The tattoos covered up the scar I had, barely. If you looked closely enough, you could see it, and with a light touch, you could feel the scarred skin.
They wanted us to feel pain, without considering that just being who we were was painful enough. Everyone else concealed their tears, while I stilled and took the pain for what it was: simply piled right on top of the rest that I already felt.
I didn’t let them break me; I just let them have all the pieces I broke myself and didn’t care if they put me back together wrong.
“I’m fine. Come on. You’ve got your passport?”
She nodded her head as the tears still stained her makeup free face, and I watched the private jet land with so much propeller wind I felt my lungs avoid taking any air in.
“You saved my life.”
“I’ve killed hundreds. Don’t thank me. Just go.”
I watched her disappear up the stairs, and the stewardess saluted me silently as she closed the door. Now it was the hard part. Convincing everyone she was dead and hoping no one was out this far.
Only once did we have someone make it to the road past the fence. That didn’t end well for anyone. We aren’t very forgiving people.
With my good side, the side not shot and painful to move, I ripped my hoodie at the neck and kneeled down to rub dirt against my neck. It needed to look like a struggle and not that I gave in, in true LA fashion.
Holding my arm I made the trek back to the estate. It was probably a few miles. It made for an interesting game of cat and mouse for everyone—the players and elite pricks hunting them.
As I neared the house, the servants along the weapons table stayed put. My mouth had bullied them into not doing shit until asked or told.
“Some fucking medical assistance would be nice,” I gritted off in their direction.
I heard a bomb go off and flinched before looking over my shoulder to see Khaos running from the thick woods, coughing.
“Dumbass,” I muttered to myself, mainly.
“Sir, I need you to remove your top…?” Gustov’s voice was gentle, and he came off as fragile. He had been with us for as long as I could remember. His post was normally at my parent’s house in Malibu, but all the events here meant he was wherever they were.
“Just get me the medical box. I’ll do it myself.”
Khaos jogged over and was yelling, probably because his ears were ringing, “Dude, what the fuck happened?!”
“Accident. She got my gun.”
He stared at me silently, but I knew what he was trying to convey: Saving the world from yourself is getting more dangerous.
He wasn’t wrong.
I was willing to do whatever it took to keep the innocent from our grasp.
I glared at him, making sure he stayed quiet as I took the medical kit under my arm and went inside before more people could ask me what was wrong.
Up the stairs, I saw everyone still in their military grade gear, throwing back celebratory champagne. That wasn’t a crowd I wanted to parade through. No chance.
A quick change of course, I headed for my car in the garage. Vic was leaning against my car, waiting for me, like some parental figure catching their kid out past curfew.
“Do you fucking mind? Get off my car.”
“Where’s the body this time, Grimm?”
I looked down, pushing past him, throwing the medical kit on the seat and yanking my hoodie off. “Threw it over the cliff, like always.”
He didn’t move from leaning against my car. “If I sent someone down there, would I find any bodies, Grimm?”
Pushing my door open more, I threw my hoodie, torn up and bloody, on the floor of the passenger side.
“Go check for yourself. Go throw yourself off it. Go do exactly what they tell you, altar boy. That’s what you’re good at, right? Being a sheep in wolf’s clothing.”
Slipping inside my car, I slammed the door and left the window up. The bullet was still lodged in my muscle, and getting it out by myself wasn’t going to be easy. Punching my fist into the medical kit, I felt my head tense with the desperation for tears.
My whole body wanted to break, and I wanted to let it.
Pushing the start button on my car, I babied my right arm, keeping it in my lap. I was leaving this fucking place before I was actually allowed.
LA was only a few hours from here. If I drove the speed I normally did, I would be there by midnight.
GRIMM
I didn’t realize I was tearing up until the winding, terrible, pitch-black road got even harder to see.
My GPS taunted me with my arrival time in big bold font: 12:13. I was almost breaking the city barrier when I debated who to call for help with this kind of problem.
The girls I normally rotated felt abused enough without me bringing them to death’s edge or the assholes who probably force them to do worse things.
Abigail was my assistant, and it was the perfect way to ruin her date.
Ruining anything of hers brought a small smile to my face.
Telling Siri to call Abigail wasn’t as smooth as I thought. She even had trouble hearing me correctly. I never called girls, and even my Siri knew it.
It rang through my car speakers. I waited for her to pick up, and then I heard her cut off her own laughter before saying, “Hello? Grimm?”
“I need you to be at my place in forty minutes. Non-negotiable.”
“I’m in the hills… finding an Uber this late is hell.”
She was in the hills with her date. She didn’t seem like the kind of girl to go home on the first date, so this must be a boyfriend.
“I didn’t ask how you planned to get there. I need a doctor, or you to help me. Figure it out.”
Pressing the end button on the steering wheel, I slammed my hand against it. As much as I went against the Clave, it didn’t warrant me any allies or friends. I was more alone than I was when I blindly gave into their demands.
The rest of the way home, it became apparent I was alone. I didn’t even have anyone to call to fish a bullet out of my arm.
After grabbing the medical box and pushing it under my good arm, I made my way to my front door, past the iron gate that I had to punch my code into to even get past.
My life, my mission, myself… all on lockdown.
I was still shirtless when I dropped the box on my kitchen island and looked at my arm with critical eyes.
There was no mistaking that it was a gunshot wound.
Small, pretty clean considering, a puncture wound with blood still leaking from my arm. Some torn skin around the edges and a bullet still in there somewhere.
I fished the tweezers out of the box and a Xanax out of the cabinet, which was meant to have dishes but instead it had pill bottles, I popped one before I went digging.
My phone buzzed against the countertop in a harsh way.
ABIGAIL: You changed your gate code.
ME: 666
ABIGAIL: Creative.
I sighed a big exhale of relief knowing I wasn’t going to be doing this myself. I normally don’t drink while taking Xanax, but this seemed like a good excuse. Finding the whiskey was like I was looking through someone else’s cabinets, considering I didn’t know what held what. All I used was the fridge and coffee maker.
Abigail’s heels were hard to miss against my hardwood floors as I poured her a glass too.
She was going to need this whiskey more than me.