Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
Gunnar
The bed is cold.
That's the first thing I notice when I wake up—the empty space beside me, sheets cool to the touch like she was never there at all.
Except she was.
I can still smell her on my pillow, that mix of vanilla and something floral she always wears.
Still feel the ghost of her skin against mine.
Still hear the way she said my name when she came apart in my arms.
I reach across the mattress anyway, some stupid part of me hoping I'm wrong.
Hoping she's just in the bathroom, or getting water, or standing by the window watching the sunrise.
But I know better.
Ingrid ran.
Again.
I sit up, scrubbing my hands over my face.
The clock on my nightstand reads 8:17 AM.
She's been gone for hours.
Probably left the second I fell asleep, sneaking out like last night meant nothing.
Like I didn't tell her I've wanted her for years.
Like she didn't fall apart in my arms and let me see her, really see her, for the first time.
My phone sits on the nightstand, silent.
I grab it anyway, check for messages.
Nothing.
Of course nothing.
I pull up her contact, thumb hovering over her name.
What would I even say?
Why did you run?
Come back.
I meant everything I said.
Instead I type:
We need to talk.
Send it.
Watch the screen.
The message shows delivered but not read.
She's probably deleted it without looking.
Or blocked my number.
Or thrown her phone in a lake.
Fuck.
I throw off the sheets and head to the bathroom.
The shower's scalding, steam filling the small space, but I can't wash away the feeling of her.
Can't stop replaying last night—the way she kissed me like she was drowning and I was air, the way her body responded even when her mind tried to protect her, the way she cried after, and I held her while she broke.
The way she promised to stay.
Just for tonight.
And then she left anyway.
I get dressed mechanically—jeans, t-shirt, boots.
Grab my cut from the back of the door.
The room looks the same as it always does.
Messy.
Lived-in.
No evidence that Fenrir's daughter spent the night in my bed except for the lingering scent and the ache in my chest.
I need coffee.
Need to function like a normal human being instead of someone whose entire world shifted last night while the girl he loves ran before sunrise.
The clubhouse kitchen is already occupied when I get downstairs.
Ulf's at the counter, dumping sugar into a mug that's probably more caffeine than liquid.
Hakon's at the table, feet propped up, scrolling through his phone.
They both look up when I walk in.
"Well, well," Hakon grins. "Look who finally emerged from his cave."
"Morning," I mutter, heading straight for the coffee pot.
"So?" Ulf turns, leaning against the counter. "Did you find her?"
I pour coffee, focus on keeping my hand steady. "Yeah."
"And?" Hakon's watching me now, that assessing look he gets when he knows something's up. "She give you shit for playing hero?"
"Something like that."
"Where is she?" Ulf asks. "You take her home?"
The question lands like a punch.
Where is she?
Not here.
Not in my bed, where she should be.
Not answering her fucking phone.
"She's fine," I say, which isn't a lie. "That's all that matters."
Hakon's eyes narrow. "You look like shit, man."
"Didn't sleep much."
"Why not?"
Because I was too busy memorizing the feeling of Ingrid in my arms.
Too busy trying to convince her she matters.
Too busy falling even more in love with a woman who doesn't believe she's worth keeping.
"Long night," I say instead.
Ulf exchanges a look with Hakon.
Great.
They know something's off.
"She okay though?" Ulf presses. "Ingrid. She wasn't too drunk or—"
"She's fine. I got her somewhere safe, she sobered up, end of story."
"Safe where?" Hakon asks.
"Not your business."
"Defensive," Hakon observes. "Interesting."
"Drop it."
"Make me."
Before I can respond—or punch him—my phone buzzes
A message from Runes, to the officers and full patches.
Kirkja in 15. Mandatory.
Perfect timing.
"Gotta go," I tell them, draining half my coffee in one scalding gulp. "Kirkja."
But I'm grateful for it.
Grateful for anything that keeps me from thinking about Ingrid.
Keeps me from going to her apartment and demanding to know why she left.
Keeps me from doing something stupid like admitting I'm in love with the VP's daughter and I don't know how to stop.
The chapel is already filling up when we arrive.
Long table in the center, officers at the head.
Runes in the president's chair, Fenrir to his right as VP.
The other officers flanking them—Oskar, Magnus, Rati, Ivar, Logi, Dag, Vanir, and Aesir.
Full patches taking their seats along the sides.
I slip into my usual spot, trying not to look at Fenrir.
Trying not to think about the fact that I slept with his daughter last night.
That I've been in love with her for years.
That she ran from me this morning, and I don't know if she's ever coming back.
Fenrir glances my way, nods.
Normal.
Casual.
He doesn't know.
Thank fuck.
Runes calls the meeting to order with a sharp rap of his gavel.
"Appreciate everyone getting here fast," he starts. "Got some updates on club business, then we need to talk about something new that's come up."
He runs through the usual—gun shipment arriving next week, legitimate business profits from the auto shop we opened last month, and Magnus’ construction company that the club’s been expanding over the last eight months, and an upcoming run to Atlanta for a meeting with another club.
I try to focus.
Try to care about quarterly earnings and interstate relations.
But my mind keeps drifting.
Where is she right now?
Is she at home, hiding?
At work, pretending everything's normal?
With those friends of hers, getting validation from the wrong people?
"—which brings me to the main issue," Runes continues, pulling me back to the present. "Our guys on the street are hearing rumors. Child trafficking ring operating up North, just below the border."
The room goes dead silent.
Every man here has kids, or nieces, or nephews.
Every man here knows trafficking is a line you don't cross.
"Details," Magnus says, voice hard.
"Not much yet," Runes admits. "Whispers, mostly. But consistent whispers. Someone's moving kids through Tallahassee, maybe using the I-10 corridor. Young ones. Eight, nine, ten years old."
My stomach turns.
"Who's running it?" Oskar asks.
"Don't know. Could be independents, could be organized. We're trying to get more intel."
"Anyone left from Los Coyotes?" someone suggests.
Runes shakes his head. "No, we obliterated them, and it honestly doesn't fit their MO. They're into drugs, guns, protection. This seems... different. Smaller operation, maybe."
Tor, sitting three seats down from me, speaks up.
His voice is tight, controlled, but I can hear the rage underneath.
"We need to shut this down."
Everyone looks at him.
Tor doesn't talk much in kirkja.
Keeps to himself, does his job, doesn't make waves.
But this—this is personal for him.
We all know why.
His past, the things that happened to him when he was younger, the scars he carries that nobody talks about.
"I agree," Fenrir says carefully. "But we need information first. Can't go in guns blazing without knowing who, where, how many."
"Then we get information," Tor says. "Fast. Because every day we wait—"
He doesn't finish.
Doesn't need to.
We all know what every day means.
More kids taken.
More innocence destroyed.
More lives ruined.
"I'm assigning a team to investigate," Runes announces. "Quiet. Careful. We gather intel, we confirm the operation exists, then we decide how to handle it."
"When you say handle—" Magnus starts.
"I mean we end it," Runes says flatly. "This isn't our usual business, but some shit you don't ignore. Trafficking kids falls into that category."
Nods around the table.
Agreement.
This is why I'm proud to wear this patch.
Yeah, we're criminals.
Yeah, we do things that would get us locked up if the cops caught us.
But we have lines.
Standards.
Kids are sacred.
Always.
"Gunnar," Runes says, and my head snaps up. "You're good at intel gathering. Asking questions without raising flags. I want you on this."
Fuck.
"Yeah," I hear myself say. "Whatever you need."
"I want Ulf and Hakon with you. Start downtown, the usual spots. Listen more than you talk. See what people know. Report back in three days. We reconvene, compare notes, and then figure out our next steps."
More discussion follows—logistics, safety protocols, what to do if we stumble onto something bigger than expected.
I try to pay attention.
Try to think about the run I’m heading on instead of Ingrid.
But my mind keeps splitting.
Trafficking investigation.
Ingrid's silence.
Duty and desire pulling in opposite directions.
Finally, Runes adjourns the meeting.
Everyone filters out, conversations breaking into smaller groups.
I stand, ready to escape.
Ready to figure out what the hell I'm doing about Ingrid.
I head out to the hall and find Hakon and Ulf, let them know what we need to do, and as I turn to leave Hakon catches my arm.
"You good for this?" he asks quietly. "This run? You seem... distracted."
"I'm fine."
"Because if something's going on—"
"I said I'm fine."
He studies me for a long moment, then nods. "All right. We start tomorrow. Meet here at ten, hit downtown, see what we can find."
"Got it."
I head for the exit, pulling out my phone.
Still no response from Ingrid.
Still that delivered but unread message sitting there like an accusation.
Fuck waiting.
Fuck giving her space.
She wants to run? Fine.
But I'm not letting her run far.
I know where she works.
Calming Spaces is in a nice part of Tallahassee, the kind of neighborhood with coffee shops and boutiques and women in yoga pants carrying tiny dogs.
Not my usual territory.
But Ingrid's been working here for three years now, manager of the place her mom and Fern own, Calming Spaces.