Page 89 of Sinner’s Torment

Forty-five minutes felt like an eternity when your woman was in danger. When your baby was in danger. When every second that passed was another second Stone could be hurting her, breaking her, destroying everything that mattered.

But it was what we had. So I nodded, swallowing the rage and the fear and the desperate need to act.

Hex dismounted and pulled a pair of binoculars from his saddlebag. He moved to the edge of the ridge, crouching low, and trained them on the farmhouse below. Smokey and Dutch followed, positioning themselves on either side, their eyes scanning the perimeter, cataloging every Death Dog, every weapon, every weak point.

I watched them work, these men who’d lived this life for decades. Who’d fought wars and survived betrayals and come out the other side harder and sharper and more dangerous than before. Hex was a warrior. I could see it in the way he moved, the way he held himself, the way his hand rested on the rifle slung across his back. He’d done this before. And he was ready to do it again.

For Brandy. For his daughter.

I stepped out of the SUV and moved to stand beside him, my eyes on the farmhouse. On the door. On the windows. On every shadow that moved inside.

Brandy, hold on. We’re coming.

Mercy’s phone buzzed, and he glanced at the screen. “The Soulless Sinners are riding.” He looked up at us, his expression grim. “ETA forty-five minutes.”

Forty-five minutes. I closed my eyes and thought about Brandy. About the sound of our baby’s heartbeat during the ultrasound—fast and strong and impossibly real. About the taste of her kiss. About the way she’d looked at me when she realized I truly wanted the baby. Wanted her. About the way she’d felt in my arms, her body pressed against mine, her breath hot against my neck.

“I’m coming for you, baby,” I whispered, the words barely audible even to myself. “Just hold on. Just stay alive. I’m coming.”

Hex lowered the binoculars and turned to look at me. For a long moment, we just stared at each other—father and... whatever the hell I was to him. The man who’d gotten his daughter pregnant. The man who’d dragged her into this nightmare. The man who loved her more than he’d ever loved anything in his life.

“She’s strong,” Hex said quietly. “Stronger than you think. She’ll survive this.”

I wanted to believe him. God, I wanted to believe him. But I’d seen what men like Stone were capable of. I knew the violence and the cruelty and the absolute lack of mercy that defined men like him.

“We need a plan,” Mercy said, moving to join us. “How many Death Dogs are we looking at?”

Hex raised the binoculars again, scanning the perimeter. “Twelve outside. Maybe more inside. Hard to tell.”

“Firepower?” Smokey asked, his voice gravelly and rough.

“Handguns, rifles. At least two shotguns I can see.” Hex lowered the binoculars and looked at Smokey. “They’re not trying to hide. They want us to see them.”

“Because they’re expecting us,” Dutch said, his eyes narrowed. “Stone wants you to come charging in. Wants to finish what Titan started.”

“Then we don’t give him what he wants,” Mercy said. “We wait for reinforcements. We coordinate. We hit them from multiple angles.”

“What about Brandy?” I demanded, my voice harsher than I intended. “What if we don’t have time to wait? What if he’s⁠—”

“He won’t kill her,” Hex said, cutting me off. “Not yet. She’s his leverage. His bait. He needs her alive to draw me out.”

The words should have been comforting. Should have eased the terror clawing at my chest. But they didn’t. Because alive didn’t mean safe. Alive didn’t mean unharmed. Alive just meant she was still breathing while Stone did God knew what to her.

Hex must have seen something in my expression, because his hand landed on my shoulder, heavy and grounding. “We get her out,” he said, his voice firm. “No matter what it takes. We get her out.”

I nodded, swallowing hard, and turned my attention back to the farmhouse. To the planning. To the strategy. Hex, Mercy, Smokey, and Dutch began talking through the details—entry points, escape routes, how to divide the forces when they arrived. How many Death Dogs were inside versus outside. Where Brandy was most likely being held. Whether she could run if we gave her an opening.

Too many unknowns. Too many ways this could go wrong. But there was no choice. We were committed now.

I closed my eyes and thought about Brandy again. About the way she’d smiled at me in Diamond Creek, that first night we’d been together. About the way she’d looked at me in her childhood bedroom, her eyes wide and vulnerable and full of something I hadn’t been able to name. About the way she’d felt in my arms, her body trembling, her breath catching, her heart pounding against mine.

I love you, I thought, the words echoing through my mind like a prayer. I love you, and I’m coming for you, and I’m going to get you out of there. I swear to God, Brandy, I’m going to get you out.

The sun dipped below the horizon, and darkness began to settle over the fields. The farmhouse lights flickered on—dim, yellow, casting long shadows across the ground. I could see movement inside now, shapes passing by the windows, and I wondered if one of them was her. If she was looking out, hoping someone would come. Hoping I would come.

“We’re going to get her out,” Mercy said quietly, his voice cutting through my thoughts. “Brandy is alive, and she’s waiting for us.”

I looked at him, and for the first time since we’d arrived, I felt something other than rage and fear. I felt resolve. Cold, hard, unshakable resolve.