Page 63 of Sinner’s Torment

“Yes, it does,” Brandy said, her voice stronger now despite the tears. “It’s my baby. My life. And you don’t get to decide what happens next.”

Hex’s expression tightened, but he didn’t argue. He just looked at her—really looked at her—and I saw the exact moment he realized she wasn’t his little girl anymore. She was a woman. A woman who’d made her own choices, her own mistakes, and was now facing the consequences. And there was nothing he could do to protect her from that.

Slowly, reluctantly, Hex dropped his hands and stepped back. He looked at me, his eyes cold and hard once more. “You’ve got five minutes,” he said. “Then I want you off my property.”

He turned and walked back into the house, the screen door slamming shut behind him with a sharp crack that echoed across the yard. And I was left standing there, bruised and shaken, staring at the woman I’d gotten pregnant and realizing I had no fucking idea what to say to her.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Brandy

I heard his voice from inside the house.

That deep, controlled tone that I’d memorized during those nights in Diamond Creek—the voice that had whispered filthy promises against my skin, that had commanded and praised and broken me apart in the best possible ways. The voice I’d been avoiding for weeks.

I rushed to the window just in time to see my father lift Torment off the ground like he weighed nothing, and my heart stopped completely. “No,” I whispered, my hands pressed against the glass. “Daddy, no⁠—”

But he couldn’t hear me. Wouldn’t have listened even if he could. I watched him throw Torment against the porch banister, watched the wood crack under the impact, watched Torment’s face contort with pain and shock.

And I ran. I burst through the front door without thinking, without planning, driven by pure instinct and terror because I knew—knew—that if I didn’t stop this, someone was going to die.

My father was a force of nature.

And Torment was just... Torment. Smart and controlled and careful, but not built for this kind of raw, brutal confrontation.

Then Mercy pulled his gun, and everything went cold and sharp and deadly.

I screamed. Positioned myself between them. Used the only weapon I had—my father’s love for me—to stop the violence before it consumed us all. And it worked.

Barely.

Now my father was gone, disappeared into the house with a five-minute ultimatum hanging in the air like a guillotine blade. And I was alone with Torment. The man who’d gotten me pregnant. The man I couldn’t call. The man who’d shown up at my family home like he had any right to be here.

I turned on him, fury rising up to replace the fear, hot and sharp and so much easier to handle than the hurt underneath. “What the hell are you doing here?” I demanded, my voice shaking despite my best efforts to keep it steady.

Torment straightened slowly, one hand pressed against his ribs where he’d hit the banister. His shirt was torn at the collar where my father had grabbed him. His hair was disheveled. His eyes were dark and intense and locked on me with an expression I couldn’t read. “I came to see you,” he said, his voice rough. “To talk about⁠—”

“About what?” I cut him off, taking a step back when he moved toward me. “About how you knocked up some club whore and now you have to deal with the consequences?”

“Brandy—”

“No.” I shook my head, my hands curling into fists at my sides. “You don’t get to ‘Brandy’ me. You don’t get to show up here after weeks of silence and act like you have any right to⁠—”

“I have every right,” Torment interrupted, his voice rising slightly. “That’s my kid you’re carrying.”

My kid.

Not our kid.

Not the baby.

My kid. Like I was just the incubator. The vessel. The convenient womb that happened to be attached to a woman he’d fucked a few times. The hurt slammed into me so hard I actually took a physical step back, my breath catching in my throat.

“Your kid,” I repeated, my voice flat and cold. “Right. Your kid.”

“That’s not—” Torment started, but I was already talking over him, the words pouring out in a rush of pain and anger and desperate self-preservation.

“Well, congratulations, Torment. You got what you came for. Confirmation that yes, the baby is yours. DNA doesn’t lie, right? So now you can go back to New York with a clear conscience, knowing you did your duty and checked in on your kid.”