Page 64 of Sinner’s Torment

“That’s not why I’m here,” he said, his jaw tight, his hands flexing at his sides like he wanted to reach for me but didn’t dare.

“Then why?” I demanded, my voice breaking despite my best efforts. “Why are you here, Torment? Why now? You’ve had weeks to call. Weeks to reach out. King gave me your number. Told me you wanted to talk. But I couldn’t—I couldn’t call you because I knew⁠—”

I stopped, my throat closing up, tears burning behind my eyes.

“You knew what?” Torment asked quietly, taking a careful step closer.

“I knew you’d only want the baby,” I whispered, the truth spilling out before I could stop it. “Not me. Never me. Just your kid. Your responsibility. Your problem to solve.”

“Brandy, that’s not⁠—”

“I can take care of this baby on my own,” I said, my voice stronger now, fueled by desperation and pride. “I don’t need your help. I don’t need your money. I don’t need your pity or your sense of obligation or whatever the fuck brought you here.”

“It’s not pity,” Torment said, his voice rough with frustration. “It’s not—Jesus, Brandy. I came here because I needed to see you. To make sure you were okay. To⁠—”

“To what?” I challenged, crossing my arms over my chest. “To claim your property? To make sure your kid is being properly cared for?”

“No!” The word came out sharp and loud, and Torment ran a hand through his hair, his expression twisting with frustration. “Fuck, no. That’s not—you’re not property. You’re not just some club whore I fucked a few times.”

The words hit me like a slap, and I laughed—a bitter, broken sound that hurt coming out.

“That’s exactly what I am,” I said quietly. “That’s what I’ve been for five years. A club whore. A warm body. A convenient fuck when the brothers needed stress relief. That’s the drill, Torment. I knew what I was signing up for when I chose to stay. No strings. No expectations. No promises.”

“Stop calling yourself that,” Torment growled, his eyes flashing with something dark and dangerous. “You’re not a club whore. You’re more than that. You’re⁠—”

“I’m what?” I demanded, my voice rising. “What am I, Torment? Because from where I’m standing, I’m exactly what I said. A woman you fucked. A woman who got pregnant. A problem you need to solve so you can go back to your life and forget I ever existed.”

“That’s not true,” he said, his voice strained. “I don’t want to forget you. I can’t forget you. You’ve been in my head for months, driving me fucking crazy, and when I found out you were pregnant—when I found out you’d run⁠—”

He stopped, his jaw working, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

“What?” I pressed, my heart pounding. “When you found out I ran, what?”

“I lost my fucking mind,” he admitted, the words coming out rough and raw. “I punched a wall. I yelled at King. I demanded Shame track you down because the thought of you out there alone, pregnant with my kid, scared and running—it made me⁠—”

He stopped again, his expression twisting with frustration.

“It made you what?” I whispered.

“I don’t know!” The words exploded out of him, loud and desperate. “I don’t know what it made me feel because I’m not good at this shit, Brandy. I’m good at analyzing other people’s emotions. I’m good at helping them work through their trauma and their fears and their fucked-up relationships. But when it comes to my own feelings? I’m a fucking disaster.”

I stared at him, my chest tight, my eyes burning. “Then why are you here?” I asked again, my voice barely above a whisper. “If you can’t even tell me how you feel, why did you come?”

“Because I had to,” he said simply. “Because the thought of not seeing you, of not knowing if you were okay, of not⁠—”

He stopped, his expression helpless and frustrated and so unlike the controlled, confident man I’d known in Diamond Creek.

“Just go,” I said quietly, my voice breaking. “Please, Torment. Just leave. Forget about me. Forget about this. I’ll be fine. The baby will be fine. You don’t have to⁠—”

“BRANDY!” My father’s voice cut through the air like a gunshot, loud and urgent and filled with a terror I’d never heard from him before.

I spun around just in time to see him burst through the front door, a shotgun gripped in his hands, his face twisted with fury and fear.

“Get my fucking daughter inside NOW!” he roared, not at me, but at Torment.

Mercy appeared behind him, his expression sharp and alert, his hand reaching for a weapon that was no longer there. I didn’t understand. Didn’t know what was happening. But Torment didn’t hesitate. He moved so fast I didn’t have time to react. He just grabbed me, his arms wrapping around me as he lifted me off my feet and turned toward the house.

“Torment, what⁠—”