Chapter Nineteen
SOUTH
The clubroom feels smaller than it should. Maybe it’s the weight of everything that just happened, or maybe it’s the way my ribs scream with every breath I take, but the walls seem to press in around us.
The familiar hum of brothers unwinding after a mission fills the space. Low voices, the clink of beer bottles, the chime of pool balls smacking against each other. Normal sounds that feel anything but normal tonight.
I’m slumped in one of the worn leather chairs, my body a map of pain. Every muscle aches, every bruise throbs, and the gash along my forearm burns where Lock stitched it up with more skill than enthusiasm. But none of that matters right now. Not when Ingrid is here, safe, with our son.
She’s standing beside my chair, Louis balanced on her hip like he weighs nothing. At one year old, he’s getting heavy, but Ingrid makes it look effortless. She always does. Her free hand hovers over the bandage on my shoulder, not quite touching, like she’s afraid she’ll hurt me even more.
“You need to be more careful,” she murmurs, her voice carrying that tone that’s part worry, part frustration, but all love. “These cuts are deeper than they should be. You should have gone to the hospital.”
I catch her wrist gently, my thumb brushing over her pulse point. “I’m fine, Angel. The doc patched me up good enough.”
“Good enough isn’t good enough, South.” Her eyes are fierce, protective, and always loving. “You have a family now. You can’t just—”
“I know.” The words come out rougher than I intend, exhaustion bleeding through. “I know, Ingrid. But I’m here. I’m alive. We’re all here.”
She softens at my words, her shoulders dropping. Louis makes a sleepy sound against her shoulder, and she shifts him slightly, her movements automatic. Even in the middle of lecturing me about my recklessness, she’s taking care of our boy.
“He’s been fussy all evening,” she says, smoothing down his hair. “All this chaos, people coming and going. His sleep schedule is going to be completely destroyed.”
I glance at the clock on the wall. Three-fifteen in the morning. Christ. No wonder my bones feel like they’re made of lead. “Poor little guy. This isn’t exactly baby-friendly hours.”
Ingrid’s laugh is tired but genuine. “Definitely not. We should get him to bed soon, or we’re gonna be paying for this for days.”
Louis chooses that moment to lift his head and look around the room with those wide, curious eyes he got from his mother. He’s not crying, but he’s clearly fighting sleep, his little fists rubbing at his face.
“Come here, buddy.” I hold out my arms, ignoring the pull in my shoulder. Ingrid hesitates for a second—she always does when I’m injured—but then she carefully transfers him to me.
The weight of my son in my arms is the best feeling in the world. Better than any painkiller, better than any victory. He settles against my chest, his tiny fingers gripping my cut, and for a moment, everything else fades away.
The pain, the exhaustion, the memory of tonight’s violence, it all takes a back seat to this.
“He missed you,” Ingrid says softly, her hand finding my uninjured shoulder. Her bright, gorgeous smile is lighting up like the angel she is.
“I missed him too.” I press a kiss to the top of Louis’ head, breathing in that baby smell that somehow makes everything feel right. “Missed both of you.”
Ingrid’s fingers trace along my cut, careful and gentle. “I hate when you go on these big wars. I know it’s part of the life. I know it’s important, but—”
“But you worry.”
“Of course I worry. You’re the father of my child, South. You’re my—” She stops, color rising in her cheeks, as she fights back her grin.
I look up at her, my heart doing something stupid in my chest. “I’m your what?”
She meets my eyes, and there’s something vulnerable there, something that makes my breath catch. “You’re my everything.”
The words hit me harder than any punch I took tonight. This woman, this incredible, fierce, beautiful woman who followed me across the country to help with Bella, who’s building a life with me despite all the chaos, despite the hurdles we faced, she’s everything to me too.
“Ingrid—”
“We should get Louis to bed,” she says quickly, like she doesn’t want to get started in an emotional conversation right now. But she doesn’t pull away, doesn’t break eye contact.
I’m about to respond, about to tell her that she’s my everything too, when I catch movement in my peripheral vision. Alpha and Haven are approaching, their expressions serious in a way that makes my stomach drop.
Something’s wrong.
I know it immediately, the way you know when a storm is coming. It’s in the set of Alpha’s shoulders, the tightness around Haven’s eyes. They’ve got that look. The one that means someones about to get news they don’t want to hear.
My arms tighten around Louis instinctively. Ingrid’s hand still rests on my shoulder as they step up to us.
“Can we have a chat?” Alpha says, his voice carefully neutral.
Ingrid glances between them, still focused on fussing with Louis’ little jacket. “We’re just heading to bed,” she says absently. “This little guy is way past his bedtime.”
“I’m sorry, Ingrid,” Alpha says, and there’s something in his tone that makes her freeze. “But this can’t wait.”
That’s when she really looks at them. Truly sees the gravity in their faces. Her hand grips my shoulder tighter, and I feel her start to tense.
“Haven, can you take Louis?” Alpha asks quietly.
The request hits the air like a physical blow. Ingrid’s whole body goes rigid, and my pulse rate spikes.
They want to take the baby.
That means whatever they’re about to tell us is bad enough that they don’t want him to witness it.
“No,” Ingrid says immediately, pulling back slightly. “No! What’s going on?”
Haven steps forward, her movements careful and gentle. “Let me just take him for a minute, South.”
“N-no!” The word comes out sharper, louder. Ingrid’s voice cracks on it, fear bleeding through. “What’s happening? What’s going on?”
I see it in her eyes, the panic starting to build.
She knows.
Somehow, some part of her knows that whatever’s coming is going to shatter everything.
The entire clubroom has gone quiet. Brothers who were talking and laughing only moments ago are now watching us. The atmosphere has shifted and is heavy.
I reach up with my free hand, finding Ingrid’s and squeezing. “Baby—”
“South, what’s going on?” She turns to me, her eyes wide and desperate. “Why do they want to take Louis? Why can’t this wait?”
Alpha takes a breath, and I see him choosing his words carefully. When he speaks, his voice is gentle but firm. “Haven’s just going to hold Louis for a minute while we talk. That’s all.”
Ingrid looks between Alpha and Haven, then down at me. There’s a war in her expression, a part of her that trusts these people fighting against the part that knows something terrible is coming.
Slowly, reluctantly, she nods.
Haven steps forward and eases Louis from my arms. Our son goes without protest, still half asleep, head lolling against Haven’s shoulder, blissfully ignorant of the storm gathering in the room.
And that’s when Ingrid starts to panic.
“No, no, no…” Her voice is barely there, barely a whisper, trembling like a wire about to snap.
She backs up until she bumps into the arm of my chair, her hands hovering uselessly in the air as if she’s trying to physically push back the truth before it reaches her.
“Something’s wrong. Something’s really wrong. ”
I get to my feet, every movement pulling at the bruises and burns I’ve been ignoring, and close the gap between us.
And when I wrap my arms around her, she’s shaking so hard it feels like she might vibrate apart.
Her breath comes in shallow bursts, uneven and desperate.
“Whatever it is…” she whispers into my chest, “… just tell me. Please. Just tell me.”
Alpha’s face is carved from grief. He chooses his words carefully, like each one might be the one that finally breaks her. “Hurricane was brave tonight, Ingrid. He fought so hard—”
“No…” It’s a soundless whimper, her hand flying to her chest like she’s trying to hold her heart in place.
Alpha presses on, his own voice tight. “He was in a fight with a bird who had a rigged explosive vest. He took her out, but the vest started a countdown—”
“No…” The word is quieter this time, weaker, like she’s being hollowed out with every syllable.
I feel her starting to sag in my arms, and I tighten my grip, bracing her as Alpha continues, “Part of the building collapsed, trapping him in. He stayed behind. He sacrificed himself so the women and his brothers could get out before it detonated.”
The words hit the air like shrapnel, and for a beat, the whole room freezes.
No one breathes.
The silence is heavy, suffocating, the kind that makes your ears ring.
But then, suddenly, Ingrid’s visceral scream tears through the clubhouse.
It’s not human, not really. It’s a raw, wailing sound ripped straight from somewhere deep and primal, the kind of sound you don’t just hear, you feel.
It crawls down my spine, vibrating in my bones.
My own breath stalls in my chest because it’s the sound of her world breaking in half.
“No!” she screams, the word bursting from her like a detonation. “No, no, NOOO!”
Her knees buckle completely, and we go down together, my own battered body taking the hit against the concrete as I wrap myself around her.
Her gut-wrenching sobs wrack her body, making her shake all over, as she presses her face against my chest, her voice breaking.
“N-not Hurricane. N-not him. He can’t be. He can’t be… gone!”
I feel my throat burn, my own grief bubbling hot and choking.
Hurricane. Jesus Christ. Hurricane.
The stubborn bastard who could make anyone laugh in the middle of chaos. The brother I never thought we’d lose.