Page 87 of Sinner’s Torment

His fist connected with my ribs. The pain was immediate and overwhelming, a white-hot explosion that stole my breath and my vision and my ability to think. I doubled over, gasping, my arms instinctively curling tighter around my abdomen, trying to shield my baby from the violence.

“When your father comes for you,” Stone said, his voice calm and conversational, like he was discussing the weather, “he’s going to die. Just like his father did. Just like everyone who tries to escape the Silver Shadows.”

Another blow. This one to my back, between my shoulder blades. I collapsed forward, my hands hitting the wood, barely catching myself before my face did the same. “But first,” Stone continued, circling me slowly, “I’m going to make sure he knows exactly what happens to people who run. What happens to people who think they can turn their backs on the club and walk away clean.”

A kick to my thigh. Sharp and brutal. I cried out, the sound torn from my throat before I could stop it. The Death Dogs were laughing again. Cheering. Shouting encouragement like this was some kind of sport.

“Come on, Stone! Make her scream!”

“Bet she breaks in five minutes!”

“Nah, she’s tougher than she looks. Ten minutes, easy.”

Stone’s boot connected with my side, and I felt something crack. Not break, but crack. A rib, maybe. The pain was so intense I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but curl tighter around my stomach and pray that my baby was okay. Please, God, please let my baby be okay.

“Your father should have stayed in prison,” Stone said, punctuating each word with another blow. Fist to my shoulder. Kick to my back. Hand grabbing my hair and slamming my head against the wood. “Should have taken his punishment like a man instead of running like a pussy.”

Blood filled my mouth. I’d bitten my tongue, or maybe my lip. I couldn’t tell. Everything was pain and fear and the desperate, overwhelming need to protect the life growing inside me. “But he didn’t,” Stone continued. “He ran. And now you’re going to pay the price.”

Another kick. This one to my lower back, just above my hip. I screamed, the sound raw and broken, and heard the Death Dogs cheer louder. Stone crouched down beside me, his face level with mine. I could barely see him through the tears and the blood and the pain, but I could feel his presence. Cold. Merciless. Enjoying every second of this.

“Twenty-four hours,” he said softly. “Your father has twenty-four hours to show himself. To come here and face me like a man. If he doesn’t...” He trailed off, his smile widening. “Well. Let’s just say things are going to get a lot worse for you. And for that baby you’re so desperate to protect.”

“No,” I gasped, the word barely audible. “Please⁠—”

“Twenty-four hours,” Stone repeated. Then he stood and looked at the Death Dogs watching us. “Put her in the back room. Make sure she can’t escape. And make sure she understands exactly what’s at stake.”

Hands grabbed me again—rough, uncaring—and dragged me across the rotting farmhouse floor. I tried to fight, tried to resist, but my body wouldn’t cooperate. Everything hurt. Everything was broken or bruised or bleeding. I could barely move, barely breathe, barely think through the haze of pain. They threw me into a small room—more of a cell, really. Concrete walls, concrete floor, a single bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. No windows. No furniture. Nothing but cold, hard emptiness. The door slammed shut behind me, and I heard the sound of a lock clicking into place.

And then I was alone.

I lay on the cold concrete, curled into a ball, my arms wrapped protectively around my abdomen. Every breath sent fresh waves of pain through my body. My ribs ached. My back throbbed. My head pounded. Blood dripped from my nose, my lip, pooling on the floor beneath me. But all I could think about was my baby. Is the baby okay? Please, God, let the baby be okay. I pressed my hand against my stomach, feeling for... I didn’t know what. Movement? A sign? Anything that would tell me my baby had survived this nightmare. Nothing. Just silence. And pain.

And the crushing, suffocating realization that no one knew where I was. My mother thought I was still in my room. My father was in the barn with Torment and Mercy, probably still arguing about Federation rules and claims and all the bullshit that didn’t matter anymore. Torment... Torment. I’d run from him. I’d pushed him away. I’d convinced myself he didn’t really want me, that I was just an obligation, just a problem to be solved. And now I was here. Alone. Broken. Bleeding. And he had no idea.

The tears came then, hot and unstoppable, streaming down my face and mixing with the blood. I sobbed into the concrete, my body shaking with the force of it, and all I could think was that I’d been so stupid. So fucking stupid. I should have stayed. I should have fought for him, for us, for the future we could have had together. I should have believed that I was worth more than I thought I was. But I hadn’t. And now my baby—our baby—was going to pay the price.

Twenty-four hours. Stone had given my father twenty-four hours to show himself. To walk into a trap. To sacrifice himself for me. And if he didn’t... No, I didn’t want to think about what would happen if he didn’t. But I knew. Deep down, in the part of me that understood violence and cruelty and the way men like Stone Ward operated, I knew exactly what would happen. He would kill me. And he would kill my baby. And there was nothing—nothing—I could do to stop him.

I pressed my face against the cold concrete and closed my eyes, trying to block out the pain, the fear, the crushing weight of everything that had just been revealed. My father was Dominic Ward. A legacy. The rightful heir to the Silver Shadows’ presidency. And I was a legacy too. Born into a world of violence and betrayal and blood. A world my father had tried so hard to protect me from. A world I’d walked right back into, blind and stupid and desperate for something I couldn’t even name. And now I was going to die here. In this cold, empty room. Alone. Unless my father came. Unless he sacrificed himself to save me. Unless Torment somehow figured out where I was and came for me.

But why would he? I was just a club whore. Just a problem. Just⁠—

No.

The thought cut through the pain and the fear like a knife. No. I wasn’t just a club whore. I wasn’t just a problem. I wasn’t just anything. I was Brandy Lynn Griffin. Daughter of Dominic Ward. A legacy. A survivor. And I was carrying Torment’s baby. Our baby. And I’d be damned if I let Stone Ward take that away from me.

I didn’t know how I was going to survive this. Didn’t know if my father would come, or if Torment would find me, or if anyone even knew I was missing yet. But I knew one thing with absolute certainty. I was going to fight. For my baby. For my life. For the future I’d finally allowed myself to believe I deserved. Even if it killed me.

I pressed my hand against my stomach one more time, feeling the warmth of my own body, the steady rhythm of my own heartbeat. Hold on, baby, I thought. Just hold on. We’re going to get through this. We have to.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Torment

The journey to the Connecticut border felt like driving through hell itself.

Every mile stretched into eternity. Every second that ticked by was another second Brandy was in Stone Ward’s hands. Another second she was bleeding, broken, terrified. Another second our baby—our baby—was in danger. The engines of the three motorcycles flanking us roared through the still night air, the vibration traveling up through my spine, but I barely felt it. All I could feel was the rage. The desperation. The crushing, suffocating terror that I was going to be too late.