The Grim Knights MC - Chapter 23: Chapter 23
You are reading The Grim Knights MC, Chapter 23: Chapter 23. Read more chapters of The Grim Knights MC.
Amalia pOV :
When Reaper's text came in, my heart stopped. Something was wrong, something serious. I could feel it in my bones. I threw on the nearest pair of jeans and a hoodie, not bothering to check the mirror before jumping into my car and speeding off towards the cabin.
The moment I saw him, my stomach dropped. He looked pale, his face tight with pain, and there was something in his eyes that made my blood run cold. "What happened?" I asked again, taking his arm and guiding him inside.
"The Italians," he grunted, his voice strained. "They set us up. Shot me during the exchange." He winced as we made it to the couch, and I helped him sit down. The sight of his blood-soaked bandages made me want to scream, but I knew I had to stay calm.
"Doc patched you up?" I asked, my voice shaking as I grabbed a clean cloth to press against his wound. He nodded, his eyes closing briefly as he took a deep breath.
"Yeah," Reaper said, his voice a mix of pain and weariness. "It's going to be fine. Just a flesh wound." But the tension in his jaw belied his words. The fabric of his shirt was sticky with blood, and the smell of antiseptic was strong.
"Let me take a look," I insisted, kneeling beside him and gently peeling back the bandages. The wound was clean, but the skin around it was inflamed. "It's going to scar," I murmured, my fingers brushing over the angry red flesh.
He shrugged, his eyes never leaving mine. "It's not my first, won't be my last," he said, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. Despite the pain, he looked at me with a fierce intensity that made me feel like I could conquer the world.
"But we can't tell anyone outside the club, understand?" His words were a command, not a question. The gravity of the situation settled in my gut like a lead weight. This was club business, and that meant it was a secret that could get us both killed if it got out.
"I understand," I whispered, my heart racing as I helped him remove his shirt. The bandages stuck to his skin, and I had to be careful not to tear the stitches as I peeled them away. The sight of the wound made me feel sick, but I had to be strong for him. "I'm a nurse, Reaper. I know how to handle this."
He nodded, his hand coming up to stroke my cheek gently. "Thank you, Amalia." His voice was soft, filled with a vulnerability I rarely heard from him. The warmth of his touch sent a jolt through me, and I had to force myself to focus on his injury.
Gently, I began to clean the wound, the warmth of the water from the kitchen making him flinch. His grip on the couch tightened as I worked, his jaw clenched. I could see the beads of sweat forming on his forehead, the pain etched in every line of his face. "It's going to be okay," I murmured, trying to soothe him.
As I worked, I couldn't help but think about the implications of his words. The Italians had shot him, and had tried to take him out. This was a declaration of war, and the MC was in a precarious position. "What are you going to do?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
He didn't answer, just leaned his head back and closed his eyes, the lines of his face deepening with thought. His hand found mine, and he held it tightly, the warmth of his skin a stark contrast to the coldness of the metal studs in his knuckles. His thumb brushed over my knuckles in a gentle caress that sent a shiver down my spine.
At that moment, I knew what I had to do. I had to kiss him, to show him that I was here for him, no matter what. I leaned in, my breath hitching in anticipation. His eyes snapped open, and for a moment, I saw surprise in them, followed quickly by something else. Desire, maybe? Or was it just pain?
Reaper didn't say a word, but his eyes searched my face, looking for something. Permission? Reassurance? I didn't know. But I knew that I needed to kiss him, to offer him some semblance of comfort in the chaos that was our lives.
Leaning in, I pressed my lips to his, softly at first, but with a growing urgency that matched the thundering beat of my heart. He didn't pull away, didn't push me aside. Instead, his hand came up to cradle the back of my head, holding me close as he deepened the kiss. His breath was warm against my skin, and the scent of his cologne filled my nostrils, mixing with the antiseptic smell of the wound.
The kiss was desperate and hungry, a silent conversation between us that spoke of unspoken truths and unfulfilled desires. His mouth was demanding, his tongue seeking mine, and I gave in willingly, our kiss growing more passionate with every second that ticked by. It was as if we were trying to erase the distance that had grown between us over the years, the guilt, the pain, and the reality of his life with Rose.
Reaper groaned, his hand sliding down my back to grip my waist, pulling me closer until my body was pressed against his. I could feel the heat of his skin, the beat of his heart, and the evidence of his arousal. My own body responded in kind, my breath hitching as his hand found its way under my shirt, caressing the bare skin of my stomach.
Our kiss grew more intense, the passion between us burning brighter with each passing second. The room spun around us, our past and present colliding in a tumultuous storm of emotion and need. The pain in his side was forgotten, replaced by the ache in his chest, the ache for me.
I pulled back, panting, and looked into his eyes. The hunger I saw there was undeniable. "Reaper," I whispered, "you need to rest." He nodded, the tension in his body slowly dissipating as the reality of the situation settled back in.
With surprising gentleness, I helped him stand and guided him to the bedroom. The cabin was a familiar place, filled with the ghosts of our past. Each step we took brought back memories that I had buried deep inside me. The bed was unmade, the sheets tangled from our previous encounter.
Reaper lay down, his body taut with pain and tension. I sat beside him, taking his hand in mine, and we just looked at each other for a long moment. The silence was deafening, filled with the weight of our unspoken words. "I'm sorry," he finally said, his voice gruff with emotion. "For everything."
"Don't," I said softly, squeezing his hand. "We can't change the past." But even as I said the words, I knew they were a lie. We had changed the past with that kiss, and had opened a door we hadn't meant to. The room grew colder as the reality of the situation seeped back in, the warmth of our passion replaced by the starkness of the truth.
He nodded, his eyes never leaving mine. Then, with a quiet sigh, he reached out with his good arm and pulled me closer. "Lay down with me," he whispered, his voice barely a breath. "Please." There was something in his eyes, a desperation that I couldn't ignore. I knew he needed this, needed me, even if it was just for a little while.
I lay down beside him, our bodies fitting together like two pieces of a puzzle. His hand rested on my hip, the warmth of his touch seeping through my jeans. For a moment, we just lay there, our breaths syncing up, the throb of his heart matching the racing of mine. The room was bathed in the soft glow of a single candle, casting shadows across our faces and leaving us in a world of our own."I can't stop thinking about you," Reaper murmured, his voice thick with pain and emotion. "I know it's wrong, but I can't help it." His eyes searched mine, looking for understanding, for absolution. And in that moment, I knew that I couldn't give him either. We were both trapped in a cycle of desire and guilt that had no clear end.
When Reaper's text came in, my heart stopped. Something was wrong, something serious. I could feel it in my bones. I threw on the nearest pair of jeans and a hoodie, not bothering to check the mirror before jumping into my car and speeding off towards the cabin.
The moment I saw him, my stomach dropped. He looked pale, his face tight with pain, and there was something in his eyes that made my blood run cold. "What happened?" I asked again, taking his arm and guiding him inside.
"The Italians," he grunted, his voice strained. "They set us up. Shot me during the exchange." He winced as we made it to the couch, and I helped him sit down. The sight of his blood-soaked bandages made me want to scream, but I knew I had to stay calm.
"Doc patched you up?" I asked, my voice shaking as I grabbed a clean cloth to press against his wound. He nodded, his eyes closing briefly as he took a deep breath.
"Yeah," Reaper said, his voice a mix of pain and weariness. "It's going to be fine. Just a flesh wound." But the tension in his jaw belied his words. The fabric of his shirt was sticky with blood, and the smell of antiseptic was strong.
"Let me take a look," I insisted, kneeling beside him and gently peeling back the bandages. The wound was clean, but the skin around it was inflamed. "It's going to scar," I murmured, my fingers brushing over the angry red flesh.
He shrugged, his eyes never leaving mine. "It's not my first, won't be my last," he said, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. Despite the pain, he looked at me with a fierce intensity that made me feel like I could conquer the world.
"But we can't tell anyone outside the club, understand?" His words were a command, not a question. The gravity of the situation settled in my gut like a lead weight. This was club business, and that meant it was a secret that could get us both killed if it got out.
"I understand," I whispered, my heart racing as I helped him remove his shirt. The bandages stuck to his skin, and I had to be careful not to tear the stitches as I peeled them away. The sight of the wound made me feel sick, but I had to be strong for him. "I'm a nurse, Reaper. I know how to handle this."
He nodded, his hand coming up to stroke my cheek gently. "Thank you, Amalia." His voice was soft, filled with a vulnerability I rarely heard from him. The warmth of his touch sent a jolt through me, and I had to force myself to focus on his injury.
Gently, I began to clean the wound, the warmth of the water from the kitchen making him flinch. His grip on the couch tightened as I worked, his jaw clenched. I could see the beads of sweat forming on his forehead, the pain etched in every line of his face. "It's going to be okay," I murmured, trying to soothe him.
As I worked, I couldn't help but think about the implications of his words. The Italians had shot him, and had tried to take him out. This was a declaration of war, and the MC was in a precarious position. "What are you going to do?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
He didn't answer, just leaned his head back and closed his eyes, the lines of his face deepening with thought. His hand found mine, and he held it tightly, the warmth of his skin a stark contrast to the coldness of the metal studs in his knuckles. His thumb brushed over my knuckles in a gentle caress that sent a shiver down my spine.
At that moment, I knew what I had to do. I had to kiss him, to show him that I was here for him, no matter what. I leaned in, my breath hitching in anticipation. His eyes snapped open, and for a moment, I saw surprise in them, followed quickly by something else. Desire, maybe? Or was it just pain?
Reaper didn't say a word, but his eyes searched my face, looking for something. Permission? Reassurance? I didn't know. But I knew that I needed to kiss him, to offer him some semblance of comfort in the chaos that was our lives.
Leaning in, I pressed my lips to his, softly at first, but with a growing urgency that matched the thundering beat of my heart. He didn't pull away, didn't push me aside. Instead, his hand came up to cradle the back of my head, holding me close as he deepened the kiss. His breath was warm against my skin, and the scent of his cologne filled my nostrils, mixing with the antiseptic smell of the wound.
The kiss was desperate and hungry, a silent conversation between us that spoke of unspoken truths and unfulfilled desires. His mouth was demanding, his tongue seeking mine, and I gave in willingly, our kiss growing more passionate with every second that ticked by. It was as if we were trying to erase the distance that had grown between us over the years, the guilt, the pain, and the reality of his life with Rose.
Reaper groaned, his hand sliding down my back to grip my waist, pulling me closer until my body was pressed against his. I could feel the heat of his skin, the beat of his heart, and the evidence of his arousal. My own body responded in kind, my breath hitching as his hand found its way under my shirt, caressing the bare skin of my stomach.
Our kiss grew more intense, the passion between us burning brighter with each passing second. The room spun around us, our past and present colliding in a tumultuous storm of emotion and need. The pain in his side was forgotten, replaced by the ache in his chest, the ache for me.
I pulled back, panting, and looked into his eyes. The hunger I saw there was undeniable. "Reaper," I whispered, "you need to rest." He nodded, the tension in his body slowly dissipating as the reality of the situation settled back in.
With surprising gentleness, I helped him stand and guided him to the bedroom. The cabin was a familiar place, filled with the ghosts of our past. Each step we took brought back memories that I had buried deep inside me. The bed was unmade, the sheets tangled from our previous encounter.
Reaper lay down, his body taut with pain and tension. I sat beside him, taking his hand in mine, and we just looked at each other for a long moment. The silence was deafening, filled with the weight of our unspoken words. "I'm sorry," he finally said, his voice gruff with emotion. "For everything."
"Don't," I said softly, squeezing his hand. "We can't change the past." But even as I said the words, I knew they were a lie. We had changed the past with that kiss, and had opened a door we hadn't meant to. The room grew colder as the reality of the situation seeped back in, the warmth of our passion replaced by the starkness of the truth.
He nodded, his eyes never leaving mine. Then, with a quiet sigh, he reached out with his good arm and pulled me closer. "Lay down with me," he whispered, his voice barely a breath. "Please." There was something in his eyes, a desperation that I couldn't ignore. I knew he needed this, needed me, even if it was just for a little while.
I lay down beside him, our bodies fitting together like two pieces of a puzzle. His hand rested on my hip, the warmth of his touch seeping through my jeans. For a moment, we just lay there, our breaths syncing up, the throb of his heart matching the racing of mine. The room was bathed in the soft glow of a single candle, casting shadows across our faces and leaving us in a world of our own."I can't stop thinking about you," Reaper murmured, his voice thick with pain and emotion. "I know it's wrong, but I can't help it." His eyes searched mine, looking for understanding, for absolution. And in that moment, I knew that I couldn't give him either. We were both trapped in a cycle of desire and guilt that had no clear end.
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