wanted to anyway.

He braced a hand on the top of the doorframe, leaning in without meaning to. Close enough to feel her breath. Close enough to smell the faint sweetness of her shampoo. Close enough that the warmth of her skin brushed the air between them.

Her fingers tightened around the seat.

Grim didn’t move. Couldn’t. His eyes dragged over her face, slow, deliberate, hungry in a way he didn’t let himself be. He memorized the curve of her cheek, the shape of her mouth, the way her pulse fluttered at her throat.

She parted her lips.

His chest tightened.

He leaned in, not enough to touch, but enough that he felt the heat of her rise to meet him. Enough that his control thinned to a thread. Enough that he almost forgot who he was and what he was capable of.

His gaze dropped to her mouth.

He wanted her. He wanted her in a way that scared him.

His jaw flexed. He forced himself back, breath leaving him in a rough exhale. He grabbed the last shred of discipline he had.

“Careful,” he said quietly, voice rougher than he meant. “Step out.”

She did, legs unsteady. He pretended not to notice, but he noticed everything.

Inside, the clubhouse smelled like leather, oil, and coffee, familiar, grounding, loud in a way that usually settled him.

Today it didn’t.

Sophia walked beside him, and Grim could feel the ghost of her breath from the car, the warmth of her grandmother’s house clinging to his skin like something he wasn’t built to carry. He could still hear Abuela calling him mijo, a word that shouldn’t have cracked him open the way it did.

He didn’t know what to do with any of it.

A sharp metallic clang echoed from the mechanic bay, followed by a low, pained curse.

Grim’s head snapped toward the sound. Sophia turned too, instinctively moving closer to him. He felt it — the brush of her shoulder, the warmth of her body — and forced himself to focus.

Stone walked in first, calm and steady. Vandal followed behind him, clutching his forearm with a shop rag soaked through with blood.

Stone’s voice was low, even. “Sit down before you make it worse.”

Vandal grumbled but obeyed, dropping into a chair with a wince. “It’s not that bad.”

Stone gave him a look, the kind that shut down arguments. “You were using the grinder one-handed.”

“It was faster,” Vandal muttered.

“It was stupid,” Stone corrected, tone flat but not unkind.

Sophia stepped forward before Grim could stop her. “Let me see.”

Vandal blinked at her, thrown off. “Uh… hey, Sophia, right?”

“Yes. Hand,” she said, already kneeling beside him.

He hesitated until Stone nodded once.

Vandal handed it over immediately.

Grim moved without thinking, grabbing the first aid kit from the bar and placing it beside her. Her fingers brushed his knuckles, light, unintentional, and he felt it everywhere. Sophia peeled back the rag. A long, jagged slice ran across Vandal’s forearm, messy, bleeding, but not deep enough for stitches.