Outcasts (Badlands 3)

“Brat, you only grazed me,” he explained when he got ahold of himself with the audacity to keep givin me that gorgeous smile of his that showed all his perfect teeth.

“What happened?” Cobra yelled, bustin through the door like a man on a mission.

“Your friend is a goddamn asshole,” I answered, shoving past Grimm.

“Your gun’s somewhere in that shitty water. Have fun fishin it out,” I called back over my shoulder.

Chapter Eleven

I didn’t get to make a dramatic descent back to the

room we’d been in and perform a miracle on my filthy clothes.

“Brat,” Grimm called. He caught up to me, taking my hand firmly in his. “We need to have a private discussion.” He was pullin me away without givin me much choice in the matter, much to Cobra’s amusement.

“Talk later,” he mouthed at me just before I disappeared back into the stairwell I’d come out of.

“You’re leaving Cobra alone with those men lurkin around?” I hissed, trying to pull away. I was well prepared to go back and kick ass if need be. My muscles protested at that idea, but Cobra was the brother everyone wished they had—unless he was tryna get in your pants; then, he was somethin else entirely.

“You’re doing that pain in the ass thing,” Grimm said. He let my hand go and proceeded to scoop me up at the knees. “He can take care of himself, and actually hit his fucking target.” He slung me over his shoulder.

“What the hell are you doin? Put me down!” My voice echoed in the stairwell.

He ignored my protests and carried me back to the room we’d been in the night before. When he sat me down, he pushed the door shut and caged me between it and his body.

“I’m going to ask you a question, and I want you to answer me with the first thing that comes to mind. Can you do that, Brat?”

Nervous about where this was goin, I wanted to drop kick him in the balls. Trustin him nonetheless, I slowly nodded.

“What is it I want you to do?” he asked again.

“You want me to answer a question with the first thing I feel and nothin else.” I repeated, and he nodded.

“The man you shot in the head, the one whose blood you haven’t realized is on your face. How did it make you feel when pieces of his brain came out of his skull?”

“Good. Powerful. Alive,” I tossed out all three.

“And how does that make you feel?”

“Scared, like I don’t know myself anymore. That you won’t like me this way.”

He nodded again like he already knew this, and cupped my face.

I turned my cheek into his dirty, bloody palm, not caring it was adding to my filthy face.

“Your imperfections make you perfect, Brat. You’re the most beautiful fucking thing I’ve ever seen. That darkness you’ve come to know…it has you feeling overwhelmed, but I promise you’re not alone. I won’t ever let you go.”

Hadn’t he told me he wasn’t good at talkin? Every time he opened his mouth and said somethin meaningful, I fell for him a little more.

“Grimm. You are…”

“I’m basically a king, so by default, you’re a queen."

“I was gonna say you’re a goddamn idiot for not makin a move sooner than this. You’ve always been my dark, regal reaper,” I teased, pulling his mouth down to mine.

He eagerly obliged, and I selfishly demanded more, attacking his mouth with mine, but he pulled away once again, leavin me keyed up with no relief—not to mention pissed off.

“I know you ain’t celibate. I’ve heard you plenty. I can feel your dick is hard, so I know it’s not me in general. So why can’t you touch me?”