Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Gunnar
The clubhouse parking lot is quiet when I pull in.
Too quiet.
It's almost midnight, but there should be more activity.
More noise.
Instead, there's just a handful of bikes and the dim glow of lights from inside.
I park the truck near the back entrance and cut the engine.
I sit there for a moment, staring at the building.
This is it.
The moment I face the consequences of what I've done.
I don't regret it.
Hell, I can't regret it, but I know there's going to be hell to pay.
I get out, circle to the truck bed, and pull back the tarp.
Ted Tomlinson is still unconscious.
The chloroform did its job.
His knees are a destroyed mess—blood soaked through the makeshift bandages I wrapped around them to keep him from bleeding out on the drive.
He's pale and clammy, but alive.
For now.
The back door opens.
Hakon and Ulf step out.
They see me, then see the truck, and within a few seconds they see what's in the bed.
"Holy shit," Hakon breathes. "Is that—"
"The guy who attacked Ingrid. Yeah."
"What the fuck did you do to his legs?"
"Shot them."
Ulf lets out a low whistle.
"Gunnar, what the hell? You went after him alone? Without backup? Without telling anyone?"
"I did what I had to do."
"Runes is going to lose his fucking mind."
"Probably."
I grab Ted under the arms, start dragging him out of the truck bed.
His body hits the ground with a thud.
He groans but doesn't wake.
"You going to help me or just stand there?" I ask.
They exchange a look before they move.
Hakon grabs one arm, Ulf the other.
Together, we drag Ted Tomlinson into the clubhouse, heading straight for the basement.
Into the room we use for situations exactly like this.
The room is concrete.
Windowless.
Soundproofed.
A single chair sits in the center, bolted to the floor.
Chains hang from the ceiling.
A drain in the floor for easy cleanup.
We've used this room before.
Not often.
But enough that everyone knows what it means when someone ends up here.
They don't leave.
We chain Ted to the chair.
His arms behind his back, ankles secured to the chair legs.
He's starting to stir now.
The chloroform is wearing off.
"Go get Runes," I tell Hakon. "And Fenrir. They need to know what's happening."
"They're not going to be happy."
"I know."
Hakon disappears upstairs.
Ulf stays, watching Ted with disgust.
"What did he do?" he asks. "I mean, I know he attacked Ingrid. But the knees—that's personal."
"He rapes children."
Ulf goes still.
"What?"
"The trafficking ring. He doesn't just transport them. He 'samples the merchandise' before they're sold. Breaks them in for buyers who want them already—" I can't finish the sentence. "He told me himself. Bragged about it like it was a perk of the job."
"Jesus Christ."
"Yeah."
Ted's eyes flutter open.
I spot confusion first, then pain—his destroyed knees screaming back to life, then he realizes what’s happening.
He sees where he is.
Sees the chains, the concrete, the drain.
Understands what's coming.
"No," he croaks. "No, please—I told you everything—I gave you the names—"
"And now you're going to tell them too."
Footsteps on the stairs.
Heavy.
Purposeful.
Runes appears first, his face like thunder.
Fenrir behind him, expression carved from stone, and my father.
His jaw tight, his eyes filled with something I can't quite read.
Disappointment?
Anger?
Both?
"Everyone out," Runes commands. "Except Gunnar."
Ulf leaves without a word.
The door closes behind him, and then it's just us.
Me, Runes, Fenrir, my father, and the man who beat my fiancée half to death.
Runes' voice is quiet. "You went alone."
That's worse than yelling.
"Yes."
"Without authorization. Without backup. Without telling a single fuckin’ person what you were planning."
"Yes."
"You could have been killed."
"I wasn't."
"That's not the point!" My father's voice cuts through, sharp and furious. "The point is you acted like a lone wolf instead of a member of this club. You put yourself at risk. You put the investigation at risk. You went rogue."
"I know."
"Do you? Do you understand what could have happened? If he'd had backup, if he'd been armed, if anything had gone wrong—"
"But it didn't."
"But it could have!"
Silence.
Heavy.
Suffocating.
My future father-in-law hasn't spoken yet.
Just stands there, arms crossed, watching me with those cold VP eyes that have made grown men confess their sins.
"Why?" he asks finally.
"You know why."
"I want to hear you say it."
I meet his gaze.
Don't flinch.
Don't look away.
"Because he hurt Ingrid. Because every hour he was free was another hour she suffered. Because waiting for the 'right' way to do things meant waiting while she woke up screaming from nightmares. Because I made her a promise, and I keep my promises."
"And the club? Your brothers? The chain of command that exists for a reason?"
"I'm sorry for the way I went about it." The words come out steady. True. "I should have told you. Should have asked for backup. I know I violated protocol, and I'll accept whatever consequences come from that."
"But?" Runes prompts.
"But I'm not sorry for what I did. I'm not sorry for getting the information we needed. I'm not sorry for bringing this piece of shit back here to face justice. And I'm not sorry for getting Ingrid's ring back."
The ring.
I pull it from my pocket.
Hold it up.
The emerald catches the dim light.
"He took this from her. Ripped it off her finger while she lay bleeding on the floor. And now it's coming home. Where it belongs."
Fenrir's expression shifts.
Just slightly.
Just enough for me to see the father underneath the VP.
The man whose daughter was brutalized by the piece of shit chained to the chair.
"What did he tell you?" Runes asks.
"Everything. Names of everyone in the operation. Locations—safe houses, routes, warehouses. How they move the kids. Who pays. Who profits."
I relay the information.
All of it.
The names Ted gave me.
The locations.
The schedule.
And then the last part.
The part that still makes my blood boil.
"He doesn't just transport them. He's a participant. He—" I have to force the words out. "He rapes them. Before they're sold. 'Samples the merchandise,' he called it. Breaks them in for buyers who want them already trained."
The room goes deathly quiet.
Runes' face hardens into something I've never seen before.
My father looks like he's going to be sick.
And Fenrir—
Fenrir turns to look at Ted.
The man who tortured his daughter.
The man who rapes children.
Something ancient and terrible awakens in his eyes.
"There's more," I say. "He told me about a shipment. Tomorrow night. Old motel on the Florida-Georgia line—the Pine Motel. Six kids being moved through. Small operation. Eight, maybe ten guys."
"Tomorrow night," Runes repeats.
"Yeah. If we move fast, we can intercept. Get those kids out. Take down a chunk of the network."
Runes is quiet for a long moment.
Processing.
Calculating.
Then he nods.
"We'll discuss the raid later. First—" His eyes land on Ted. "We deal with this."
"What about my punishment?" I ask.
"Six months of shit duties with the prospects. Every grunt job, every cleanup, every task no one else wants. You do it. Without complaint."
"Understood."
"And if you ever—ever—go rogue again without authorization, I'll have your patch. We clear?"
"Crystal."
Runes turns to Fenrir. "He's your daughter's attacker. You want the first crack?"
Fenrir's smile is terrifying. "I thought you'd never ask."
Ted starts screaming before we even really begin.
Just the sight of Fenrir approaching with a pair of pliers is enough to break whatever composure he had left. "Please—I told him everything—I cooperated—"
"You beat my daughter." Fenrir's voice is calm. Almost conversational. "You broke her ribs. Smashed her face. Cut her arm. Took her fuckin’ engagement ring."
"I was just following orders—"
"And you rape children."
The words hang in the air.
Heavy.
Damning.
"I—that's not—I didn't—"
"Don't." Fenrir crouches down, gets in Ted's face. "Don't lie to me. Not now. Not when we both know exactly what you are."
Ted's mouth opens.
Closes.
He has nothing to say.
Nothing that could possibly make this better.
"Tor."
The name echoes in the small room.
I hadn't heard him come in, but he's there now, standing in the doorway.
Face blank.
Eyes dead.
The look of a man who's about to confront his worst memories in human form.
"You don't have to be here," Runes says quietly. "No one would blame you."
"Yes, I do." Tor steps into the room. Closes the door behind him. "I spent years being afraid of men and women like him. Being broken by those like him. I need to see this."
Ted looks between us.
Four men.
All looking at him with varying degrees of hatred, disgust, and cold determination.
He starts to cry.
"Please. Please, I have money. I can give you money. I can give you more names—bigger names—people higher up—"
"We have everything we need," Runes says. "Now it's just about making sure you understand exactly how badly you fucked up."
Fenrir moves first.
The pliers clamp onto Ted's left ring finger.
The finger that probably wore a wedding ring.
The finger attached to the hand that beat Ingrid.
Fenrir twists.
Pulls.
The sound of bone separating from the socket is wet.
Organic.
Wrong.
Ted's scream is high-pitched.
Inhuman.
It echoes off the concrete walls, absorbed by the soundproofing, heard by no one except the men in this room.
The finger lands on the floor with a soft thump.
Blood spurts from the wound.
"Nine more where that came from," Fenrir says calmly. "And that's just the beginning."
The next two hours are the longest of my life, and the most satisfying.
We take turns.
Fenrir with the pliers, removing fingers one by one.
My father with a blowtorch, cauterizing the wounds just enough to keep Ted from bleeding out too fast.