Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Torment
The barn smelled of old wood and motor oil, the scent mixing with the faint trace of dust that hung in the air like memories suspended in time.
The single bare bulb overhead cast harsh shadows across the space, turning everything into sharp angles and deep darkness.
Hex stood near his motorcycle—that relic of his former life—his posture rigid, his expression unreadable.
Mercy leaned against a workbench, arms crossed, his eyes tracking every movement Hex made with the kind of vigilance that came from years of assessing threats.
And I stood between them, Mercy’s phone in my hand, Montana’s voice crackling through the speaker.
“You still there, Hex?” Montana’s voice was rough, impatient, carrying the weight of a man who’d spent the last hour making calls to some of the most powerful men in the MC world.
“I’m here,” Hex replied, his voice flat, emotionless. He didn’t move closer to the phone. Didn’t show any interest in what Montana had to say. He just stood there, staring at his motorcycle like it held answers to questions no one had asked.
“Good,” Montana said. “Because I’ve got news. News that changes everything.”
I felt a flicker of hope ignite in my chest—small, fragile, but undeniable.
I’d been in this barn long enough for Hex and Mercy’s argument to circle back on itself, while also listening to Montana try to convince a man who’d been burned by the MC world that there was still a way forward.
And now, finally, Montana had something concrete. Something that might actually matter.
“I’ve been on the phone with Reaper,” Montana continued, his voice carrying the kind of authority that came with his position. “President of the Golden Skulls. And King—president of the Silver Shadows. And Morpheus—head of the Brotherhood of Bastards and current chair of the Biker Federation.”
Hex’s jaw tightened, the only visible reaction to the names Montana was dropping. These weren’t just club presidents. These were the men who controlled the entire MC landscape. The men who made the rules, enforced the laws, decided who lived and who died in this world.
“And?” Hex prompted, his voice still flat, still devoid of emotion.
“And they’ve agreed to lift your excommunication,” Montana said, the words landing like a bomb in the quiet barn.
I felt my breath catch, my heart stuttering in my chest. Lift the excommunication. That meant Hex would no longer be persona non grata. That meant the Federation rule forbidding his family from joining active clubs would no longer apply. That meant—
“They’re willing to reinstate you,” Montana continued, his voice gaining momentum now, like he could sense the shift in the room.
“Not as an active member—you made it clear you don’t want that.
But they’ll lift the ban. They’ll remove the restriction.
Which means Brandy is no longer forbidden from being claimed by an active club member. ”
The hope in my chest flared brighter, hotter, threatening to consume me.
This was it. This was the solution. This was the way forward.
If the excommunication was lifted, if the Federation rule no longer applied, then I could claim Brandy.
Openly. Officially. I could give her the protection of the Soulless Sinners, make her my old lady, ensure that she and the baby were safe from every threat in this world.
I could have her.
Mercy straightened slightly, his eyes flicking to me, then back to Hex.
He understood the implications just as clearly as I did.
This was a massive concession. This was Montana and Reaper using their political capital to override decades of Federation law.
This was them acknowledging that the original rule—the one created specifically because of Hex—was unjust.
“Why?” Hex asked, his voice cutting through my spiraling thoughts like a blade. “Why would you all do that?”
Montana was quiet for a moment, and I could hear the weight of what he was about to say in that silence.
“Because of my father,” he said finally, his voice tight.
“Because my motherfucking old man was involved in what happened to you all those years ago. Because Reaper’s father, that piece of shit William Doherty, was involved.
Because Titan was involved. And because all three of them created that federation rule to cover their own asses after you nearly killed Stone. ”
The words hung in the air, heavy and damning. George Stone. Montana’s father. The former president of the Soulless Sinners. The man who’d built the club into what it was today. And he’d been complicit in whatever had happened to Hex. He’d been part of the betrayal.
“We’re trying to make it right, brother,” Montana continued. “Or as right as it can be after thirty years. We’re acknowledging that you got fucked over. That the rule was created to protect them, not to protect the clubs. And we’re willing to lift it. For Brandy. For your grandchild.”
I watched Hex carefully, cataloging every micro-expression, every shift in body language. His shoulders were still rigid, his jaw still clenched, but there was something else now. Something darker. Something that looked almost like contempt.
“No,” Hex said.
The word was simple, absolute, and it hit me like a physical blow.
“What?” Montana’s voice crackled through the speaker, disbelief clear in his tone. “Hex, you don’t understand—this is the solution. This makes it possible. Torment can claim Brandy. She’ll be protected. The baby will be protected. This is what you wanted.”
“No,” Hex repeated, his voice harder now, edged with something that might have been anger or might have been exhaustion. “It’s not what I wanted. And it doesn’t change anything.”
“How the fuck does it not change anything?” Montana demanded, his patience clearly wearing thin. “We’re lifting the ban. We’re giving you back what was taken from you. We’re making it possible for your daughter to have a future in this world if that’s what she chooses.”
“The past is written in stone, Stone,” Hex said, and the deliberate use of Montana’s surname was like a slap across the face. “And there is no changing it. Eventually, everyone’s going to learn the truth, and it won’t matter anymore. None of this. None of it will fucking matter.”
I felt something shift in my chest—a cold, creeping realization that spread through me like ice water in my veins.
The way Hex said it. The way he emphasized “Stone.” The way he looked at the phone like he could see Montana through it, like he was delivering a message that went far beyond this conversation.
Hex knew something.
Something big. Something that went beyond his imprisonment, beyond the beating he’d given Titan’s son, beyond personal vengeance. This wasn’t about one man’s betrayal. This was about something systemic. Something institutional. Something that implicated multiple clubs at the highest levels.
“What truth?” I asked, my voice cutting through the tension. “What are you talking about, Hex?”
Hex turned to look at me, and for the first time since we’d entered the barn, I saw something in his eyes that looked almost like pity. “You’ll find out,” he said quietly. “Everyone will. And when you do, you’ll understand why lifting the excommunication doesn’t mean shit.”
My mind raced, piecing together fragments of information, trying to understand what Hex was saying without saying.
George Stone had been involved. Titan had been involved.
William Doherty—Reaper’s father—had been involved.
Three presidents. Three clubs. The Silver Shadows, the Soulless Sinners, the Golden Skulls.
All connected to whatever had happened to Hex all those years ago.
And Hex had evidence. He had to.
Whatever Hex knew would condemn them all.
I glanced at Mercy, looking for confirmation, for understanding, for anything that would tell me I wasn’t crazy. But Mercy just shrugged, his expression grim. He didn’t know. This wasn’t information the Soulless Sinners had. This was Hex’s secret to keep or reveal.
“Hex,” Montana said, his voice tight with frustration. “I don’t know what you think you know, but—”
“I don’t think I know anything,” Hex interrupted, his voice cold. “I know. I’ve known for over thirty years. And I’ve been waiting for the right time to make sure everyone else knows too.”
The threat was clear. Unmistakable. Hex wasn’t just refusing the offer to lift his excommunication. He was promising retribution. He was promising that whatever secret he’d been keeping would come to light, and when it did, it would destroy everything.
I opened my mouth to ask him to explain, to demand to know what he was talking about, to understand what secret could be so damning that even lifting the excommunication ban didn’t matter.
Because I needed to know. I needed to understand what I was walking into, what Brandy was walking into, what our child would be born into.
But before I could speak, the barn door flew open with a crash that made all three of us turn.
Hannah stood in the doorway, her face white, her eyes wide with panic. Her chest was heaving like she’d been running, and her hands were shaking as she gripped the doorframe for support.
“Brandy’s gone!” she gasped, her voice high and frantic. “She took my car! I went to check on her and her room is empty—her bag is gone—I can’t find her anywhere!”
The world tilted.
For a moment, everything stopped. Montana was still on the phone, his voice a distant buzz I couldn’t process. Mercy was frozen, his expression shifting from alert to alarmed. Hex slowly turned to look at Hannah, his face draining of color.
And I felt the ground drop out from under me.
Gone.
Brandy was gone.
She’d packed a bag. She’d taken Hannah’s car. She’d left. While I was down here in the barn, while I was dealing with club business, while I was trying to navigate Federation politics and institutional corruption and all the shit that came with this life—she’d left.
I’d made my choice. And she’d made hers.
“Torment—” Mercy started, but I was already moving, already pushing past Hannah, already running toward the house.
Because I’d fucked up. Again. Just like I always did. I’d chosen the club over her. I’d chosen politics over the woman carrying my child. I’d left her alone in that bedroom, raw and vulnerable and convinced she didn’t matter, and I’d walked away to deal with club business.
And now she was gone.
The realization hit me like a freight train, crushing the air from my lungs, making my chest tighten until I thought my ribs might crack.
I’d had her. For one perfect moment in that bedroom, I’d had her.
She’d been in my arms, her body wrapped around mine, her breath hot against my neck.
And I’d felt something I hadn’t felt in years—something that looked almost like hope.
And then I’d walked away.
I burst through the front door of the house, taking the stairs two at a time, my heart pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears.
The sound of my boots echoed through the empty hallway as I climbed higher, each step feeling heavier than the last. Her bedroom door was open, the room empty.
The silence hit me like a physical blow, suffocating and absolute.
But she was gone. Her bag was gone. Her clothes were gone. The closet door hung open, revealing empty hangers swaying slightly, as if mocking me with their emptiness.
She was gone.
I stood in the doorway, staring at the empty room, my hand gripping the doorframe so tight my knuckles turned white, and felt something inside me shatter.
It was like a piece of glass breaking in my chest, sharp and painful and irreversible.
Because I’d done this. I’d driven her away with my stubborn pride and my misplaced priorities.
I’d made her believe she didn’t matter, that the club came first, that she was just an obligation I had to fulfill, another responsibility on my endless list of duties.
I’d let her think she was second place when she should have been everything.
And now I’d lost her. Possibly forever.
Behind me, I heard footsteps on the stairs. Mercy appeared in the doorway, his expression grim. “Torment—”
“Find her,” I said, my voice raw, barely recognizable. “I don’t care what it takes. I don’t care who you have to call or what strings you have to pull. Find her.”
Mercy nodded once, already pulling out his phone. “I’ll get Shame on it. We’ll track the car. We’ll find her.”
But as I stood there in Brandy’s empty bedroom, staring at the space where she’d been just an hour ago, I couldn’t shake the terrible certainty that settled over me like a shroud.
I’d made my choice.
And it had cost me everything.