Page 86 of Sinner’s Torment

Stone crouched down in front of me, his face level with mine. Up close, I could see the resemblance now. The shape of his jaw, the set of his eyes. He looked like my father. Not exactly, but enough that it made my stomach twist with a sick kind of recognition.

“Brandy, Brandy, Brandy,” he crowed, his voice conversational. Almost friendly.

“Your father never told you about his past, did he?” Stone continued, his smile widening. “Of course he didn’t, or you would have told King, I’m sure. If only you’d known who you were. Maybe he would have made you his old lady before Grace ever showed up.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I whispered, my voice hoarse and broken.

“Liar,” Stone said softly. But there was no heat in it. Just cold, clinical observation. “Your father is Dominic Ward. Not Griffin. Dominic Ward. The legitimate heir to the Silver Shadows MC presidency.”

The words didn’t make sense. They bounced off my brain like stones off water, refusing to sink in. My father had told us about being in the club, about being in prison for the club, about being framed. He never said anything about being the heir to the presidency. “You’re lying,” I said, but even as the words left my mouth, I knew they sounded weak. Desperate.

“Am I?” Stone stood, towering over me. “His father was Dominic Ward Sr. The real president of the Silver Shadows. But his younger brother, Nicholas Ward, wanted that throne. So he killed his own brother to take control of the club.”

I stared up at him, my mind reeling. “No⁠—”

“Nicholas Ward,” Stone continued, his voice taking on a lecturing tone, like he was teaching a particularly slow student. “You might know him better as Titan. My old man. Former president of the Silver Shadows.”

My breath caught in my throat. Titan. I’d heard that name before. Whispered in the clubhouse, spoken with a mixture of fear and respect. Steele and Stone’s father. The man King looked up to, respected. The man who’d been...

“Your father was VP,” Stone said, circling me slowly like a predator stalking prey. “Groomed to take over the club when the time was right. To take his rightful place as president. But Steele and I were never going to let that happen. I orchestrated a federal agent’s death during an arms deal and set your father up to take the fall.”

“Stop,” I whispered, but he didn’t stop.

“Your father did the honorable thing. He took the hit. Went to prison for life without the possibility of parole. Protected the club, just like a good VP should.” Stone’s voice dripped with mockery. “But then somehow that fucking lawyer of his found evidence to exonerate him. Said that the prosecutor was bribed, and that the ballistics reports were falsified, that the DNA evidence had been hidden. Your father walked out of that prison after five years, and the first thing he did was come after me.”

I was shaking my head, tears streaming down my face. “No, no, you’re lying⁠—”

“He nearly killed me,” Stone said, his voice dropping to something darker. “Beat me so badly that I was in the hospital for weeks. And then your father burned his cut, blacked out all his ink, and disappeared. Ran away like a fucking pussy coward and left me to deal with the fucking fallout.”

“He’s not a coward,” I said, my voice breaking. “He’s not⁠—”

“He’s a legacy,” Stone said, crouching down in front of me again. “The legitimate heir to the Silver Shadows’ presidency. And that makes you a legacy too, bitch. You’re MC royalty, whether you like it or not. Whether you know it or not.”

The words crashed over me like a tidal wave, drowning me in their implications. My father. Dominic Ward. A legacy. The rightful president. Imprisoned for a crime he didn’t commit. Nearly killing a man in revenge. And me. Me. A legacy. “You’re lying,” I said again, but the words were hollow now. Empty. Because deep down, in a place I didn’t want to acknowledge, I knew he was telling the truth. I could see it in his eyes. Could feel it in the way the pieces were clicking into place, forming a picture I’d never wanted to see. My father had run from this world. Had hidden from it. Had built a new life, a normal life, to protect us from the violence and chaos he’d left behind. And I’d walked right back into it.

“I don’t believe you,” I said, my voice stronger now, fueled by desperation and denial. “You’re just trying to⁠—”

I didn’t finish the sentence. Because I saw it. An opening. One of the Death Dogs had moved away from the door—just a few feet, just enough to create a gap. And in that gap, I saw freedom. I saw escape. I saw a chance. I didn’t think. I just moved.

I scrambled to my feet and ran, my legs pumping, my arms still wrapped protectively around my abdomen. The farmhouse floor was rotting and uneven, gaps in the wood exposing the dirt below, and I nearly fell twice, but I kept going. Kept running. Kept pushing toward that door, toward freedom, toward⁠—

Laughter. The sound stopped me cold, my feet skidding on the wood. Stone Ward was laughing. A deep, genuine laugh that echoed through the dilapidated farmhouse like thunder.

“Did you really think I’d let you run?” he called out, his voice filled with amusement. “Did you really think I wouldn’t see that coming?”

I spun around, my heart pounding so hard I thought it might burst out of my chest. Stone was standing exactly where I’d left him, his arms crossed over his chest, his expression one of pure, sadistic enjoyment. The Death Dogs around him were laughing too, some of them doubled over, like this was the funniest thing they’d seen in years.

“I let you run,” Stone said, his smile widening. “I wanted to see if you’d be stupid enough to try.”

Before I could react, before I could even process what he was saying, two sets of hands grabbed me from behind. I screamed, thrashing wildly, but they were too strong. They dragged me back across the rotting farmhouse floor, my feet scraping uselessly against the wood, and threw me down at Stone’s feet. I hit the ground hard, the impact knocking the wind out of me. Pain exploded through my body—my shoulder, my hip, my ribs—and I gasped, curling into a ball, trying to protect my baby from the violence I knew was coming.

“This,” Stone said, his voice dropping to something cold and deadly, “is what happens when a stupid club whore disobeys me.”

He grabbed me by the hair and hauled me to my knees, forcing me to look up at him. His face was inches from mine, his eyes cold and empty and utterly devoid of mercy. “Your father thinks he can keep running,” Stone said softly. “He thinks he can hide from his past, from his responsibilities, from the blood he owes. But he can’t. And you’re going to be the one who brings him out of hiding.”

“Please,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “Please, I-I’m pregnant⁠—”

And then he let go of my hair and stepped back. For one brief, stupid moment, I thought he was going to let me go. Thought maybe he’d made his point, delivered his message, and now he’d⁠—