Page 41 of Sinner’s Torment

“A week?” Montana’s voice rose. “Sypher, this is important. I need you on this now.”

“And I’m telling you I can’t,” Sypher said, his tone flat. “I’ve got priorities, Montana. Reaper’s business comes first. You know that.”

Montana’s face flushed red. “You little shit! I’m the president⁠—”

“Not my president,” Sypher corrected. “And besides, aren’t you supposed to be patching over to the Golden Skulls, which means Reaper will be your president?”

“Fuck you, Sypher. That shit isn’t official yet.”

There was a pause. Then Sypher laughed—actually laughed.

“Whatever, man,” he said, sounding completely unbothered, and then the line went dead.

Montana stared at his phone, his expression one of complete disbelief. “Did he just hang up on me?”

From the doorway, Fury’s laughter erupted—loud, uncontrolled, the kind of laughter that came from witnessing something so absurd you couldn’t help yourself.

“Oh my God,” Fury gasped between laughs, leaning against the doorframe. “A Golden Skull just hung up on you. That’s fucking beautiful.”

“Shut up, Fury,” Montana growled and shot him a glare that could have melted steel.

I didn’t have time for this. Didn’t have the patience for Montana’s wounded pride or Fury’s amusement or any of the political bullshit that came with the patch-over.

I turned to Shame, blocking out everything else. “Forget Sypher. Forget all of them. I need you on this, Shame. You’re the best tracker we’ve got. Find out everything about Brandy Griffin. Where she’s from, who her family is, where she went to school, who her friends were before she joined the club. I don’t care if you have to dig through twenty years of records or call in every favor you’ve ever earned. Just find her.”

Shame met my eyes, and something in his expression softened. Understanding, maybe. Or sympathy.

“I’ll find her, brother,” he said quietly. “I promise.”

“How long?” I asked.

“Give me forty-eight hours,” Shame said. “Maybe less if I get lucky. But I’ll find something. People don’t just disappear without leaving a trail.”

“She’s had twelve hours,” I said, my voice tight. “Every minute we waste is another mile between us.”

“I know.” Shame clapped a hand on my shoulder. “But panicking isn’t going to help. Let me work. I’ll call you the second I have something.”

He left, moving with purpose, and I felt some of the tension in my chest ease slightly. If anyone could find her, it was Shame. The man had connections everywhere, knew how to dig up information that most people didn’t even know existed.

But forty-eight hours felt like an eternity.

“King,” Montana said, turning back to the phone. “Keep your people looking. Check bus stations, train stations, airports. If she’s trying to get far, she’ll need transportation.”

“Already on it,” King confirmed. “I’ll call if we find anything.”

“Do that.” Montana ended the call and looked at me. “She’ll turn up, Torment. Women don’t just vanish into thin air.”

“She’s scared,” I said, the realization hitting me like a punch to the gut. “She’s terrified, and she ran because she thinks... what? That I don’t want her? That I won’t step up?”

“Did you give her any reason to think otherwise?” Mercy asked, his tone gentle but pointed.

I opened my mouth to respond, then closed it again.

Had I?

I’d spent the past two days avoiding the situation, avoiding thinking about it, avoiding dealing with the reality that I was going to be a father. I hadn’t called her. Hadn’t reached out. Hadn’t done anything except sit in my office and pretend the problem would solve itself.

And now she was gone.