Hank jammed the tire iron behind the chain, braced his heavy combat boot against the frame, and threw his full three hundred pounds into the lever.
The dry wood screamed. The old lag bolts tore free from the rotted pine jamb with a sharp crack that echoed through the hills. Hank kicked the door inward with a violent crash.
The smell inside was suffocating: woodsmoke, sour sweat, and the coppery stench of fresh blood.
Hank pulled a heavy military flashlight from his pocket, snapping the beam to life. The yellow circle swept across a room littered with broken beer bottles, overturned metal chairs, and old camping gear. In the far corner, lying on an ancient, moth-eaten mattress on the dirt floor, was a figure.
"Rose," Hank breathed.
He crossed the room in two strides, dropping to his knees beside the bed.
Rose was tied hand and foot with yellow nylon parachute cord, her wrists bruised raw where she had fought against the bindings. Her face was pale as marble, her auburn hair soaked with sweat and matted with dried blood from a deep gash on her temple. Her lips were cracked, dry, and white. She was shivering violently, her breathing shallow, rapid, and raspy.
Hank pulled Carl’s blade from his pocket, slicing through the nylon cords around her wrists and ankles in three quick strokes. He tossed the ropes aside, stripping off his heavy canvas riding coat and draping it over her shaking body.
"Rose... Rose, look at me," Hank pleaded, his voice cracking as his massive, scarred hands cradled her head.
Rose’s eyelids fluttered weakly. She coughed, a dry, rattling gasp that shook her thin frame. Her cloudy green eyes struggled to focus in the glare of the flashlight, finally settling on the massive face hovering inches from hers.
She stared at the grey beard. She stared at the scar cutting across his brow. And then, her gaze dropped to the heavy leather vest.
To the slate-blue patch of the timberwolf.
A single, hot tear broke through the dirt on her cheek.
"Daddy...?" she whispered, her voice barely louder than the wind outside. "You came back."
The word shattered the last remnants of Hank’s stone exterior. A jagged sob tore through the old biker’s throat as he gathered his daughter into his arms, pulling her against his chest. He buried his face into her hair, rocking her back and forth on the dirt floor of the abandoned shack like she was four years old again.
"I’m here, Rose," Hank wept openly, the tears washing down his weathered cheeks into his grey beard. "I’m here. I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so sorry I took so long."
"Lily..." Rose choked out, clutching feebly at the leather of his cut. "Carl took... he took my baby..."