Page 38 of Sinner’s Torment

“I dusted in here last week,” my mother said, moving past me to pull back the comforter. “Changed the sheets yesterday. It’s like I knew you were coming.”

My father appeared in the doorway with my duffel bag, setting it down gently by the dresser. He looked at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable, then crossed the room and pulled me into a hug. A real one, the kind that made me feel small and protected and loved.

“Whatever it is,” he said quietly, his voice rumbling in his chest, “we’ll figure it out. You hear me? We’ll figure it out together.”

I nodded against his shoulder, not trusting myself to speak.

He kissed the top of my head and released me, stepping back. “Get some rest, Brandy Lynn. We’ll talk when you’re ready.”

Then he left, closing the door softly behind him.

My mother was still there, fussing with the pillows, smoothing the comforter. “Do you need anything? Are you hungry? I can make you something⁠—”

“I’m just tired, Mama,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “So tired.”

She nodded, understanding. “Okay. You sleep, then. We’ll be here when you wake up.”

I kicked off my shoes and climbed onto the bed, my body sinking into the familiar mattress. It was softer than I remembered, or maybe I was just so exhausted that anything would have felt like heaven.

My mother sat on the edge of the bed, her hand reaching out to brush my hair back from my face. The gesture was so tender, so achingly familiar, that I felt tears prick my eyes again.

“I missed you,” she said softly. “Every single day, I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” I whispered.

She leaned down and kissed my forehead, her lips warm against my skin. Then she stood, and I heard my father’s footsteps in the hallway. He came in, carrying the old quilt from the hall closet—the one his mother had made, the one we only used for special occasions.

He spread it over me carefully, tucking it around my shoulders. Then he bent down and kissed my forehead, just like my mother had.

“Sleep, baby girl,” he murmured. “You’re safe now.”

I wanted to tell them everything. I wanted to explain about the club, about Torment, about the baby growing inside me. I wanted to apologize for staying away so long, for lying about my life, for being exactly the disappointment they’d probably always feared I’d become.

But I couldn’t form the words. My eyes were already closing, my body surrendering to the exhaustion that had been chasing me for days.

The last thing I felt was my mother’s hand smoothing my hair one more time, her touch gentle and loving and unconditional.

The last thing I heard was my father’s voice, low and steady. “We’ve got her now. She’s home.”

And then I was falling, sinking into sleep so deep and dreamless that for the first time in months, I felt something close to peace.

I was home.

And for now, that was enough.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Torment

I was buried in paperwork when Mercy appeared in my office doorway.

Not the fun kind of paperwork—not client files or therapy notes or even the occasional insurance bullshit that came with running a legitimate practice. No, this was club paperwork. Financial records from the Alabama Chapter. Inventory lists from our warehouses. Supply chain documentation that needed my signature before it could be filed away in whatever secure location Mercy kept this shit.

The glamorous life of a club officer.

I didn’t look up immediately, finishing the line I was reading before setting down my pen. “Yeah?”

“King’s on the line,” Mercy said, his tone carefully neutral. “Wants to talk to you and Montana.”