Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
Torment
I was buried in paperwork when Mercy appeared in my office doorway.
Not the fun kind of paperwork—not client files or therapy notes or even the occasional insurance bullshit that came with running a legitimate practice.
No, this was club paperwork. Financial records from the Alabama Chapter.
Inventory lists from our warehouses. Supply chain documentation that needed my signature before it could be filed away in whatever secure location Mercy kept this shit.
The glamorous life of a club officer.
I didn’t look up immediately, finishing the line I was reading before setting down my pen. “Yeah?”
“King’s on the line,” Mercy said, his tone carefully neutral. “Wants to talk to you and Montana.”
That got my attention.
I looked up, meeting Mercy’s eyes. His expression gave nothing away, but there was something in the set of his shoulders—a tension that hadn’t been there this morning—that made my gut clench.
“About what?” I asked, already pushing back from my desk.
“Didn’t say.” Mercy stepped aside to let me pass. “But he asked for you specifically. Said it was urgent.”
Fuck.
I followed Mercy down the hallway toward the boardroom, my mind racing through possibilities. Had something happened in Diamond Creek? Another attack? Had the Death Dogs regrouped faster than we’d anticipated? Was someone hurt?
Was it about Brandy?
The thought sent a spike of something uncomfortable through my chest—something I didn’t want to examine too closely.
I’d been trying not to think about her for the past two days, ever since Bane had dropped that bomb in church about the DNA results.
Trying not to think about the fact that she was carrying my kid.
Trying not to think about what that meant, what I was supposed to do about it, how the fuck I was supposed to feel.
King had said she’d call me. That she wanted to talk.
But my phone had been silent.
Mercy pushed open the boardroom door, and I stepped inside to find Montana already there, leaning against the table with his phone on speaker. He looked like shit—pale, drawn, favoring his injured side. He shouldn’t have been out of bed, let alone standing here dealing with club business.
But that was Montana. Stubborn bastard would probably die at this table before he’d admit he needed rest.
He glanced up as I entered, his expression grim. “Torment’s here,” he said into the phone.
“Good,” King’s voice came through the speaker, rough and tired. “We’ve got a problem.”
I moved closer to the table, my hands curling into fists at my sides. “What kind of problem?”
There was a pause. A long one. The kind that made my pulse kick up and my jaw tighten.
“Brandy’s gone,” King said finally.
The words didn’t make sense at first. They just hung there in the air, disconnected from meaning, like he’d spoken in a foreign language.
“Gone?” I repeated slowly. “What do you mean, gone?”
“I mean, she’s not here,” King said, his frustration evident. “She disappeared sometime last night. Packed a bag and slipped out of the clubhouse while everyone was asleep. One of our prospects saw her leaving but didn’t stop her—thought she was just going for a drive to clear her head.”
The room tilted slightly.
“What the hell do you mean, she’s gone?” I shouted, my voice echoing off the walls.
Montana straightened, wincing at the movement. Mercy stepped forward, his hand raised in a calming gesture that I immediately ignored.
“She ran,” King said bluntly. “Left in the middle of the night. No note, no explanation. Just gone.”
Something inside me snapped.
I spun around and slammed my fist into the wall, the impact sending a shock of pain up my arm that I barely registered. The drywall cracked under my knuckles, a spiderweb of fractures spreading outward from the point of impact.
“Torment—” Mercy started.
“She took my kid!” I roared, whirling back toward the phone. “She fucking kidnapped my baby!”
“She didn’t kidnap anyone,” King said, his tone sharp. “She’s pregnant, not a criminal. She has every right to—”
“Every right?” I cut him off, my voice rising to a near-shout. “She’s carrying my child, and she just disappeared without a word? That’s not her right. That’s fucking kidnapping!”
“Legally speaking—” Mercy began.
“I don’t give a shit about legally!” I slammed both hands on the table, leaning forward. “That’s my kid, Mercy. Mine. And she just took off with it like I don’t have a say in the matter?”
The door opened behind me, and I heard Shame’s voice. “What the hell is going on now?”
“Brandy ran,” Mercy said quietly. “Left Diamond Creek last night.”
“Shit.” Shame moved into my peripheral vision, crossing his arms. “Where’d she go?”
“That’s the problem,” King said through the speaker. “We don’t know. I’ve got brothers checking her usual spots, asking around, but so far nothing. It’s like she just vanished.”
Montana pushed off from the table, pacing slowly. “What do we know about her? Family? Friends? Anywhere she might run to?”
Another pause.
“Not much,” King admitted, and I could hear the frustration in his voice.
“She’s been with the club for years, but she kept to herself.
Didn’t talk much about her past. I know she’s from somewhere back east originally, but I don’t have specifics.
No family contacts are in her file. No emergency numbers except the club. ”
“How the fuck do you not know anything about her?” I demanded. “She’s been living in your clubhouse for five years and you don’t know where she’s from?”
“She’s a club whore, Torment,” King said flatly. “Not an old lady. We don’t exactly run background checks on every woman who wants to warm a brother’s bed.”
The words hit like a slap, and I felt my rage spike higher. “She’s not just a club whore anymore. She’s carrying my kid. That makes her my responsibility.”
“Then maybe you should have thought about that before you fucked her without protection,” King shot back.
I opened my mouth to respond—to tell him I had used protection, that I always used protection, that this shouldn’t have been possible—but Montana cut me off.
“Enough,” he said, his voice carrying the weight of command despite his weakened state. “Fighting about it isn’t going to find her. King, what’s your plan?”
“I’ve got Cash and a few others asking around town,” King said. “Checking with local businesses, gas stations, anywhere she might have stopped. But if she got on the highway, she could be anywhere by now.”
“She’s got what, a twelve-hour head start?” Mercy asked.
“At least,” King confirmed. “Maybe more. The prospect didn’t report it until this morning.”
“Fuck.” Montana ran a hand through his hair, grimacing. “Alright. We need to—”
“I can help,” Shame interrupted, stepping forward. “I’ve got contacts. People who owe me favors. I can put out feelers, see if anyone’s seen her.”
“Do it,” Montana said immediately.
I turned to look at Shame, something desperate clawing at my chest. “Find her,” I said, my voice rough. “Find everything you can about her. Friends, family, old addresses, anything. I don’t care what it takes or what you have to do. Just find her.”
Shame nodded, his expression serious. “I’m on it.”
Montana pulled out his phone, scrolling through his contacts. “I’ll call Sypher. Kid’s a fucking wizard with computers. If anyone can track her down, it’s him.”
He hit dial and put the phone on speaker, setting it on the table next to King’s call.
It rang four times before Sypher’s voice came through, sounding distracted. “Yeah?”
“Sypher, it’s Montana. I need you to—”
“Busy,” Sypher interrupted. “Whatever it is, it’s gonna have to wait.”
Montana’s jaw tightened. “This can’t wait. We’ve got a situation. One of the Silver Shadows’ club whores ran off, and she’s pregnant with Torment’s kid. We need you to track her down.”
“Can’t,” Sypher said, and I could hear the clicking of a keyboard in the background. “I’m in the middle of something for Reaper. Won’t be free for at least a week, maybe longer.”
“A week?” Montana’s voice rose. “Sypher, this is important. I need you on this now.”
“And I’m telling you I can’t,” Sypher said, his tone flat. “I’ve got priorities, Montana. Reaper’s business comes first. You know that.”
Montana’s face flushed red. “You little shit! I’m the president—”
“Not my president,” Sypher corrected. “And besides, aren’t you supposed to be patching over to the Golden Skulls, which means Reaper will be your president?”
“Fuck you, Sypher. That shit isn’t official yet.”
There was a pause. Then Sypher laughed—actually laughed.
“Whatever, man,” he said, sounding completely unbothered, and then the line went dead.
Montana stared at his phone, his expression one of complete disbelief. “Did he just hang up on me?”
From the doorway, Fury’s laughter erupted—loud, uncontrolled, the kind of laughter that came from witnessing something so absurd you couldn’t help yourself.
“Oh my God,” Fury gasped between laughs, leaning against the doorframe. “A Golden Skull just hung up on you. That’s fucking beautiful.”
“Shut up, Fury,” Montana growled and shot him a glare that could have melted steel.
I didn’t have time for this. Didn’t have the patience for Montana’s wounded pride or Fury’s amusement or any of the political bullshit that came with the patch-over.
I turned to Shame, blocking out everything else.
“Forget Sypher. Forget all of them. I need you on this, Shame. You’re the best tracker we’ve got.
Find out everything about Brandy Griffin.
Where she’s from, who her family is, where she went to school, who her friends were before she joined the club.
I don’t care if you have to dig through twenty years of records or call in every favor you’ve ever earned. Just find her.”
Shame met my eyes, and something in his expression softened. Understanding, maybe. Or sympathy.
“I’ll find her, brother,” he said quietly. “I promise.”
“How long?” I asked.
“Give me forty-eight hours,” Shame said. “Maybe less if I get lucky. But I’ll find something. People don’t just disappear without leaving a trail.”
“She’s had twelve hours,” I said, my voice tight. “Every minute we waste is another mile between us.”
“I know.” Shame clapped a hand on my shoulder. “But panicking isn’t going to help. Let me work. I’ll call you the second I have something.”
He left, moving with purpose, and I felt some of the tension in my chest ease slightly. If anyone could find her, it was Shame. The man had connections everywhere, knew how to dig up information that most people didn’t even know existed.
But forty-eight hours felt like an eternity.
“King,” Montana said, turning back to the phone. “Keep your people looking. Check bus stations, train stations, airports. If she’s trying to get far, she’ll need transportation.”
“Already on it,” King confirmed. “I’ll call if we find anything.”
“Do that.” Montana ended the call and looked at me. “She’ll turn up, Torment. Women don’t just vanish into thin air.”
“She’s scared,” I said, the realization hitting me like a punch to the gut. “She’s terrified, and she ran because she thinks... what? That I don’t want her? That I won’t step up?”
“Did you give her any reason to think otherwise?” Mercy asked, his tone gentle but pointed.
I opened my mouth to respond, then closed it again.
Had I?
I’d spent the past two days avoiding the situation, avoiding thinking about it, avoiding dealing with the reality that I was going to be a father. I hadn’t called her. Hadn’t reached out. Hadn’t done anything except sit in my office and pretend the problem would solve itself.
And now she was gone.
“Fuck,” I breathed, sinking into one of the chairs. “Fuck.”
“Yeah,” Montana said, lowering himself carefully into his own seat. “That about sums it up.”
Fury was still chuckling by the door. “For what it’s worth, I think that little shit just reminded you exactly where you stand now, Montana.”
“Get out, Fury,” Montana said tiredly.
“Going, going.” Fury raised his hands in surrender, still grinning. “But seriously, Montana. Reaper’s people don’t have to answer to you anymore. That’s the patch-over, brother. That’s what it means.”
“Out.”
Fury left, his laughter echoing down the hallway as the boardroom fell silent
“She’s carrying my kid,” I said quietly, staring at my hands. “And I don’t even know where she’s from. Don’t know her family’s names. Don’t know anything about her except that she felt good in my bed and she’s running from me now.”
“Then we find her,” Montana said. “And when we do, you figure out what you want. What you’re willing to do. Because this isn’t just about you anymore, Torment. It’s about that kid. And kids need stability. They need parents who give a shit.”
“I know,” I said.
And I did. I knew exactly what kids needed because I’d spent years helping people work through the trauma of not having it. I knew what happened when parents checked out, when they prioritized their own needs over their children’s, when they failed to show up.
I knew all of it.
And I’d be damned if I let my kid grow up feeling unwanted.
“Shame will find her,” Mercy said, his voice certain. “And when he does, you’ll have a choice to make. About what kind of father you want to be. What kind of man.”
I looked up at him, then at Montana.
“I already know what kind of man I want to be,” I said. “The kind who doesn’t run. The kind who shows up.”
Montana nodded slowly. “Good. Then we wait for Shame to work his magic, and we go from there.”
I stood, my hands still trembling slightly from the adrenaline crash. “I’m going to my office. Call me the second you hear anything.”
“Will do,” Mercy said.
I left the boardroom, my mind already racing ahead. Forty-eight hours. Maybe less.
I could wait that long.
I had to.
Because Brandy was out there somewhere, scared and alone and carrying my child.
And I was going to find her.
No matter what it took.