Chapter 13 #2
"Yes. Thank you."
"Consider my debt paid." The radiologist nods once, then disappears back through the doors.
They bring Ingrid out on a gurney.
She's still unconscious, but her color is better.
Her breathing is steadier.
I take her hand immediately.
Don't let go.
"Let's get her home," Reynolds says.
Home.
The clubhouse.
Where she'll be safe.
Where I can protect her.
Where no one will ever hurt her again.
We get her out to her father’s truck and she wakes up, her eyes fluttering open.
Unfocused at first, then finding me.
Her voice is raspy. "Gunnar?"
Broken and weak and the most beautiful sound I've ever heard.
"I'm here. I'm right here, baby."
"What—" She tries to move, winces. "Where—"
"Don't move. You're hurt. We're taking you somewhere safe."
"The spa. There was a man. He—" Her face crumples. "He took my ring, Gunnar. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I tried to stop him but he—"
"Shh. I don't care about the ring. I care about you."
"But it meant something—the fifty years—"
"I'll get you another ring. I'll get you a hundred rings. None of it matters as long as you're okay."
Tears spill down her cheeks.
Mixing with the blood and the bruises.
"I was so scared. He said—he said it was a warning. For you. For the club. About the trafficking."
"I know. Fenrir told me."
"He said to back off or—or next time it would be a funeral."
The rage surges again.
I push it down.
She needs me to be calm right now.
Needs me here, present, focused on her.
The killing can come later.
"No one's going to hurt you again," I tell her. "I swear it. I swear on my life, Ingrid. No one touches you ever again."
She closes her eyes.
More tears falling.
"I want to go home."
"We're going to the clubhouse. Reynolds needs to—"
"No." Her eyes open. "If I have to stay at the clubhouse I’m staying in your room. I don't want to be in the medical room. I don't want to—" Her voice breaks. "I just want to be somewhere that feels safe. Please."
How can I say no to that?
How can I deny her anything?
"Okay," I say softly. "Okay, baby. My room. Whatever you need."
Not too long passes before we’re back to the clubhouse, and getting her into the clubhouse is a production.
People everywhere.
Word spread fast.
Charm is waiting at the entrance, her face streaked with tears.
"My baby. My baby girl."
"Mom." Ingrid's voice is weak but she reaches for her mother. "I'm okay. I'm okay."
She's not okay.
Anyone can see she's not okay.
But Charm just nods, wipes her eyes, helps us get Ingrid inside.
Astrid appears out of nowhere.
Pale.
Terrified.
"Ingrid. Oh god, Ingrid."
"I'm fine. I'm—"
"You're not fine. You're—" Astrid stops. Takes a breath. "What do you need? What can I do?"
"Just—be here. Please."
"I'm not going anywhere."
We make it to my room.
Our room.
Reynolds follows, doing a final check once she's settled in the bed.
"The ribs are going to hurt for weeks," he says. "No strenuous activity. Shallow breaths will be easier than deep ones at first. Ice for the swelling on her face. Keep the arm wound clean and dry—I'll come back tomorrow to check the sutures."
"What about pain?"
"I'll leave some medication. Nothing too strong—we need to monitor for any changes in consciousness given the head trauma." He looks at me. "She needs rest. Quiet. And someone with her at all times for the next forty-eight hours."
"I'm not leaving her side."
"Good." He packs up his bag. "I'll check in tomorrow. Call me if anything changes."
He leaves.
Mom and Charm and Astrid hover for a while longer, but eventually Ingrid asks for quiet.
Just me.
Just us.
They file out reluctantly.
Promising to be right outside.
Promising to bring food, water, anything she needs.
Then it's just us.
In our room.
In the dim light.
Her, broken in our bed.
Me, sitting beside her, holding her hand.
"I'm sorry," she whispers.
"Don't. Don't you dare apologize."
"But if I hadn't posted about the engagement on Facebook—that's how he found me. He said he saw the announcement. Saw the ring. Knew where I worked—"
"This is not your fault." I squeeze her hand. "None of this is your fault. The only person responsible is the man who did this. And I swear to you—I swear on everything I am—he's going to pay for it."
"Gunnar—"
"He's going to pay for every bruise. Every cut.
Every tear you've cried." My voice is steady.
Cold. "And I'm going to get your ring back.
That ring meant something. It was supposed to be on your finger for fifty years.
For our fifty years. And some piece of shit trafficker doesn't get to take that from us. "
She's crying again.
Quiet tears.
"I love you," she says.
"I love you too. More than anything. More than my own life."
"Promise me you'll be careful. When you go after them. Promise me you'll come back."
"I promise."
"I can't lose you. Not now. Not after—" She gestures weakly at herself, at her injuries. "I couldn't survive losing you."
"You won't. I'll come back. I always come back."
She nods.
Closes her eyes.
"Stay with me?"
"Always."
I lie down beside her—carefully, so carefully, mindful of her injuries.
She shifts closer.
Rests her head on my shoulder.
The only part of her that isn't bruised or broken.
"I'm tired," she murmurs.
"Then sleep. I'll be here when you wake up."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
Her breathing evens out.
Deepens.
She's asleep.
I lie there in the darkness, holding the woman I love, feeling her heartbeat against my side.
Proof that she's alive.
Proof that I didn't lose her.
But as I stare at the ceiling, the rage comes flooding back.
Cold.
Calculated.
Absolute.
They came after my family.
They hurt the woman I'm going to marry.
They took her ring—the symbol of everything we're building together.
And now they're going to learn what happens when you touch what belongs to a Raider.
I don't know who this man is.
Don't know where to find him.
But I will.
And when I do, he's going to wish he'd never been born.
That's not a threat.
That's a promise.
The same way I promised Ingrid I'd come back.
The same way I promised to spend fifty years loving her.
Some promises you keep no matter what.
This is one of them.