"You don't want to do this," Fenrir says, voice hard. "We're just taking the girl. You can walk away."
"She's ours. Paid for. Property."
The word makes my trigger finger itch.
"She's a child," I say. "Not property. And we're leaving."
"You're making a big mistake," one of them says. "You have any idea who you're fucking with?"
"Don't care."
Movement behind me—the girl sobbing quietly.
I crouch down, turn to face her, keeping my body between her and the men.
"Hey honey," I say softly. "I'm not gonna hurt you, okay? But I am gonna get you away from these bad men. Can you do that? Can you come with me?"
She's crying too hard to speak.
Just nods.
Small.
Terrified.
Trusting me because she has no other choice.
I stand, scoop her up.
She weighs almost nothing.
Wraps her arms around my neck, buries her face against my shoulder.
"We're walking out now," Fenrir says. "Don't follow."
The traffickers don't move.
But their eyes promise they’re going to be violent.
We back toward the door, weapons drawn now, no longer pretending.
The bartender has a phone to his ear—probably calling cops.
Fine.
Let him.
We'll be gone before they arrive.
Outside, the parking lot's darker than I remember.
"Move," Fenrir orders. "Now."
We run for the truck.
I'm still holding the girl.
She's shaking so hard I can feel it through my whole body.
