Page 39 of Sinner’s Torment

That got my attention.

I looked up, meeting Mercy’s eyes. His expression gave nothing away, but there was something in the set of his shoulders—a tension that hadn’t been there this morning—that made my gut clench.

“About what?” I asked, already pushing back from my desk.

“Didn’t say.” Mercy stepped aside to let me pass. “But he asked for you specifically. Said it was urgent.”

Fuck.

I followed Mercy down the hallway toward the boardroom, my mind racing through possibilities. Had something happened in Diamond Creek? Another attack? Had the Death Dogs regrouped faster than we’d anticipated? Was someone hurt?

Was it about Brandy?

The thought sent a spike of something uncomfortable through my chest—something I didn’t want to examine too closely. I’d been trying not to think about her for the past two days, ever since Bane had dropped that bomb in church about the DNA results. Trying not to think about the fact that she was carrying my kid. Trying not to think about what that meant, what I was supposed to do about it, how the fuck I was supposed to feel.

King had said she’d call me. That she wanted to talk.

But my phone had been silent.

Mercy pushed open the boardroom door, and I stepped inside to find Montana already there, leaning against the table with his phone on speaker. He looked like shit—pale, drawn, favoring his injured side. He shouldn’t have been out of bed, let alone standing here dealing with club business.

But that was Montana. Stubborn bastard would probably die at this table before he’d admit he needed rest.

He glanced up as I entered, his expression grim. “Torment’s here,” he said into the phone.

“Good,” King’s voice came through the speaker, rough and tired. “We’ve got a problem.”

I moved closer to the table, my hands curling into fists at my sides. “What kind of problem?”

There was a pause. A long one. The kind that made my pulse kick up and my jaw tighten.

“Brandy’s gone,” King said finally.

The words didn’t make sense at first. They just hung there in the air, disconnected from meaning, like he’d spoken in a foreign language.

“Gone?” I repeated slowly. “What do you mean, gone?”

“I mean, she’s not here,” King said, his frustration evident. “She disappeared sometime last night. Packed a bag and slipped out of the clubhouse while everyone was asleep. One of our prospects saw her leaving but didn’t stop her—thought she was just going for a drive to clear her head.”

The room tilted slightly.

“What the hell do you mean, she’s gone?” I shouted, my voice echoing off the walls.

Montana straightened, wincing at the movement. Mercy stepped forward, his hand raised in a calming gesture that I immediately ignored.

“She ran,” King said bluntly. “Left in the middle of the night. No note, no explanation. Just gone.”

Something inside me snapped.

I spun around and slammed my fist into the wall, the impact sending a shock of pain up my arm that I barely registered. The drywall cracked under my knuckles, a spiderweb of fractures spreading outward from the point of impact.

“Torment—” Mercy started.

“She took my kid!” I roared, whirling back toward the phone. “She fucking kidnapped my baby!”

“She didn’t kidnap anyone,” King said, his tone sharp. “She’s pregnant, not a criminal. She has every right to⁠—”

“Every right?” I cut him off, my voice rising to a near-shout. “She’s carrying my child, and she just disappeared without a word? That’s not her right. That’s fucking kidnapping!”