Page 56 of Sinner’s Torment

I shook my head slowly, my eyes wide, my hands trembling in Mom’s grip.

I didn’t have to say it.

He already knew.

Dad’s jaw tightened, a muscle ticking in his cheek. He took a slow, deep breath, his hands curling into fists on the table. Then he stood, the chair scraping against the floor with a harsh screech that made me flinch.

He didn’t say a word.

Didn’t look at me.

Just turned and walked toward the back door, his footsteps heavy and deliberate.

“Dad—” I started, but he was already gone, the screen door slamming shut behind him.

I sat there for a moment, frozen, my heart pounding in my ears. Then I pushed back from the table and followed him, ignoring Mom’s soft protest.

I found him standing at the fence line, his hands gripping the weathered wood, his shoulders tense and rigid. The morning sun cast long shadows across the yard, and the air was cool and crisp, carrying the scent of grass and earth and home.

I walked up beside him and stopped, saying nothing. Just stood there, waiting.

The silence stretched between us, heavy and suffocating.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Dad spoke.

“Who?”

The single word was quiet, almost gentle, but it carried the weight of everything unsaid.

I took a shaky breath, my hands twisting together in front of me.

“His name is Torment,” I said softly. “He’s... he’s an officer in the Soulless Sinners MC. Out of New York.”

Dad’s hands tightened on the fence, his knuckles going white.

“I had a paternity test done before I left Nebraska,” I continued, my voice barely above a whisper. “It’s his. There’s no doubt.”

For a long moment, Dad didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stood there, staring out at the fields beyond the fence.

Then he turned to me, and before I could say anything else, he grabbed me and pulled me into his arms, holding me so tightly I could barely breathe.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice rough and broken. “I’m so fucking sorry, baby girl. I should’ve protected you better. Should’ve kept you away from that world. Should’ve⁠—”

“Dad, no—” I tried to pull back, but he held me tighter.

“I failed you,” he said, his voice cracking. “I let you go out into the world without knowing what was out there, without knowing what those men are capable of. And now⁠—”

“You didn’t fail me,” I said, my own tears soaking into his shirt. “You didn’t. I made my own choices. I⁠—”

“You shouldn’t have had to make those choices,” he said fiercely. “You should’ve been safe. Should’ve been protected. Should’ve⁠—”

He broke off, his arms tightening around me until I thought my ribs might crack.

And in that moment, standing there in my father’s arms, I understood something I’d never understood before.

The difference between club loyalty and family loyalty.

Club loyalty was conditional. It was earned through service, through obedience, through being useful. It could be taken away the moment you stopped being valuable, the moment you became a liability instead of an asset.