Page 85 of Sinner’s Torment

And then it hit me. The realization crashed over me like ice water, sharp and unforgiving, stealing the breath from my lungs. Of course. Of course this would happen now, after I’d just decided to go back. After I’d just made the hardest decision of my life. I’d just decided to fight for happiness, to believe I deserved Torment and my family and a future that didn’t involve running away from everything good in my life. I’d just decided to stop sabotaging myself, to stop being my own worst enemy, to finally accept that maybe—just maybe—I was worthy of love and belonging.

And now this.

The universe punishing me for daring to hope. For daring to believe things could be different. For daring to think I could have something good without it being ripped away from me.

I took a step back, my heart hammering against my ribs so hard I thought it might break through. The sound of my own pulse thundered in my ears, drowning out everything else around me. My hands were trembling, and I could feel cold sweat beginning to bead on my forehead. Then I bumped into someone else—someone solid, unmovable, like hitting a brick wall.

Slowly turning my head, barely daring to breathe, I saw a vicious face smile down at me. It wasn’t a friendly smile—it was predatory, calculating, like a wolf that had just cornered its prey. The man’s eyes were cold and dark, studying me with an intensity that made my stomach drop. As my eyes caught the insignia on his leather cut, everything suddenly made sense in the worst possible way... Death Dogs MC. The patch was unmistakable—a snarling dog skull with crossed bones beneath it, worn like a badge of honor on the back of his vest.

My instincts were screaming at me to run, to get back inside the gas station, to scream for help at the top of my lungs. But my body wouldn’t cooperate. My legs felt like they’d been filled with cement, heavy and useless. I was frozen, paralyzed by the cold certainty in his eyes and the cruel smile on his lips—a smile that promised pain, that promised he was going to enjoy whatever came next.

“Don’t,” Stone said softly, his voice deceptively calm, almost gentle. Like he could read my mind. Like he knew exactly what I was thinking, could see the panic clawing its way up my throat. “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

He swung his leg off the bike with practiced ease and stood, unfolding to his full height. And I realized with sickening clarity that he was bigger than I’d thought, taller than I remembered. Stronger. Dangerous in a way that made every instinct scream at me to run, to fight, to do anything but stand here like a deer caught in headlights.

But it was too late.

The trap had already sprung closed around me like iron jaws.

And I’d walked right into it, blind and stupid and desperate to believe the world could be kind.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Brandy

His hand shot out and grabbed my arm before I could even think to move, his fingers digging into my flesh with bruising force. I gasped, the sound sharp and startled, and tried to jerk away, but his grip was iron. Unbreakable. “Let go of me!” I screamed, my voice high and panicked, echoing across the empty gas station parking lot. “Let go⁠—”

His other hand clamped over my mouth, cutting off my scream mid-breath. The taste of leather and motor oil flooded my senses, making me gag. I thrashed against him, kicking, clawing, trying to bite down on his palm, but he was too strong. Too practiced. Like he’d done this a thousand times before.

A van screeched to a halt beside us—dark, windowless, the kind of vehicle that screamed danger in every line. The side door slid open with a metallic screech, and two men jumped out. Death Dogs’ patches on their vests. Grinning like this was the best entertainment they’d had in weeks. “No—” I tried to scream again, but Stone’s hand pressed harder against my mouth, cutting off my air. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. My vision started to blur at the edges as panic flooded my system.

“Get her in,” Stone ordered, his voice cold and efficient.

The two men grabbed me—one on each arm—and hauled me toward the van. I fought with everything I had, kicking out wildly, my foot connecting with someone’s shin. One of them cursed, but they didn’t let go. They just laughed, like my resistance was amusing. Like I was a joke. My baby. The thought crashed through the panic like a lightning bolt. I curled my arms protectively over my abdomen, trying to shield it from their rough hands, from the violence I knew was coming.

“Please,” I gasped against Stone’s palm. “Please, I’m pregnant⁠—”

“I know,” Stone said, his voice flat and emotionless. “That’s why you’re perfect.”

They threw me into the van like I was nothing more than a sack of garbage. I hit the metal floor hard, the impact knocking the wind out of me. Pain exploded through my shoulder and hip, sharp and immediate. I tried to scramble back toward the open door, toward freedom, toward anything, but one of the men climbed in after me and slammed the door shut. Darkness. Complete, suffocating darkness swallowed me whole. I heard the engine roar to life, felt the van lurch forward, and then we were moving. Fast. Too fast. The tires squealed as we peeled out of the gas station, and I was thrown sideways, my body slamming into the metal wall.

“No, no, no—” I was sobbing now, the words tumbling out in a desperate, broken stream. “Please, let me go, please⁠—”

Someone laughed. A low, cruel sound that made my skin crawl. “Shut her up,” a voice came from the front of the van, cold and commanding. A hand grabbed my hair and yanked my head back, forcing me to look up. I couldn’t see anything in the darkness, but I could feel him—his breath hot and rancid against my face, his body looming over me like a predator.

“You heard the man,” he growled. “Shut. The. Fuck. Up.”

I bit down on my lip, tasting blood, and forced myself to go silent. My whole body was shaking, trembling so hard I thought I might fall apart. But I wrapped my arms tighter around my abdomen, curling into myself, trying to make myself as small as possible. Protect the baby. Just protect the baby.

The drive felt like it lasted forever and no time at all. Every bump in the road sent pain shooting through my body. Every turn threw me against the walls or the floor. I lost track of time, lost track of direction, lost track of everything except the desperate, primal need to keep my baby safe.

When the van finally stopped, the silence was almost worse than the movement had been. The door slid open, and harsh fluorescent light flooded in, blinding me. I squinted against it, my eyes watering, and saw Stone standing there, silhouetted against the light like some kind of demon.

“Get her out,” he said.

Hands grabbed me again—rough, uncaring—and dragged me out of the van. My legs gave out the second my feet hit the ground, and I collapsed onto the rotting farmhouse floor. The impact sent fresh waves of pain through my already bruised body, and I gasped, curling tighter around my stomach. I forced myself to look up, to take in my surroundings.

We were in some kind of abandoned farmhouse. Isolated. Miles from civilization, lost in the middle of endless fields. The walls were peeling, water-stained from years of neglect and decay. Gaps in the floorboards exposed the dirt foundation below. Through grimy windows, I could see nothing but fields stretching endlessly in all directions—no neighbors, no help, no way out. The air reeked of rot and abandonment—musty, suffocating, stained with rust and God knew what else. The ceiling was high, crisscrossed with exposed beams and flickering fluorescent lights that cast everything in harsh, unforgiving shadows. The air smelled of mildew and motor oil and something else—something metallic and wrong that made my stomach turn. Death Dogs’ members were everywhere. Leaning against walls, sitting on crates, standing in clusters. All of them were watching me with expressions that ranged from curiosity to amusement to something darker. Something that made my skin crawl. I was surrounded. Trapped. And no one—no one—knew where I was.