Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
Gunnar
Ingrid's hand feels right in mine.
Such a simple thing—her fingers laced through mine as we walk into the clubhouse—but it makes something in my chest settle.
She's here.
She came back.
She's choosing to stay.
The main room is mostly empty, just a few prospects cleaning up and one or two members nursing beers at the bar.
Nobody pays us much attention as we head up the stairs and down the hallway toward my room.
Inside, I close the door behind us and flip the lock.
Not because I'm expecting anything.
Just because I want this moment to be ours.
Private.
Protected.
Ingrid stands in the middle of my room, looking around like she's seeing it for the first time.
Maybe she is, in a way.
The first time she was here, she was drunk and desperate.
The second time, she was running.
Now she's just... here.
Present.
Choosing this.
"You okay?" I ask.
"Yeah. Just—" She wraps her arms around herself. "Processing."
"Want to talk about it?"
She laughs softly. "That's all I've been doing today. Talking. First Mom, then Trisha and Angela, then Astrid and Geirolf. I'm talked out."
"Then we don't have to talk." I cross to her, pull her into my arms. "We can just... be."
She melts against me, her head finding that spot on my chest where it fits perfectly.
We stand like that for a long moment.
Just breathing.
Just existing together.
"I already know," she says quietly. "About the little girl. About what you did."
My arms tighten around her. "I couldn't leave her."
"I heard you went against orders. That you compromised the investigation."
"I did."
"And you'd do it again."
It's not a question.
"In a heartbeat."
She pulls back to look at me, her green eyes searching my face.
"You could've been killed. Those men—they had guns. You could've died trying to save her."
"But I didn't."
"But you could have." Her voice cracks. "And now you're going after them again. You're going to put yourself in danger again, and I'm supposed to just—what? Wait here and hope you come back?"
"Ingrid—"
"How am I supposed to do that?" Tears spill over, tracking down her cheeks. "How am I supposed to let you walk out that door knowing you might not come back? I just found you. I just stopped running. And now—"
I cup her face, brush the tears away with my thumbs.
"Hey. Look at me."
She does.
"I can't promise nothing will happen. I can't promise the raid won't be dangerous. But I can promise that I'll do everything in my power to come back to you. Because I have something to come back to now. Someone."
"That's not enough."
"It has to be. It's all I have."
She closes her eyes, more tears escaping. "I'm so scared, Gunnar."
"I know. Me too."
Her eyes snap open. "You're scared?"
"Of course I am." I rest my forehead against hers. "Not of the raid. Not of the danger. I'm scared of losing this. Losing you. Right when I finally have you."
"Then don't go."
"You know I can't do that."
"I know." Her voice is barely a whisper. "I just—I needed to say it."
"I understand."
She reaches up, fists her hands in my shirt, pulls me closer.
"If something happens to you—"
"It won't."
"You don't know that."
"No. I don't. But I know that I've trained for this. I know that I'll have my brothers with me. And I know that I have every reason in the world to make it home." I kiss her forehead. "You're my reason, Ingrid. You've always been my reason."
She makes a sound—half sob, half laugh—and then she's kissing me.
Desperate and fierce and full of everything she can't say.
I kiss her back just as hard.
Pouring every promise, every hope, every unspoken word into it.
We stumble backward until her legs hit the bed.
She pulls me down with her, and we fall together, a tangle of limbs and heat and need.
"Gunnar—"
"I've got you." I hover over her, brushing hair from her face. "I've always got you."
"I know." She pulls me down for another kiss. "I know."
We stay like that—tangled together, kissing, touching, holding on.
Not sex.
Not tonight.
Just closeness.
Just connection.
Just two people trying to memorize each other before the world pulls them apart.
I don't know how long we lie there.
Long enough for the light outside to fade.
Long enough for my heart to feel full in a way it never has before.
Long enough to start believing that maybe, somehow, everything will be okay.
Then my phone rings.
The sound cuts through the quiet like a knife.
Ingrid tenses beneath me.
I pull back, grab the phone from my pocket.
Fenrir.
Fuck.
"Yeah?"
"They're moving. Tonight. Intel just came in—shipment's happening now, not Thursday."
My blood runs cold. "Where?"
"Warehouse off the interstate, just like we thought. We roll in thirty minutes. Get to the staging point."
"On my way."
I hang up.
Ingrid's already sitting up, her face pale in the dim light. "It's happening," she says. "Isn't it?"
"Yeah. They're moving the kids tonight."
"So, you have to go."
"I have to go."
She nods slowly.
I can see the fear in her eyes, the way her hands are shaking.
But she doesn't ask me to stay.
Doesn't beg or cry or make this harder than it already is.
She just looks at me with those green eyes and says, "Come back to me."
"I will."
"Promise me."
I take her face in my hands, kiss her hard. "I promise."
Then I'm moving—grabbing my cut, checking my piece, shoving extra clips into my pockets.
Ingrid watches from the bed, arms wrapped around her knees.
"Will you stay here?" I ask. "Until I get back?"
"Where else would I go?"
"I don't know. Home. Astrid's."
"This is home." She says it quietly, like she's just realizing it herself. "Wherever you are. That's home now."
The words hit me square in the chest.
I cross back to her, kiss her one more time. "I love you."
"I—" She stops, swallows hard. "Just come back. Okay?"
"I will."
Then I'm out the door, jogging down the hallway, trying not to think about what I'm leaving behind.
The staging point is a gas station about ten miles from the warehouse.
Fenrir's truck is already there when I pull in, along with two other vehicles.
I park my bike, head over to where the team is gathering.
Tor.
Fenrir.
Hakon.
Ulf.
Magnus.
All in dark clothes, cuts hidden under jackets, weapons concealed but ready.
"About time," Hakon says.
"Fuck off. I'm here."
"Everyone knows the plan?" Fenrir asks.
Nods all around.
"Intel says six kids in the shipment. Van and a bus, both white, no markings. They're loading at the warehouse, planning to move out within the hour. We intercept before they hit the highway."
"How many of them?" Magnus asks.
"Unknown. At least six, maybe more. They'll be armed."
"What are the terms of this run, rules? Gotta lay it out for everyone." Tor's voice is tight, controlled.
"Protect the kids at all costs. Take down anyone who gets in the way." Fenrir's eyes are hard. "These people traffic children. They don't get mercy."
"Understood."
We pile into the vehicles—me with Hakon and Ulf in one truck, Fenrir with Tor and Magnus in the other.
The drive to the warehouse takes fifteen minutes.
Fifteen minutes of silence, of checking weapons, of steeling ourselves for what's coming.
Fifteen minutes of me thinking about Ingrid.
About her face when I left.
About the words she almost said but didn't.
About the promise I made to come back.
I have to keep that promise.
No matter what.
The warehouse looms out of the darkness—big, industrial, surrounded by chain-link fence and scrub brush.
Two white vehicles sit in the loading bay.
A van.
A bus.
Just like the intel said.
"There," Ulf points. "Movement by the van."
I see them—figures moving in the shadows, loading something into the vehicles.
Not something.
Someone.
Kids.
I can see them now, small shapes being herded like cattle.
Six of them, just like Fenrir said.
Scared.
Helpless.
Rage burns through my veins.
"Hold position." Fenrir's voice comes through the radio. "Wait for my signal."
We watch.
Count heads.
Eight men total, maybe more inside.
All armed.
This isn't going to be clean.
"On my mark," Fenrir says. "Three... two... one... go."
We move.
Silent and fast, spreading out to cover the exits.
For maybe thirty seconds, we have the element of surprise.
Then someone spots us.
"Contact!"
The shout echoes across the lot, and suddenly everything goes to shit.
Gunfire erupts.
Muzzle flashes light up the darkness.
I'm moving on instinct, taking cover behind a rusted shipping container, returning fire.
One trafficker goes down.
Then another.
But there are more than we thought—ten, twelve, spilling out of the warehouse like roaches.
"Fuck!" Hakon's voice in my ear. "They were waiting for us!"
A trap.
They knew we were coming.
"Push forward!" Fenrir commands. "Get to the vehicles!"
I break from cover, sprinting toward the van.
The kids.
I have to get to the kids.
Bullets whip past me.
I fire back, drop one man, keep moving.
Twenty feet from the van.
Fifteen.
Ten.
I can see them through the window now—small faces pressed against the glass, terrified eyes finding mine.
I'm almost there.
Almost—
I see him at the last second.
One of the men from the bar—the nervous younger one, except he's not nervous anymore.
He's coming at me from the right, something glinting in his hand.
I try to turn, try to bring my gun up.
Too slow.
The blade catches me in the side.
White-hot pain explodes through my body.
I stagger, grab the man's arm, slam my elbow into his face.
He stumbles back, blood gushing from his nose.
I shoot him.
Once.
Twice.
He drops.
But the damage is done.
I look down.
The knife is still in my side, buried to the hilt.
Blood—my blood—spreading across my shirt like a dark stain.
Fuck.
The van's engine roars to life.
No.
I lurch toward it, but my legs aren't working right.
Everything's going fuzzy at the edges.
The van pulls away, tires squealing.
The bus follows.
The kids.
They're taking the kids.
"Gunnar!" Someone's yelling my name. "Gunnar, get down!"
More gunfire.
I'm on my knees now.
When did that happen?
Hands grab me—Hakon, I think—dragging me behind cover.
"Fuck, he's hit! Gunnar's hit!"
"How bad?" Fenrir's voice, somewhere close.
"Bad. Knife in the side. Lot of blood."
Pain.
So much pain.
"The kids—" I try to say.
"They're gone. We have to go. Now."
Gone.
They got away.
The traffickers got away with the kids.
I failed.
"Stay with me, Gunnar." Hakon's face is swimming above me. "Stay awake. We're getting you out of here."
I try to focus.
Try to hold on.
But everything's slipping.
The pain fading to something distant and cold.
Ingrid.
I promised her.
I promised I'd come back.
"Move!" Fenrir's shouting. "Get him in the truck! Now!"
Hands lifting me.
Agony ripping through my side.
I scream—or try to.
It comes out as a groan.
"Hold on, brother." Ulf's voice. "Hold on."
I'm in the truck now.
Lying across the back seat.
Someone's pressing something against my side—shirt, jacket, I don't know.
Pressure.
Pain.
"Don't pull out the knife," Hakon's saying. "Leave it in. Keep pressure around it."
"I know." Fenrir's voice, tight with fear. "Just drive."
The truck lurches forward.
Every bump sends fresh waves of agony through my body.
I'm fading.
Losing the fight to stay conscious.
"Gunnar." Hakon's face again. "Gunnar, stay with me. Think about Ingrid. Think about going home to her."
Ingrid.
Red hair.
Green eyes.
The way she looked at me before I left.
Come back to me.
I promised.
I fucking promised.
"That's it." Hakon's voice sounds far away. "Keep thinking about her. We're almost there."
I try to hold on.
Try to stay awake.
But the darkness is pulling at me.
Cold and heavy and impossible to resist.
The last thing I hear is Fenrir on the phone. "Get Aesir and Vail to the clubhouse. Gunnar's hurt bad. Real bad. And call Ingrid—she needs to know."
Then nothing.
Just darkness.
And the fading hope that I'll get to keep my promise.