Page 3 of Grim

“I’m heading home to Avery. Try not to scare the prospects while I’m gone.”

Grim grunted, the closest he came to a laugh these days.

Rook turned toward his bike. “Prospects, pack it up. Head back to the clubhouse.”

Brick, Ghost, Vandal, and Switchblade grabbed their gear and headed for their bikes, voices low and tired in the fading light.

Grim stayed behind a moment, letting the quiet settle around him.

He took one last look at them as they rode out. Switchblade’s steady posture. Brick’s restless energy. Ghost’s quiet focus. Vandal’s easy swagger hiding something sharper underneath. Something in his gut twisted.

This won’t last.

He didn’t know why the thought hit him so hard. He just knew it was true.

Grim turned toward his bike, the night air cooling the sweat on his skin, and headed back to the clubhouse.

Grim rolled into the clubhouse lot as the last streaks of sunset bled out behind the pines. The rumble of engines and rough laughter spilled into the night, warm and loud and alive in a way the shooting range never was.

The clubhouse noise filled the room, the kind only men who had survived too much and slept too little could make. Laughter ricocheted off wood paneled walls. Neon beer signs flickered like they were fighting to stay lit. Someone shouted over a game of darts. Someone else cursed at a TV stuck on static.

Grim sat at the edge of it all, boots planted wide, elbows on his knees, a half-finished beer sweating in his hand. He wasn’t drinking it. He had forgotten it was there.

Across the room, the prospect trio crowded around the pool table. Brick, Ghost, and Vandal. Brick was mid-story, hands flying, voice animated. The same restless energy he had carried at the range still buzzed under his skin.

A few feet away, Switchblade leaned against the wall with a beer. He didn’t join the noise. He didn’t try to. Switchblade’s stillness moved with calm, methodical ease. Grim recognized the quiet that came from surviving things you didn’t talk about.

Grim gave him a nod. Switchblade returned it with a sharp, respectful one.

“…and then the guy comes storming out of the bathroom, pants half down, yelling I stole his girl. Which is insane because she was the one…”

Vandal cut in, grinning. “She was the one who asked you to show her how to hold the cue stick.”

Ghost didn’t look up from chalking his cue. “She didn’t want to learn pool.”

Vandal snorted. “She wanted to learn Brick.”

Brick smirked like it was a compliment.

Switchblade took a slow sip of his beer. “She wanted free drinks,” he said, voice low and dry.

Brick groaned. “Bro, whose side are you on?”

Switchblade shrugged. “The side that doesn’t get stabbed in a bar bathroom.”

Brick flipped him off. “You’re all jealous.”

Grim wasn’t listening to the story. Not really. He watched Brick instead. The way he stood too tall, too proud, too eager. The way he tried to fill space he hadn’t earned. The way he didn’t see how fast the world could take everything from him.

Brick caught Grim’s eye mid-story and grinned like he had won something. “You know what I’m talking about. Right, Grim?”

Grim didn’t give him more than a look. “You talk too much.”

Brick laughed. “That’s a yes.”

Havoc snorted from the couch. “Kid, Grim hasn’t said yes to anything since 2014.”

“Bout the last time he smiled too,” Ghost said as he lined up his next shot.