Page 90 of Sinner’s Torment

“And we’re going to get her out,” Mercy continued, his eyes locked on mine. “But we do it right, or we don’t do it at all.”

I nodded, my jaw clenched, my hands curling into fists at my sides. “Then let’s do it right.”

Hex raised the binoculars again, his eyes scanning the farmhouse one more time. “When the others get here,” he said, his voice low and dangerous, “we move fast. We hit them hard. And we don’t stop until Brandy is out and Stone is dead.”

I felt a grim smile tug at the corner of my mouth. “Sounds like a plan.”

The minutes ticked by, each one feeling like an eternity. But I stayed focused. Stayed calm. Stayed ready. Because Brandy was in there, waiting for me. And I wasn’t going to let her down.

Not this time.

Not ever again.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Torment

I sat on the ridge, my eyes locked on the farmhouse below, and tried not to think about what was happening inside those rotting walls.

But I couldn’t stop. The thoughts came anyway, relentless and vicious, tearing through my mind like claws. What was Stone doing to her right now? Was she hurt? Bleeding? Terrified? Was she protecting the baby—our baby—with her body, the way I knew she would? Was she thinking about me? Wondering if I was coming? Or had she given up hope entirely, convinced I’d abandoned her the way I’d abandoned her in that bedroom when I’d chosen club business over her?

The therapist in me knew this spiral was unproductive. Knew that catastrophizing wouldn’t help her, wouldn’t change the situation, wouldn’t make the others arrive any faster. But the man in me—the man who loved her, who’d fucked her against a wall and felt her come apart in his arms, who’d heard their baby’s heartbeat and felt something fundamental shift inside him—that man couldn’t stop the images from flooding in. Brandy’s face. Her voice. The way she’d looked at me in the clinic when I’d kissed her, like she was seeing me for the first time. The way she’d felt in my hands, soft and warm and alive.

I could see the farmhouse from here. Could see the dim lights flickering in the windows. Could see the Death Dogs moving around outside, laughing and smoking like they didn’t have a care in the world. Like they weren’t holding a pregnant woman captive. Like they weren’t part of something so fucking evil it made my stomach turn. I was close enough to see them, close enough to count them, close enough to imagine charging down that hill and tearing through every single one of them until I found her. But I couldn’t move. Couldn’t act. Couldn’t do anything but sit here and wait while the woman I loved suffered at the hands of a monster.

Twenty minutes. Montana and the others would be here in twenty minutes. Maybe less. But twenty minutes might as well be forever when every second felt like an eternity. When every breath I took was another breath Brandy might not get to take. When every heartbeat was another moment she was in danger, in pain, in hell.

The guilt was crushing. It sat on my chest like a physical weight, pressing down until I could barely breathe. She’d run because of me. Because I’d left her in that bedroom and gone to deal with club business. Because I’d chosen the barn and Hex and Montana’s phone call over staying with her, over holding her, over telling her what she meant to me. And she’d interpreted that choice exactly the way I’d feared she would—as proof that she didn’t matter. That the club came first. That she was just an obligation, a burden, a problem to be solved.

And then Stone had taken her. Had grabbed her at a gas station while she was running from me, while she was convinced she wasn’t worth fighting for. Had dragged her to this farmhouse and done God knew what to her. And it was my fault. Both losses were on me. My failures. My inability to keep her safe. My inability to make her understand that she was everything.

I heard footsteps behind me, quiet and deliberate, and I didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. Hex moved like a predator—silent, controlled, dangerous. He stopped beside me, his eyes on the farmhouse, and for a long moment, neither of us spoke. We just stood there, two men watching the same building, thinking about the same woman, carrying the same desperate need to act.

Then Hex lowered himself to the ground beside me, his movements stiff but steady, and settled into a sitting position. Still, he didn’t speak. Didn’t look at me. Just stared at the farmhouse with the same intensity I felt burning in my own chest. The silence stretched between us, heavy and loaded, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the silence of shared understanding. Of shared desperation. Of shared love for one woman who meant everything to both of us.

Finally, after what felt like hours but was probably only minutes, Hex spoke. His voice was low, rough, like the words were being dragged out of him against his will. “I know I haven’t been fair to you.”

I turned to look at him, surprised, but he kept his eyes on the farmhouse. His jaw was tight, his hands resting on his knees, his entire body radiating tension. “I didn’t want to believe you were different,” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “Didn’t want to believe my daughter could fall for someone in this world. Didn’t want to accept that the life I’d tried so hard to protect her from had found her anyway.”

He paused, his throat working as he swallowed hard. “I tried to protect her from this. From all of it. From the violence and the chaos and the way the club takes everything you love and twists it into something ugly. I thought if I kept her away, if I built a normal life for her, she’d be safe. She’d be happy. She’d never have to know what it’s like to love someone in this world and watch them get destroyed by it.”

His voice cracked slightly, and I saw his hands curl into fists. “But she chose you. She loves you. And I’ve been too blind to see why. Too caught up in my own fear and my own past to see that maybe—just maybe—you’re not like the men I knew. That maybe you’re the kind of man who’d fight for her instead of using her. Who’d protect her instead of breaking her.”

The words hit me like a punch to the gut, and I felt something inside me crack wide open. All the walls I’d built, all the control I’d maintained, all the careful distance I’d kept between myself and the world—it all shattered in that moment. My voice broke when I spoke, the words coming out raw and jagged and desperate. “I love her. God, Hex, I love her so much it terrifies me.”

I turned to face him fully, needing him to see the truth in my eyes. Needing him to understand. “I’m not good enough for her. I know that. I’ve never been good enough. I’m broken and fucked up and I carry so much guilt it’s a wonder I can stand upright. But she makes me want to be better. She makes me believe that maybe—just maybe—I could be the kind of man who deserves her.”

The confession poured out of me like blood from a wound, and I couldn’t stop it. Didn’t want to stop it. “I killed someone. A submissive in a scene. Years ago, before I joined the club. I was responsible for her safety, for her life, and I failed. She died because I lost control. Because I wasn’t careful enough. Because I thought I knew what I was doing and I was wrong.”

My hands were shaking now, my entire body trembling with the weight of the admission. “I’ve carried that guilt my entire life. It’s shaped everything I am, everything I do. It’s why I became a therapist—to try to save people, to try to make up for the one person I couldn’t save. And now the one person who could make me believe I deserve redemption, the one person who looks at me and sees something worth loving—she’s in there. And I can’t reach her. I can’t save her. And if she dies because I wasn’t fast enough, wasn’t smart enough, wasn’t enough⁠—”

My voice broke completely, and I had to stop, had to press my palms against my eyes to keep the tears from falling. “I can’t lose her, Hex. I can’t. She’s everything. She’s the only good thing I’ve ever had, and I’ll tear this world apart to get her back.”

Hex was quiet for a long moment, and when I finally lowered my hands and looked at him, I saw something in his eyes I hadn’t expected. Understanding. Not judgment. Not dismissal. Just pure, raw understanding. “I know what it’s like to carry a death,” he said quietly. “To know that someone died because of choices you made, actions you took. To wake up every morning and wonder if you could have done something different. Something better.”

He turned to look at me fully, and I saw the weight of decades in his eyes. The scars. The regrets. The ghosts. “I know what it’s like to love someone so much you’d burn the world down to keep them safe. To know that you’d kill or die for them without hesitation. To understand that they’re the only thing standing between you and the darkness.”

His voice softened, and for the first time since I’d met him, I saw something other than cold calculation in his expression. I saw a father. A man who loved his daughter more than life itself. “She sees something in you I couldn’t. My daughter sees a good man. A man worth fighting for. A man worth loving. And I’m learning to trust her judgment. I’m learning that maybe the world she’s chosen—the life she’s chosen—isn’t the nightmare I thought it was. Because she chose you. And if she chose you, there must be a reason.”