Don't want to let go of her hand.
But I force myself back.
Give Gwen room to work.
Watch helplessly as she checks vitals, examines injuries, calls out findings.
"Broken ribs—at least two, maybe three. Facial contusions, possible fracture to the orbital bone. Deep laceration on the left arm—not arterial, but needs sutures. Signs of abdominal trauma—we need imaging. Could be internal bleeding."
Internal bleeding.
The words hit like a punch.
"Reynolds is on his way," Mom says. She's beside me now, professional mode engaged despite the fear in her eyes. "What do you need?"
"More pressure on that arm wound. And someone call ahead—if there's internal bleeding, she needs a CT. We can't handle that here."
"Hospital means police," Fenrir says. His voice is flat. Controlled. Barely. "Questions we can't answer."
"Hospital means saving her life if her organs are bleeding out," Gwen snaps. "We can deal with the police later."
"Reynolds has contacts," Mom says. "People who don't ask questions. Let him make some calls."
I don't care about police.
Don't care about questions.
Don't care about anything except the woman bleeding on the floor.
"What happened?" I manage. "Who did this?"
Fenrir's jaw tightens.
"She was conscious when I found her. Just for a minute." He pauses. "It was a message, Gunnar. For you. For the club. About the trafficking."
The trafficking.
Of course.
Those bastards.
Those fucking bastards.
"A man posing as a client," Fenrir continues. "Attacked her after Fern left. Beat her. Cut her. Told her to tell us to back off. 'This is the last warning.'"
Last warning.
They came after my fiancée to send me a message.
Hurt the woman I love because I tried to save children from monsters.
The rage that fills me is unlike anything I've ever felt.
Cold.
Calculated.
Lethal.
