"Please," she whispered, her voice so faint I had to lean closer to hear it. "No more. Please, no more." My heart twisted painfully in my chest. I lowered my head until my lips were near her ear, keeping my voice steady despite the storm of emotions raging inside me.
"You're safe, Pet," I murmured. "We've got you. I'm here. Logan's here. Ryder's here. No one's going to hurt you anymore." I had no idea if she could hear me, if my words penetrated the fog of trauma and pain that enveloped her, but I needed to say them anyway. Needed her to know, somehow, that she wasn't alone anymore.
The paramedics worked around us, attaching monitors, checking her vitals, and preparing for transport. Logan hadn't moved, his arms still cradling Cade against his chest, his eyes fixed on her face with an intensity that spoke volumes about his own guilt and anguish. Footsteps approached the ambulance, and an enforcer appeared at the open doors, his breath coming in sharp pants as if he'd been running.
"We've got another casualty in the bunker," he said, his voice tight. "Bad. Need medical assistance stat." I turned to face him, my hand never leaving the oxygen mask on Cade's face.
"Who?" I demanded, though I already knew I didn't care. Not when Cade was lying here, broken and traumatised. The enforcer hesitated, his eyes flickering between me and Ryder. "One of the men. Took a bullet to the leg during the breach. Losing blood fast." Something cold and hard settled in my chest, a clarity of purpose I hadn't felt in weeks. I met the enforcer's eyes, my voice dropping to a deadly whisper.
"Let him fucking die."
I slammed the ambulance doors shut before he could respond, sealing us in with Cade and the medical team. The paramedic at the front called out, "We're rolling!" as the engine roared to life. Ryder jumped onto the rear step, knocking twice on the door before peeling away to coordinate the convoy and continue the hunt for Damien.
Inside, I returned to my position, holding the oxygen mask steady as the ambulance lurched forward into the night. Cade's pulse fluttered weakly beneath my fingertips where they pressed against her temple, each beat a fragile affirmation of her survival. Logan continued to whisper to her, a constant stream of reassurance.
"You're safe, Princess. You're safe now."
I watched them, this broken girl and the man who had once been her tormentor, now her fiercest protector. My own voice was too choked with emotion to speak aloud, but in my head, I made a vow that burned like fire in my veins.
"I'll piece you back together, Cade," I promised silently. "Then I'll burn the world for what they did to you."
The ambulance screamed through the snow-laden streets, each wail of the siren matching the silent scream trapped in my chest. Cadence trembled against me, her skeletal frame barely making an impression beneath the thermal blankets. The paramedics worked around us with practiced efficiency, checking vitals, adjusting the oxygen mask Cole held steady overher face, calling ahead to the hospital. But I barely registered their movements. My entire world had narrowed to the broken woman in my arms, her blue eyes unfocused and glazed with terror, her cracked lips forming the same desperate plea over and over.
"Logan," she whispered, her voice raw and barely audible. "Logan, please."
"I'm here, Princess," I murmured into her matted hair, holding her as if she might shatter into dust at any moment. "You're safe now. I promise. You're safe."
But the words felt hollow, inadequate against the horror of what she'd endured. Six fucking weeks she'd been trapped in that freezing hell, subjected to God knows what depravities, while I'd been drowning my guilt in whiskey and self-pity. The evidence of her torture was written across every inch of her visible skin, purple-black bruises, angry red welts, and burn marks that made bile rise in my throat. And those were just the injuries I could see.
The ambulance lurched as we took a corner too fast, and Cadence whimpered, her fingers digging into my tactical vest with surprising strength. Cole swore under his breath, his free hand moving to brace her shoulder, his mismatched eyes swimming with the same guilt that threatened to drown me.
"Two minutes out," the paramedic called from the front, her voice clipped and professional. "Trauma team standing by." I tightened my hold on her, pressing my lips to her forehead. Her skin was ice-cold, almost waxy, beneath my touch.
"Almost there, Princess," I whispered. "Just hold on." She didn't respond, her eyes staring at something beyond my shoulder, lost in some private horror I couldn't reach. The ambulance slowed, then jerked to a stop, the rear doors flyingopen to reveal the harsh fluorescent glare of the A&E entrance. A team in scrubs swarmed toward us, their faces grim and focused.
"Female, mid-twenties, missing six weeks," the paramedic began, rattling off Cadence's condition in clinical terms that failed to capture the true devastation of what had been done to her. "Found in an underground cell. Multiple injuries consistent with prolonged physical and sexual assault. Responsive to voice only. GCS twelve. Vitals unstable."
I barely heard the rest as they wheeled the gurney out of the ambulance, my arms still cradling her fragile body against my chest. I refused to let go, even as they tried to transfer her to a hospital trolley. Her fingers clenched in my shirt, her breathing accelerating into panicked gasps.
"Sir, you need to-" a nurse began, reaching for my arm.
"I'm not fucking leaving her," I growled, the threat in my voice clear enough that she took a step back. "She stays with me." The nurse's eyes widened, but a doctor, an older man with salt-and-pepper hair and tired eyes, intervened.
"Let him stay with her for now. We'll work around him." He addressed me directly, his voice calm but authoritative. "But we need to get her inside immediately. She's severely hypothermic." I nodded, my throat too tight for words, and allowed them to guide us through sliding doors into the blinding brightness of what I recognised as a resuscitation bay. The contrast between the muffled darkness outside and the sterile glare inside was jarring; the silence of snowfall was replaced by the urgent beeping of monitors, the clipped commands of medical staff, and the squeak of rubber-soled shoes against linoleum.
The scent of antiseptic burned my nostrils, mingling with the metallic tang of blood and the sour stench of fear that seemed to cling to her skin despite our best efforts to shield her. A triage nurse tried to block my path as the team transferred Cadenceto the bed, but her fingers were still locked in my sleeve, and when they tried to separate us, she let out a keening wail that cut through the clinical bustle like a knife.
"Let him stay visible," the trauma lead ordered, his eyes flicking between Cadence's terrified face and my determined one. "We'll work around him." I positioned myself at the head of the bed, one hand holding the oxygen mask near her face as Cole had done in the ambulance, the other threaded through her fingers. Her grip was painfully tight, her knuckles white with the effort of holding onto me.
"You're safe, Princess," I repeated, the words becoming a mantra for us both. "I'm right here. I won't leave you."
The trauma team moved with choreographed precision around us, attaching monitors, inserting fresh IV lines, drawing blood for what seemed like an endless array of tests. Each touch made Cadence flinch, each new face that appeared in her line of sight causing her breathing to hitch in panic. The blood pressure cuff inflating around her arm elicited a whimper that tore at my heart.
"Please," she whispered, her voice muffled by the oxygen mask. "No more. Please, no more." I leaned closer, my forehead nearly touching hers, trying to block out the chaos around us. "Focus on me, Princess. Just me. I've got you." Her eyes, those striking blue eyes that had once flashed with defiance and spirit, struggled to focus on my face. I counted her breaths, deliberately matching my own rhythm to hers, willing her to follow my lead. Slowly, her breathing steadied, though the terror remained etched in every line of her bruised face.
"Core temp is dangerously low," a nurse announced, attaching some kind of forced-air warming device to the bed. "Thirty-four point two." Another nurse hung bags of clear fluid, labelling each one with practiced efficiency.
"Starting warmed saline and Hartmann's. Slow rate, she's severely dehydrated and likely malnourished." The doctor, whose name tag read Dr Reynolds, approached with a syringe.
