“Now you rest,” I said. “Tomorrow we talk to Bronc. Then we figure out what you want to do.”
She wiped at her mouth, even though there was nothing there. “What if I don’t know what I want?”
“You’re not on a timeline. I don’t know everything you’ve been through. Trauma and healing take time. Nobody is going to rush you.”
The words hung in the air, heavy with everything unsaid. I finished my tea, set the mug on the counter, and grabbed her plate. Harper headed back toward my bedroom and had crawled under the comforter. I draped the blanket over her and tucked it in around her shoulders. I wanted to touch her hair, brush the damp strands away from her face, but my hands stayed at my sides. The old ache flared up in my chest, but I let it burn.
“You’re safe,” I told her, voice rough. “No one can hurt you here. Not Steiner. Not anyone.”
She looked up at me, and for a second, the blue in her eyes flared alive. “Thank you,” she whispered. “For getting me out.”
I didn’t trust myself to speak, so I just nodded and stepped away, pulling the door shut behind me. I listened for a minute,heard the whisper of her breathing settle into something slow and even.
For the first time in years, I felt a piece of myself click back into place.
But the rest of me was still broken.
I spent an hour pacing the perimeter of the pack house before Bronc’s text came through:Ten minutes. Debrief. My office.
That gave me just enough time to scribble a note for Harper. I left it on the nightstand, along with a glass of water and a burner phone programmed with only my number. If she woke up alone, I didn’t want her thinking she’d been abandoned.
Her breathing was soft and deep. I stood in the doorway a moment longer than I should have, then snapped the lock and let the old habits take over.
I walked downstairs to the basement, shoulders squared, making myself ignore the eyes I could feel from people I’d passed in the hall. The rumors would be flying by tonight: that I’d brought home a broken girl, that the infamous Arsenal had finally found his own weakness. Let them talk. I’d survived worse.
When I walked into the meeting room, the entire command staff was there: Bronc at the head; massive scarred hands clasped on the table. Wrecker, as always, wore a look like he knew something you didn’t know and he’d be happy to fight you over it. Gunner leaned his chair back against the bookcase, arms folded, looking for all the world like he’d just wrestled a steer and made the animal regret its choices. Doc, glasses on his nose, eyes on his laptop, still in his lab coat; the dashing doctor curing what ails everyone. And finally, Big Papa, hands steepled, his presence grounding the whole room.
Six pairs of eyes tracked me as I slid into the seat between Bronc and Big Papa. Wrecker grinned, teeth sharp. “Late, Arsenal. Slipping in your old age?”
“Had to make sure the guest of honor made it to sleep without incident,” I said.
Wrecker gave a slow nod, like he approved. “Uh huh. Sleep.”
Bronc got serious. “How’s she doing?”
I shrugged. “Alive. Exhausted. She showered and crashed.”
Bronc wasted no time. “Good. We’ll keep it short. Report.”
I kept it clinical, just the facts: the infiltration, the extraction. I didn’t mention the way Harper looked at me when I pulled her from the van, or the way her body had collapsed into mine when she realized it was real. I didn’t mention the part of me that wanted to run back and check on her every five minutes, or the wolf inside me that kept howling for more.
Wrecker interrupted. “Maltraz showed up two hours before extraction.”
I nodded. “Yup. Full regalia. Steiner was playing the lapdog, but make no mistake—Maltraz owns that operation.”
Bronc frowned. “Trafficking?”
“Confirmed. Humans, wolves. All spelled and bound. They move them through the city and out by the ship channel. That’s where Steiner comes in. He owns the dock. The club looks like a pit stop. The real work happens though the train yards.”
Wrecker’s chest puffed out. “This info comes from Parker’s endless research.”
I wanted to shiver. “Seems last night was more than just a business meeting, however. He was there for a VIP room visit.”
I hesitated, and as sick as it made me, then told the truth. “Harper was given to Maltraz for the VIP session. When we pulled her out, she was… not herself. Wrecker can confirm—she didn’t even react when he cut the tracker out.”
A ripple of anger went around the table. Gunner’s jaw ticked. Big Papa let out a quiet breath and closed his eyes for a second.
“Goddamn,” Bronc said. “Any risk she’s been spelled?”
