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.
