Sinner’s Torment (Soulless Sinners MC #7)

Prologue

Brandy

One week before the Death Dogs attacked...

I knew this would be the last time I would feel his hands on me.

The thought sat heavy in my chest as I stood in the doorway of my small room at the back of the Silver Shadows’ clubhouse, watching as he took off his jacket and draped it carefully over the chair.

The leather hit the wood with a soft thud that seemed too loud in the quiet space.

Outside, the clubhouse buzzed with controlled chaos as brothers prepared for war, women packed bags, and children were shuffled to vehicles in the dead of night.

But in here, it was just us.

King’s orders had been clear: all women and children out of Diamond Creek by dawn.

No exceptions. The Death Dogs were closing in, and none of us were stupid enough to argue when survival was on the line.

I had already packed my duffel and said my goodbyes to the other girls. My ride was leaving in six hours.

Six hours.

That was all the time I had left with him.

Torment turned to face me, and the look in his dark eyes made my stomach clench. He didn’t have to say anything. I could read it all there. The tension. The frustration. The same gnawing awareness that this was it. Whatever this thing between us was, it ended tonight.

“Come here,” he said, his voice low and rough.

I didn’t hesitate. I crossed the room in three strides, and the moment I was within reach, his hands were on me.

He grabbed my hips and pulled me flush against him, his mouth crashing down on mine with a hunger that stole my breath.

There was nothing gentle about the way Torment kissed me.

There never was. His teeth scraped my bottom lip before his tongue swept into my mouth, claiming, demanding.

I melted into him, my fingers curling into the fabric of his T-shirt as I kissed him back just as fiercely.

This was what we did. What we had always done.

No strings. No promises. Just heat and need and the kind of raw, primal connection that left me aching for days after.

Except somewhere along the way, it had stopped being just sex for me.

I shoved that thought down deep as his hands slid under my shirt, rough palms skimming up my ribs.

I didn’t want to think about feelings tonight.

I didn’t want to ruin this by admitting that I had looked for him every time I walked into a room, that the sound of his voice made my pulse quicken in a way that had nothing to do with anticipation of what he could and would do to my body.

Tonight, I just wanted to feel.

Torment broke the kiss long enough to yank my shirt over my head and toss it aside.

His gaze raked over me, dark and possessive, and I felt that look everywhere.

My bra followed a second later, and then his mouth was on my neck, my collarbone, the swell of my breast. He bit down just hard enough to make me gasp, and I felt him smile against my skin.

“You like that,” he murmured, not a question.

“You know I do.”

He did know. Torment knew exactly what I liked, what made me come apart in his hands. He learned my body the way he probably learned everything—methodically, thoroughly, with an attention to detail that was almost clinical. Except there was nothing clinical about the way he touched me now.

His hands were everywhere. Rough, demanding, leaving trails of fire in their wake.

He spun me around and pressed me face-first against the wall, his body a solid wall of heat at my back.

I braced my palms against the cool surface as he made quick work of my shorts, shoving them down my hips along with my panties.

The denim pooled at my ankles, and I kicked them off, already trembling with anticipation.

“Spread your legs,” he ordered, his breath hot against my ear.

I obeyed, widening my stance, and felt his hand slide between my thighs from behind. His fingers found me wet and ready, and he made a low sound of approval that sent a shiver down my spine.

“Fuck, Brandy,” he muttered, his fingers circling my clit with just enough pressure to make my knees weak. “You’re always so ready for me.”

I was. God help me, I always was.

He worked me with his fingers, slow and deliberate, building the tension until I was panting against the wall.

Just when I thought I couldn’t take anymore, he pulled his hand away, and I heard the clink of his belt buckle followed by the rasp of his zipper.

My heart hammered in my chest as I waited, every nerve ending on fire.

Then he was there, the thick head of his cock pressing against my entrance, and I bit my lip to keep from begging.

“Tell me you want this,” he said, his voice strained.

“I want this,” I breathed. “I want you.”

He thrust into me in one hard stroke, filling me completely, and I cried out at the sudden stretch.

He didn’t give me time to adjust. He never did.

His hands gripped my hips hard enough to bruise as he set a punishing rhythm, each thrust driving me harder against the wall.

The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, punctuated by my gasps and his low grunts of pleasure.

It was rough. Raw. Exactly what I needed.

I pushed back against him, meeting him thrust for thrust, chasing the building pressure low in my belly. His hand snaked around to my front, fingers finding my clit again, and the dual sensation made my vision blur.

“That’s it,” he growled in my ear. “Take it. Take all of me.”

I was so close, teetering on the edge, when he suddenly pulled out.

Before I could protest, he spun me around and lifted me, my back hitting the wall as I wrapped my legs around his waist. He entered me again in one smooth motion, and this angle was deeper, more intense.

I clutched at his shoulders, my nails digging into his skin through his shirt as he fucked me against the wall with a ferocity that bordered on desperate.

Our eyes met, and for a moment, something passed between us. Something that felt too big, too real for what we were supposed to be. I saw it in the way his jaw clenched, the way his gaze searched mine like he was looking for an answer to a question he couldn’t ask.

Or maybe I was just projecting, seeing what I wanted to see.

“Come for me,” he commanded, his voice rough. “I want to feel you come around my cock.”

His words, combined with the relentless rhythm and the pressure of his pelvis grinding against my clit with each thrust, sent me over the edge.

My orgasm hit me like a freight train, as pleasure crashed through me in waves so intense I couldn’t breathe.

I buried my face in his neck to muffle my cries as my body clenched around him, and I felt him shudder, his own release following seconds later.

We stayed like that for a long moment, both of us breathing hard, our bodies still joined. My legs trembled as I slowly unwrapped them from his waist, and he lowered me carefully to the floor. My knees were weak, and I had to brace myself against the wall to stay upright.

Torment stepped back, tucking himself away and zipping his jeans with practiced efficiency. I watched him, suddenly feeling exposed in a way that had nothing to do with being naked. I bent to retrieve my clothes, pulling them on with shaking hands while he watched in silence.

The air between us felt heavy, weighted with all the things we weren’t saying.

“What time do you leave?” he asked finally.

“Six.”

He nodded, his expression unreadable. “You’ll be safe. King’s sending you somewhere secure.”

“I know.”

Another silence stretched between us. I wanted to ask him what happened next. If he would think about me when I was gone. If this meant anything to him beyond a convenient fuck. But I didn’t because I was afraid of the answer.

“Torment.”

“Don’t,” he said quietly, and there was something in his voice that made my chest ache. “Just... don’t.”

I swallowed hard and nodded. He was right.

What was the point? In a few hours, I would be gone, and he would still be here, facing whatever hell the Death Dogs brought with them.

And even if we both survived whatever was coming, what then?

I was a club whore. He was a Soulless Sinner.

We existed in the same world, but we weren’t meant for the same life.

I knew that.

I had always known that.

So why did it hurt so much?

“Be safe,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

Something flickered in his eyes. Regret, maybe, or something close to it. He reached out and cupped my face with one hand, his thumb brushing across my cheekbone in a gesture so tender it made my throat tight.

“You too, Brandy.”

Then he dropped his hand, grabbed his jacket from the chair, and walked out of my room without looking back.

I stood there alone in the silence, my body still humming from his touch, my heart breaking in a way I hadn’t expected. I pressed my palm against my chest, as if I could somehow hold all the pieces together, and took a shaky breath.

This was always how it was going to end.

I just hadn’t expected it to feel like this.

Like losing something I never really had in the first place.