Chapter Thirty-Five – Whatever Happens Here, We Remain
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Whatever Happens Here, We Remain
O ne by one, the other packs emerge from their posts. They approach slowly, eyes scanning, weapons lowered. No one speaks; they just circle the lot, forming a loose perimeter around us.
“My nyra. Recovered from a trafficking site. Unresponsive, but breathing. No visible bleeding.”
He pauses. “Yes. Law enforcement. No, not on duty. Get us a bus. Fast.”
He ends the call, jaw set tight, and his eyes meet mine. “ETA seven minutes.”
I scan the lot and spot a quiet corner against the warehouse wall, away from the bodies. I carry Jo there, cradled tight against my chest.
My brothers follow close, and together we sink to the ground.
Shane settles to my right, slips an arm under Jo’s shoulders, and eases her head onto his chest. Jay drops to my left and gently lifts her legs across his lap. I keep my hands on her hips, anchoring her between us.
Her uncles appear in front of us, all three crouching low, faces tight. They look at her like they can’t believe she’s there. Jean reaches forward and rests a hand on her head, his fingers brushing her hairline.
He looks up at us. “You did it.”
I close my eyes, leaning my head back against the wall. “We did.”
She’s here. Alive. That’s all that matters.
I hear more steps. Josh Solomon and Jordan Harris stop just short of us, silent for a beat, eyes locked on Jo.
“What do you need?” Josh asks.
I look at the zip-ties on her wrists and ankles. “A knife.”
Jordan kneels, reaching to the side of his boot and pulling a tactical blade from the sheath clipped just above his ankle.
He holds it out, handle-first, toward her uncles.
René takes it with a nod, crouches closer, and slices through the zip-ties in two practiced motions.
The bindings fall loose like dead vines, and he passes the knife back to Jordan.
I look up at Josh. “Aranya was packing. Inside we saw papers, flash drives, laptops. A lot. He’s alive. If you get him to talk, or scan what’s in there, you might hit the rest of his operation before they find out what happened here and vanish.”
Josh nods. He turns and leaves with Jordan beside him .
Minutes blur as the packs shift into motion.
David and Sam are both on their phones, voices clipped and urgent. The other aegis pull on gloves and start moving methodically, some into the warehouse, others to the sedans. Every object becomes evidence.
We wait together, humming, breathing in Jo’s scent, watching her chest rise and fall, basking in the fact that she’s right here in our laps.
Her uncles don’t move far. They sit on the floor too, forming a wall in front of us.
Then we hear sirens, distant at first, but rising fast, before cutting out as the ambulance pulls into the lot. Two EMTs jump out and freeze.
They look at us and I know what they are seeing: three huge aegis on the ground holding someone unconscious. There’s blood on our clothes, blood on our hands. A spray caught Shane near the jaw, leaving a dark streak down his cheek.
Then they look at the two bodies by the car, eyes flickering to the armed aegis around the lot. I see the fear hitting their faces.
One of them starts reaching for a radio, probably about to call for police backup, but Sam’s already there. He flashes his badge and says something low and firm.
I can hear, but I don’t care enough to make sense of the words. Federal oversight. You’re not in danger. They’re her pack.
The younger EMT looks like he wants to argue, but the older one, gray beard and sharp eyes, gives a single nod and steps forward, unzipping his kit.
“Her name is Johane Larsen,” Shane says quietly when they reach us, lifting her just enough so they can see her face. “She’s our nyra.”
The older EMT nods, kneeling beside her.
“Mrs. Larsen?” His voice stays calm, almost soft. “Can you hear me? Can you squeeze my hand?”
He takes her hand and waits. She doesn’t move at first, but a faint breath escapes her, thin and shaky. Her lips twitch, her eyes flutter like she’s fighting to open them.
“She’s registering,” the medic says under his breath.
He clicks his penlight on, tilts her chin, and eases her eyelid open. “Sorry, sweetheart. Just checking your pupils.”
The light flashes once across each eye. “Small and sluggish. That’s a heavy sedative.”
The other medic wraps a cuff around her arm. I watch the pressure build, the machine beep, the numbers flash.
“Blood pressure’s low,” he says. “Not crashing, but we’ll need to monitor it.”
“Please don’t move her without one of us,” I say, but it’s not really a request. If they agree, my voice stays soft. If they don’t, it won’t. No one’s taking her from us now .
The older medic studies us for a moment, his expression calculating.
“Alright,” he says. “One of you rides in the back with her.”
“Me,” Shane says immediately.
The EMT gives a sharp nod to his partner, who turns and jogs quickly to the ambulance. He pulls out a collapsible stretcher and wheels it toward us, tires whispering against the gravel.
The older medic gestures toward it. “We’ll do it slow. On your count.”
We move together, carefully shifting her between us. Her head rolls slightly, but Shane catches it. My hands stay on her waist until the last possible second as we lower onto the stretcher. Jay tucks the blanket tight over her legs before letting go.
Her lips part, and she makes a sound, barely audible.
“We’ve got you,” I whisper. “You’re okay. You’re safe now.”
Once she and Shane are inside, the EMTs shut the doors. The engine starts, a low rumble in the quiet night, but before it pulls away, a Bronco rolls up from the far end of the lot and stops beside us.
Otto Bielke steps out of the driver’s seat. He walks straight to Jay and hands him the keys. “Go with her,” he says. “We’ll take care of the rest here.”
Jay doesn’t hesitate, just nods and moves.
I glance at Otto and give him a quiet nod of thanks. I climb into the passenger seat, and Jo’s uncles file into the back. The doors shut with soft thuds as Jay guns the engine, and we follow the ambulance close behind.
It takes almost twelve hours for Jo to be fully awake.
The doctors say she was deeply sedated, most likely with a benzodiazepine mixed with another compound they couldn’t identify. Whatever it was, it hit hard and held on.
Her uncles stayed through the night, quiet and present. Then, in the first hours of the morning, they took the Bielkes’ Bronco and drove back to our home in Milstone to grab a change of clothes for her and for us.
When she finally opens her eyes, all three of us exhale in relief.
“I knew you would come for me,” she whispers.
I cup her face. “Of course we did.”
Shane kisses her mouth softly, then her forehead.
Jay leans closer. “We would set the whole world on fire before we let you go, Jo,” he says.
She remembers the beginning clearly enough.
The woman who approached her at the courthouse said the bathroom was out of service and offered to show her another one.
Jo followed. Then, the man stepped out of a hallway door and pressed a gun into her ribs.
He told her to be quiet, said they only wanted to talk, but if she didn’t cooperate, he’d shoot.
They forced her into the car. But then, the woman stuck her with a needle, and after that, it’s mostly a blur.
She remembers waking up once, groggy and head pounding, in a locked room. She tried the door. Screamed.
“I was scared, but I knew any minute you’d show up to take me back,” she says.
But then another man came in with a gun in hand and the same woman with him. Another needle, and she was gone again. She remembers almost nothing after that. Just a flash of us at the car. Our voices. The way we smelled.
I want to slowly kill every single fucker who touched her — the bitch who stuck needles in her included — but I’m grateful she was out for most of it. She didn’t see the men who brought her die, didn’t see their bodies, didn’t see the blood. She was spared that part.
When her uncles return, Alice and Jayme are with them.
Alice is already crying when she comes in. She rushes straight to Jo’s side and folds her into a hug. They cling to each other, crying together, faces buried in each other’s necks.
We’d been humming to Jo all night, only stopped a couple hours ago, but we start again the second we see her crying. The sound rises from our chests without effort, a lullaby only scent-mates understand.
Jayme stands in front of us and just stare for a while. Then he moves. He hugs Shane first. Shane freezes for a second, then claps him on the back, rough and awkward.
Jayme goes on to hug me. Then Jay.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m really sorry for what you all went through.”
I didn’t think I could be more surprised, but Alice did it. When she untangles from Jo, she hugs us too. Each of us, one by one.
“Thank you,” she sobs. “Thank you for bringing her back.”
Jo watches it happen, a soft smile on her face. “I keep making you rush to hospitals because of me, Al,” she tells Alice.
Alice makes a sound, half-cry, half-laugh.
They leave just before lunch. Not long after, Fontes and S?nia arrive. She brings flowers, and Fontes shakes our hands.
“Proud of you guys,” he says. “You did the right thing.”
He pulls something from his pocket and sets it on Jo’s bedside table: her truck keys. He turns to her. “I recovered your purse from the courthouse last night. It’s in the truck now. I parked it in the hospital lot. Figured you might need it.”
Then they’re gone.
The room is still crowded with two packs — us and Jo’s uncles — but no one wants to leave and lose sight of her. We lean against the walls since there’s no room for six chairs.
Jo talks with her uncles through the afternoon, telling them how we met at another hospital. It feels like another life. Like everything before bonding with her was just a prelude. A waiting room. Now is real .
She’s discharged by evening.