I could tell by the look on Brat’s face that she didn’t know if I’d been bullshitting or serious. That blank mask she always tried to slip on might as well have been invisible. She had always been easy for me to read, like a picture book—I didn’t need to an utter a word, and neither did she.
I just got her.
I don’t think she was aware of that until now. She hadn’t been aware of a lot of things.
That was the problem with people from The Kingdom: they didn’t live in reality.
They lived in a fantastical dreamland, and when reality showed up, they were fucked.
I wasn’t blaming Brat for her lack of life experience, because neither of us could help where we came from. And though I was no better than the fuckers that had just had her—in fact, I knew I was worse in a few key categories—I refused to condone what I was fully aware had been done.
I wasn’t going to coddle her, though, and I wasn’t going to ask if she was okay. That was a dumbass rhetorical question. There were some things you just didn’t need to confirm. Her eyes were open windows that gave it all away.
I understood the language they continued to speak, even if she didn’t.
The fire that had once lit up her entire being like a beacon now burned within a darkness inside her that could rival my own.
She needed to be educated.
She needed to learn that there was nothing in the dark to be afraid of. I wasn’t going to save her from it.
I wasn’t a hero. I never would be—not for her.
We were all born to live in this hell. I would teach her how to transcend and thrive in it. I would drain her, break her down if I had to, just so I could be the one to make her whole again. In my mind, it had to be me.
I’d felt the need to shadow her from the beginning, and this situation only strengthened that resolve. I’d lost enough in this world. I wouldn’t let it take her, too.
I would show her that hell could be beautiful. This is where she belonged—right beside me. Even knowing what my lifestyle meant for her…it was too late for that now.
Ask me where the fuck all this was coming from and I wouldn’t have an exact answer.
I’d never had anything to be selfish about until her.
No one had ever looked at me like Brat did, seeing more than a man who harvested souls for a living…like I was something worth giving a fuck about.
Cali and my brothers tried to show me that very thing, but it wasn’t the same. I knew Romero would know how to explain it better than I could. Logic, reason, rationality…none of it mattered. I just had this uncontrollable urge to protect her. I’d failed before—completely.
Had I been paying attention to her like I’d always done up until that night, she would have never made it out of the house. Had whatever this was between us been out in the open, no one would have dared remove her from that house. People were too afraid of me to ever fuck with someone who belonged to me.
I’d taken my eyes off her for what seemed like only a minute, and then she was gone.
That wouldn’t happen again.
I would make her unequivocally mine. May some divine power have mercy on anyone who ever had the balls big enough to try and get between us again. I sure as fuck wouldn’t.
Chapter Nine
A faded green sign welcoming people to Rivermouth rose up on our right. It was marked with the Sigil of Baphomet, an inverted pentagram with the horned head of a goat. I knew the counterclockwise Hebrew characters spelled out Romero’s name. He truly was the devil in the flesh. To think I’d once been terrified of meeting him or any of his satanic acolytes…They’d wound up being my closest friends, my extended family.
Life was most certainly a pretentious bitch, but she had her moments. I shifted on the seat so I could have a better view.
I’d heard every other city had been abandoned, which was hard for me to believe when I took into account that the population of Centriole didn’t house that many damn people—not to mention the fact that I’d also heard that others were still managing to thrive. Not on a scale such as The Kingdom, but still: they were active.
Grimm didn’t slow like I expected him to; if anything, he sped up the second he flicked his high beams off, whipping past moss covered buildings, a car left in the middle of the street, and avoiding a large pothole. How the hell could he see so well in the dark?
I squealed when he took a corner so fast I thought we were going to tip. I could’ve touched the asphalt if I’d wanted to—easily.
I felt him vibrate with laughter as I hid my face in his back, snuggling down in his long hoodie.
When I dared look back up, it was to see him coasting into the parking garage of a huge brick building with pointed arches.
He went up to deck C and swung the bike into a parking space in a darkened corner nearest a steel door.
Soon as the engine was cut, he was off the bike and gently lifting me down to the ground, supporting me until he was sure I was steady on my feet.
Moving with fluid vitality, he detached the largest bag from the back of his motorcycle and took my hand. I stuck close to him, looking all around the expansive space, expecting somethin to jump out at us at any second.
“Why are we here?” I asked in a low whisper.
“Didn’t trust you to stay awake the full length of the ride, and I don’t think you’d like falling off the back of the bike.”
I wasn’t tired.
When he pushed open the steel door, I was even more awake. Why did he pick this of all places to make a pit stop?
I wasn’t sure if my curiosity was in full effect because I’d been stuck in the same environment day in and day out, or because I’d never seen anything like this.
The curved moon was the only thing trying to light our way, and there’d only been one window at the top of the stairwell.
Obviously the old elevator didn’t work—not that I would trust it in the first place—so we walked. I held onto Grimm, hoping I didn’t trip over somethin right in front of me, and because I wasn’t touching the railing beside us.
He pushed open another door and we entered a super long hallway, lit only a little better.
That’s when I realized we were in a gigantic hospital. It looked like somethin straight out of a horror film.
I was immediately more intrigued. The air was dusty, the paint on the walls so chipped they looked layered in mulch.
He continued down the hall with me in tow, maneuvering around an old wheelchair I would have run right into.
Our boots crunched over sheets of paper, grime, and some trash littering the floor. A few reinforced windows lined the wall on our left, but they were so dirty it was nearly impossible to see out of em.
I was going to ask why we were there again when he abruptly turned, just as we reached the end of the hall and entered a room. When he dropped my hand, I grabbed his shirt.
If he minded, he didn’t voice it. He silently pushed the door shut and unzipped his bag.
A second later, a soft florescent glow lit up our surroundings. He’d pulled out what looked like a kiddy lantern.
“Have you been here already?” I asked, noticing how tidy the room was. I answered my own question when I saw the semi-clean patient bed with a fresh floral blanket on it.
“When I had a general idea of where you were, I began planning out a route there and back. This hospital was the best place. It’s more than fifteen buildings, empty, as you can see, and ideal to hole up compared to the abandoned, roach-infested motel around the corner. I sent one of the acolytes out to make sure it was clear and set up a place you could sleep,” he explained.
I think that was the most words he’d ever spoken to me in one go. His voice was deep, but also a little gravelly. I’d say very manly, but I hadn’t ever been around any men of his caliber to make such a statement.
He turned to face me, and I was able to hold his gaze for a full four seconds before I pretended there was somethin else more intriguing to loo
k at. Course there wasn’t. He had always been the most interestin person in my life.
Well, outside of Cali, who was a whole other special story, and the reason I’d met him in the first place.
If that cannibal hadn’t carried her crazy self into the barn that day, I wouldn’t be alive. I was sure his rotting corpse was thinkin twice about that decision.
I wondered how she’d dealt with all that happened to her. She’d been used since she was just a little girl, and that made me sick to my stomach. Sure, she grew up to be a lil different, but she did grow—and change—and she was the strongest woman I knew. But she’d also fully embraced the crazy inside her. She wasn’t as unsure of it as I was mine.
“Brat,” Grimm said, suddenly in front of me and pullin me outta my head. I had to tilt my chin to look at him.
“Don’t do that, either.” He said it simply enough, but there was an edge to it.
“You can’t tell me not to think.”
“I didn’t tell you not to think. I told you not to keep it in, and that you can talk to me.”
I was gonna point out that he most certainly hadn’t said any of that, but I wasn’t going to get lengthy dialogue from Grimm. I’d never needed it before. I just got him. Without really trying, it was like some natural phenomenon between us, just as the sun knew when to trade places with the moon.
Still, what the heck happened during our separation? Why did he now want me to confide in him? He was back to staring me down at this point, and I was close to having a emotional outburst from it, so I did the next best thing and hugged him.
I knew he wasn’t any kind of hugger, but I didn’t care. I smashed my face against his firm chest, purposely breathed him in, and tightly embraced him. I waited for him to shove me away, but he just stood there for a full minute. Then, he hugged me back.
I probably could have died right then from the sheer impact that had on my chest. His arms around me was the first thing that had felt right in a very long time.
He made me feel somethin other than numb.
“Thank you,” I said, reluctantly pulling away. I dropped my arms but he kept his firmly on my back.
“Why are you thanking me?”
“You came for me.”
He made a sound in the back of his throat and stepped away, turning back to his bag. I got the feelin I’d said the wrong thing. I didn’t care. My mouth had gotten me this far; what was a bit of truth gonna do now?
Plus, we could both use some dosage of feelings in our lives.
“I know I was too late, and you might be wondering why I’m not treating you like a piece of glass, but that’s not me, and I’m not going to do that.”
“It’s also not like you to be this open,” I couldn’t help but point out.
“Not being open was a mistake we’re going to rectify. You only talk to me,” he was quick to clarify.
“That sounds rather possessive of you.”
“Should I warn you that I’m going to be selfish and protective over the only thing that’s ever been exclusively mine?”
Yeah, I was probably still dreamin. I opened my mouth, or it was already hangin open in what was either shock or a confused state of cautionary joy—I wasn’t sure. “Did you just call me a thing?” was my brilliant reply to what were potentially the best words I’d ever heard in my meager life.
He reached out and gently took hold of my hand, leading me to the bed. Without a word, he directed me to sit. I sank down on what felt like a plush piece of Styrofoam beneath the floral blanket, and focused on his chin.
He was onto me, and used his finger to aim my head up so we had eye connection before he said anything else. “You’re my thing—pain in the ass, bratty hellion. Call me a possessive dick if it makes you feel better. Still my thing.”
He went returned to his bag, giving me his back to scowl at. What was I supposed to say to any of that? Why the hell did he have to come out all noble now?
“First of all, Grimm, I’m a woman, not a thing. Second of all, if I’m anything of yours—”
“You’re my woman, then. Is that better? And I’m your man. I had some advice given to me, and was reminded that this was inevitable. You and me both know it, so let’s not do that bullshit.”
“Label it however you need to. I’ll leave the room if you want so you can do the girl thing and cry, maybe throw a tantrum and break whatever you can pick up, but it’s not going to change anything.”
I went back to scowling, but I wasn’t upset with him. Granted, the man could have worded that much, much better. I wasn’t expecting flowery poetry from him, though.
I wasn’t expecting any of this. I knew in the back of my mind he was right about this being inevitable—in the fantasy land I lived in, where my feels weren’t one-sided, that is.
I hadn’t ever been certain he knew how I felt. It was never discussed. It was just a shared look here or there. He saw right down to the bare bones of my soul. I should’ve known better. Course he’d known.
“You hungry?” he asked, standing up again from his crouching position.
“So we’re gonna just move right along then? That’s it?”
“Are you hungry?”
“No, I’m not hungry, Grimm. Don’t change the subject, either.”
“Eat this.” He threw something through the air.
As it came towards my face, I instinctively reached up and caught it. A damn red apple.
“I just said I wasn’t hungry.”
“You lied,” he confidentially retorted, and at that very second my stomach snarled in agreement.
I bit into the apple so I didn’t launch it as his smirking face. I wasn’t goin to admit it was the juiciest apple I’d ever tasted. He came over with his own, and a plastic bottle, sitting down right beside me.
I didn’t pay close attention to the way his tattoos I’d committed to memory looked in the light, or how perfectly sculpted his body was beneath his black shirt. I didn’t even notice the little strand of hair that had fallen out of place and now sort of rested on his forehead.
We sat there munching in silence until he lifted the bottle up and took a swig. I watched his throat bob as he swallowed. He held out to me when he was done, and I slowly took it, staring down at the clear liquid inside.
I knew this wouldn’t be laced—Grimm wouldn’t do that—but it was a sure reminder of all the times I’d had some that had been.
It’s just water, I told myself. Somethin I’d drank plenty of times before Noah came along. Damn. Noah. He was still out there.
“You don’t want me like this.” That was the simplest way I could say I was a mess without having to go into detail.
He looked at the ceiling for a few seconds. “I’m not good at this shit, Brat,” he sighed, rolling his shoulders. “I want you whatever way I can have you. Any version of you is better than none at all, and this one is perfect for me.”
See, I knew he’d understand what I was sayin without me having to elaborate. He didn’t disappoint.
“Who told you you’re not good at this, Romeo?” I teased with a smile.
“Romero is better at this than I am.”
I nearly choked on the water I’d just bravely sipped when I realized he was being serious. I was tempted to drop kick him off the bed for saying somethin that stupid.
“Sorry to be the one to tell ya you’re delusional, Grimm. He could never make me feel like you do.” I leaned over, intendin to plant a solid kiss on his cheek, aiming for right above his beard, but then he turned his head and suddenly his hand was gripping the back of my neck and he had his lips on mine.
I gasped, unsure what to do. I mean, I knew what to do, but this was Grimm. My reaper had his mouth on mine.
I reiterated the my part of that thought as he took complete control.
I willingly let him have somethin I never pictured me givin someone ever again.
But again…this was Grimm. The man who told me less than five minutes ago that he wanted me whatever
he could have me—which was majorly confused, undeniably fucked up, and forever being a smartass.
It was crazy to trust death with life, but I’d never trusted anyone more than I did him in that very moment. His skilled mouth coaxed mine to part, and then he had his skilled, silken tongue caressing mine.
I admit it took me longer than I’d have liked to reciprocate, because no woman wanted to miss a single second when it came to kissing this gorgeous man.
That tick in my chest turned into the rapid beating of a heart as I kissed him back. He tasted like the sweetest sugar, dissolving on my tongue like a drug.
We were in a rundown hospital, but we could have just as easily been standing on top of a mountain with fireworks goin off somewhere.
His hands didn’t stray, and he didn’t push for more.
I leaned into him and cupped his face, stroking the inverted cross I’d been eyeing since we met. His skin was so much softer than I would’ve thought. His beard stubble was rough on my palm.
It was me wanting more. I wasn’t sure where that sudden urge came from, but it was vicious in its hunger, and carnal in its need to be sated. Maybe it was because I actually wanted him, or maybe it was simply one of those things that was always going to happen between us.
He pulled back before I could think about it too much with a grin on his face, keeping us nose to nose.
“Don’t ever say you’re not good at this again, you liar.” I dropped my apple core on his lap and leaned back.
“That good, huh?” He shot the apple across the room, making a perfect score into the rusted sink. “That was just a sample.” He gave me a roguish smile it was impossible not to return.
I was well aware of that. Grimm just had a look about him. It was like a flashing red warning sign about that bad habit I’d mentioned earlier.
He was the kind of man who fucked you so good you thought of it every single day for weeks on end and replayed every second of it as you were foldin the laundry.
Maybe I was more screwed up than I thought. I didn’t know if it was abnormal to feel such a way after what happened to me, but this—having him look at me the way he was—it felt powerful and destructive. And that was preferable to that sick, weak, pathetic feeling that seemed like a parasite trying to plant itself in my brain.
Outcasts (Badlands Book 3) Page 6
