Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Torment
The ride back to the Griffin house was silent except for the hum of the engine and the occasional crackle of gravel under the tires.
Brandy sat beside me in the back seat, her hand still in mine, her fingers cold despite the warmth of the day.
I could feel the tension radiating off her in waves—fear, confusion, anger, all tangled together into something she couldn’t quite name.
Her mother sat in the front passenger seat, her hands folded in her lap, her expression carefully neutral.
But I could see the worry etched into the lines around her eyes, the way her shoulders were drawn up tight like she was bracing for impact.
Hex drove with the kind of controlled precision that came from years of experience navigating dangerous situations.
His jaw was still clenched, his knuckles white on the steering wheel, and I knew without asking that he was already planning his next move.
Already calculating who the rider was, what they wanted, and how to eliminate the threat before it could touch his family.
Mercy followed in the SUV we’d arrived in, his phone pressed to his ear.
I could see him through the rearview mirror, his expression grim as he spoke—probably to Montana, updating him on the situation.
The mysterious rider. The threat to Hex.
The complication that kept getting more complicated with every passing hour.
When we pulled into the driveway, Hex was out of the car before the engine had fully cut off. He didn’t say a word, just stalked toward the barn with the kind of purposeful stride that said he needed space to think. To plan. To prepare for whatever was coming.
Hannah climbed out of the car slowly, her movements deliberate and turned to look at Brandy and me. “I’m going to make some lunch,” she said, her voice steady despite the tension crackling through the air. “You two should come inside. Get something to eat.”
But I had other plans.
I took Brandy’s hand—the gesture deliberate, possessive—and pulled her gently toward the house. She followed without protest, her eyes still wide with the shock of what had just happened. The rider. The threat. The realization that her father’s past was now an active, immediate danger.
Mercy was still on the phone when we passed him, his voice low and urgent. He glanced at me, one eyebrow raised in silent question, but I just shook my head. Not now. I needed to talk to Brandy. Alone. Away from her family, away from the chaos, away from everything that kept pulling us apart.
Inside the house, I led her up the stairs to her bedroom—the same room where she’d slept as a child, where her siblings had teased her and her mother had tucked her in at night. The door was still open from this morning, and I ushered her inside, closing it firmly behind us.
The room was small, cozy, filled with remnants of her childhood. A faded quilt on the bed. A bookshelf lined with old paperbacks and dusty trophies. A dresser covered in framed photos of her family—smiling, happy, untouched by the violence and chaos that had defined her life in Diamond Creek.
Brandy pulled her hand from mine and walked to the window, staring out at the yard below. Her arms were wrapped around herself, her shoulders hunched like she was trying to make herself smaller. Invisible.
“You need to come back to New York with me,” I said, cutting straight to the point. No preamble. No softening the blow. “You and your mother. Pack a bag. We leave tonight.”
She didn’t turn around. “No.”
“Brandy—”
“I said no.” Her voice was firm, unyielding. “I’m not going to New York. I’m not leaving my family. I’m not running again.”
“This isn’t running,” I said, stepping closer. “This is being smart. That rider—whoever they are—they’re a threat. To your father. To you. To the baby. You’re not safe here.”
“I’m not safe anywhere,” she shot back, finally turning to face me.
Her eyes were blazing, her jaw set in that stubborn line I’d come to recognize.
“You think New York is safer? You think your club can protect me better than my father can? He’s been handling threats like this for longer than you’ve been alive, Torment. ”
“He’s one man,” I countered. “The Soulless Sinners are a brotherhood. We have resources. Connections. We can keep you safe in ways your father can’t.”
“And what’s the price?” she demanded. “What do I have to give up to get that protection? My freedom? My choices? My life?”
“You don’t have to give up anything,” I said, frustration bleeding into my voice. “I’m trying to help you. I’m trying to do the right thing here.”
“The right thing,” she repeated, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “You mean the thing that makes you feel better about knocking up a club whore and then disappearing for two months?”
The words hit like a slap, and I felt my jaw tighten. “That’s not fair.”
“Isn’t it?” She took a step toward me, her eyes flashing.
“You didn’t call. You didn’t reach out. You didn’t give me any indication that I was anything more than a convenient fuck.
And now you show up here, talking about protection and doing the right thing, like I’m supposed to just fall in line because you’ve decided to play the hero. ”
“I’m not playing anything,” I said through gritted teeth. “I’m the father of your child. That means something. That means you’re not alone in this.”
“I’ve been alone since the moment I left Diamond Creek,” she said, her voice rising. “I’ve been alone since the moment you let me walk away without a word. So don’t stand there and tell me I’m not a single parent, Torment. Don’t stand there and pretend like you’ve been here all along.”
“The baby has a father,” I said, the words coming out harsher than I intended. “Whether you like it or not, I’m part of this. I’m not walking away.”
Her entire body went rigid, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. “You don’t get to decide that,” she said, her voice low and dangerous. “You don’t get to show up here and start making demands like you have any right—”
I didn’t let her finish.
I closed the distance between us in two strides, grabbed her face in both hands, and kissed her.
It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t tender. It was raw and desperate and fueled by every ounce of frustration and need that had been building since the moment I’d arrived at this house.
Since the moment I’d learned she was pregnant.
Since the moment I’d realized I couldn’t lose her.
All the words I’d been too afraid to say, all the feelings I’d been too proud to admit—they all poured into that kiss.
She stiffened for half a second, her hands coming up to push against my chest. I could feel her resistance, the wall she’d built between us.
But then something shifted. Something broke.
The tension in her body gave way, melting into something else entirely.
And suddenly she was kissing me back with the same desperate intensity, her fingers curling into my shirt, pulling me closer.
Her breath came in short gasps between kisses, and I could taste the salt of tears on her lips—whether hers or mine, I couldn’t tell.
The tension that had been crackling between us since I’d arrived—the anger, the hurt, the unspoken desire—ignited like gasoline thrown on an open flame. Every argument, every glance, every moment of restraint burned away in an instant, leaving nothing but raw, unfiltered need.
I backed her toward the wall, my hands sliding down to her waist, gripping her hips hard enough to leave marks.
The heat between us was electric, crackling with an intensity that made my pulse pound in my ears.
She gasped against my mouth, and I swallowed the sound, deepening the kiss, claiming her in a way I hadn’t allowed myself to before.
My tongue swept against hers, tasting her, devouring her, and she met me stroke for stroke, her nails digging into my shoulders hard enough that I knew I’d bear the crescents of her desperation on my skin for days.
“Torment,” she breathed when I broke the kiss to trail my lips down her neck, biting gently at the sensitive spot just below her ear. Her voice was ragged, trembling with need. “We can’t—my family is downstairs—”
“I don’t care,” I growled against her skin, my hands already working at the button of her jeans. My fingers fumbled with urgency, impatient and demanding. “I need you. Right now.” The words came out raw, primal, stripped of any pretense or control.
She didn’t argue. Didn’t protest. She just nodded, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps as I yanked her jeans and panties down her legs in one swift motion.
She kicked them off impatiently, and I lifted her, her legs wrapping around my waist instinctively as I pressed her against the wall.
The cool surface contrasted with the heat radiating from our bodies, and she clung to me like I was the only solid thing in her world.
The position was perfect—her back against the solid surface, her body open and vulnerable to me, her eyes wide and dark with desire.
I could see the rapid rise and fall of her chest, hear the shallow, desperate quality of her breathing.
I could feel the heat of her through my jeans, could feel how wet she already was, and it took every ounce of control I had not to just take her right then and there.
But I wanted to savor this. Wanted to make her feel every second of what she did to me. Wanted her to understand exactly how much power she held over me, how completely she’d undone me with nothing more than a look, a touch, a whispered word.