Page 9 of Grim

Grim swung off his bike, boots crunching over shattered bottles. The metallic scent of blood hit him hard.

And suddenly, he wasn’t at La Luna.

He was back in Kandahar.

The ground shook beneath him as mortar fire hit too close. Dust filled his lungs. Someone screamed for a medic. Someone else screamed for their mother. Grim’s boots crunched over rubble, over bodies, over the kind of destruction you don’t walk away from unchanged.

A young private grabbed his vest, eyes wild. “Sarge…Sarge, he’s not breathing…”

Grim dropped to his knees, hands steady even as the world exploded around him. “Stay with me,” he muttered. “You don’t fucking quit.”

A body jerked under his hands. Blood pooled too fast. Too dark.

He couldn’t save this one.

“Grim!” Havoc’s shout snapped the memory in half.

Grim blinked, the bar coming back into focus. But the smell of blood? That stayed.

Havoc was already crouched beside a man bleeding from a head wound, Ghost kneeling over another victim, hands steady and efficient.

“Any Reapers?” Grim asked, voice low.

Havoc jerked his chin toward the brick wall. “Took off.”

Grim’s jaw flexed. “Where’s Reyes?”

Havoc’s expression twisted, frustration, guilt, and fury all tangled together. “Didn’t even get that far. I walked in the door, and the place blew up. Reapers hit before I could find him.”

Grim’s stomach dropped. “So the meet never happened.”

“Not even close,” Havoc muttered. “If Reyes was here, he either ran… or they got to him first.”

A muscle jumped in Grim’s check. “Get them loaded.”

Ghost lifted the first victim with practiced ease. Havoc helped the second. Grim moved toward a woman slumped against the shattered front window. She was conscious but dazed, blood trickling down her temple.

“Easy,” Grim muttered, sliding an arm under her shoulders.

As he lifted her, a jagged shard of glass hidden beneath her shifted and sliced a clean line across his forearm.

He didn’t react. Didn’t even look at it.

He carried her to Havoc’s truck, set her gently inside, then turned back for the last victim—Brick.

Brick was slumped against the wall, blood soaking through his shirt, eyes glassy with shock. Grim’s stomach dropped. Brick was young, but he’d earned his place. He didn’t deserve this.

“Grim…” he rasped, barely audible.

“I’ve got you,” Grim muttered, hauling him up with one arm under his shoulders. “Stay with me. You hear me? You don’t fucking quit.”

Brick blinked hard, fighting to keep his eyes open. “Tell Stone… I didn’t run.”

“You didn’t,” Grim growled. “You stood your ground. Now stay awake.”

Brick’s fingers twitched weakly against Grim’s vest. “Hurts…”

“I know.” Grim tightened his grip, voice low and lethal. “You’re not dying tonight.”