Page 16 of Sinner’s Torment

The clubhouse felt wrong the moment I pulled into the lot.

It was too quiet. Too still. Like a body with no pulse, lying there cold and lifeless under the harsh glare of the streetlights.

I killed the engine and sat there for a moment, staring at the building that had been my second home for the better part of a decade. The Soulless Sinners’ clubhouse in New York City had always been alive—music thumping through the walls, bikes lined up like soldiers at attention in neat rows, brothers coming and going at all hours of the day and night. There was energy here. A constant buzz of activity. Purpose. A sense that we were part of something bigger than ourselves, something that mattered, something worth fighting for.

Now it looked like a mausoleum. A tomb waiting to be sealed.

Only a handful of bikes sat in the lot, scattered across the pavement like forgotten relics. Mine. Mercy’s custom Harley with its distinctive chrome work. A couple others I recognized as belonging to the New York Chapter—brothers who’d stuck around despite everything falling apart around us. That was it. No Alabama brothers yet. No one from the other chapters because there were no other chapters anymore. They were gone. Absorbed. Destroyed. Scattered to the wind.

Just us. New York and Alabama. The last two standing. The last remnants of what had once been a powerful, sprawling organization.

I climbed off my bike and headed for the entrance, my boots echoing too loudly against the pavement in the oppressive silence. The sound made my skin crawl, made every nerve in my body stand on edge. It was the kind of silence that came before something broke—before violence erupted or bad news landed or the world shifted beneath your feet, and nothing was ever the same again.

We were sitting ducks. That was what kept running through my mind as I pushed through the front door, the hinges creaking in protest. With the Death Dogs circling like vultures, waiting for their moment to strike, and the Golden Skulls watching from the shadows to see if we’d survive long enough to be worth their investment, we were exposed. Vulnerable. Weak. One good hit and we’d be done. Finished. Another cautionary tale about what happened when you let your guard down.

The thought should have scared me. Should have had me running for the hills.

Instead, I felt a strange sense of pride swelling in my chest.

We were still here. Still standing when everyone else had fallen. Still fighting when most would have given up. That had to count for something. It had to mean something.

The main room was empty, abandoned like a ghost town. No music blaring from the speakers. No laughter echoing off the walls. No brothers shooting pool or getting drunk or fucking club girls in the back rooms. Just silence and shadows and the faint smell of stale beer and cigarette smoke hanging in the air like a memory of better times.

I made my way down the hallway toward Mercy’s office, my footsteps the only sound in the entire building, each one seeming to echo endlessly. It felt like walking through a graveyard at midnight. Like I was the only living thing left in a place that used to pulse with life and energy and brotherhood.

As I passed Bane’s office, I caught a glimpse of him hunched over his workstation, confused and frustrated. The DNA database was his baby, and I didn’t stop to ask about it. Not tonight.

Mercy’s door was open, a sliver of light spilling into the dark hallway. I found him sitting at his desk, hunched over his laptop like he’d been there for hours, his fingers flying across the keyboard with practiced efficiency. He didn’t look up when I walked in, didn’t acknowledge my presence, but I knew he’d heard me. Mercy always knew when someone was in his space. He had that kind of awareness that came from years of watching his back.

“You look like shit,” I said, dropping into the chair across from him with a heavy sigh.

“Thanks, Doc. Real helpful.” He kept typing, his jaw tight with tension. “You here to shrink me or are you actually going to be useful tonight?”

“Depends. You planning on having a breakdown?” I crossed my arms, watching him carefully.

“Not tonight.” He finally looked up, his eyes bloodshot and tired, dark circles underneath them. “Ask me again tomorrow.”

I leaned back in the chair, studying him with the clinical eye I’d developed over years of practice. Mercy had always been the steady one. The guy who kept his head when everyone else was losing theirs. The rock we all leaned on when things got rough. But the last few weeks had worn him down, ground him into dust. I could see it in the lines around his eyes, the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands never stopped moving—always typing, always working, always trying to fix something that might be beyond fixing. He was running on fumes and sheer determination.

“Bane and Tessa are on their way with Montana,” Mercy said, closing his laptop with a soft click. “Should be here any minute.”

I couldn’t help it—I laughed, a short bark of sound. “Montana’s going to be in rare form.”

“That’s putting it mildly.” Mercy rubbed his face with both hands, exhaustion bleeding through every movement. “Bane’s been texting me nonstop for the last hour. Says Montana’s being a stubborn bastard. Refused to stay another night in the hospital. Told the doctors to go fuck themselves when they tried to keep him for observation.”

“Sounds about right.” I shook my head, a wry smile tugging at my lips.

“Yeah, well, he’s going to get himself killed if he keeps pushing like this.” Mercy’s voice was flat, emotionless, but I heard the worry underneath—the fear he was trying to hide. “He’s not healed. Not even close. His body needs time to recover. But try telling him that.”

“You think I haven’t tried?” I shook my head. “Montana doesn’t listen to anyone. Never has. You know that.”

“Doesn’t mean we stop trying.” Mercy’s eyes met mine, hard and determined.

I didn’t argue. Mercy was right. We couldn’t stop trying, even if it was pointless, even if we were talking to a brick wall. That was what brothers did. They kept showing up, kept fighting, kept trying to save each other even when it was a lost cause, even when the outcome seemed inevitable.

“What about the others?” I asked, changing the subject.

Mercy shrugged, his shoulders tight. “Vicious and Fury are on their way. Payne and Rage should be here soon. Storm’s bringing Shame. Pippen will be here too.”