Page 70 of Sinful
Now I don't know what the fuck I'm doing anymore.
All I know is that I followed her into hell tonight.
And I'd do it again.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Helle
The truck lurches over a pothole and Dad groans—a sound that's more animal than human.
"Sorry, sorry," Aren calls back. "Almost there."
I'm kneeling in the truck bed, one hand on Dad's shoulder to keep him from rolling, the other clutching the side rail to keep myself steady.
Elfe is on his other side, her hand wrapped around his remaining one, whispering things I can't hear over the engine and wind.
Dad's eyes are closed, face gray beneath the bruises and swelling.
The bandages on his left arm are already soaking through—bright red bleeding into white gauze.
He's alive.
That's all that matters.
He's alive and we're bringing him home and maybe—maybe—I can start to breatheagain.
The compound gates appear ahead, already open, members standing ready.
As soon as we pull through, Runes is running toward the truck, Fenrir right behind him.
"Get him inside! Now!"
The truck barely stops before hands are reaching for Dad—careful, coordinated, like they've done this before.
Probably have. This life doesn't come without casualties.
Two women appear with a stretcher—Gwen and Vail.
EMTs, trained for exactly this kind of shit that can't go to a hospital.
"We've got him," Gwen says, her voice calm and professional even as her eyes widen at the extent of his injuries. "Vail, start an IV line. Normal saline, wide open. Someone get me a BP cuff."
They work with efficient precision, moving Dad from the truck bed to the stretcher without jostling him too much.
He groans anyway, eyelids fluttering but not opening.
"Helle, Elfe—out of the way," Vail orders, not unkindly. "Let us work."
I stumble back, and Elfe catches my arm.
We stand there watching as they wheel Dad toward the clubhouse, Gwen calling out vitals and observations that mean nothing to me but everything to them.
Mom appears from nowhere, or maybe she was always there and I just didn't see her.
She looks wrecked—eyes swollen from crying, face pale, hands shaking.
"Ivar—"
