Epilogue Two
Torment
Later that same night...
The room was quiet now, the sounds of celebration from downstairs reduced to a distant murmur that barely penetrated the walls. Moonlight crept through the window, painting everything in shades of gray and gold. I lay on my side, propped up on one elbow, watching Brandy sleep beside me.
She was beautiful like this—peaceful, unguarded, her face soft in the dim light.
Her hair was spread across the pillow in wild tangles, her lips slightly parted as she breathed slow and steady.
One hand rested on my chest, her fingers curled loosely against my skin, like even in sleep she needed to touch me. To know I was still here.
I couldn’t look away from her. Couldn’t stop watching the gentle rise and fall of her breathing, the way her eyelashes cast shadows on her cheeks, the small smile that played at the corners of her mouth. She looked content. Safe. Loved.
And she was mine.
I still couldn’t quite believe it. Couldn’t quite wrap my mind around the fact that this woman—this fierce, stubborn, beautiful woman—had chosen me. Had fought for me. Had loved me despite everything I’d done, everything I’d been, everything I’d failed to be.
She’d seen the darkness in me and hadn’t run. She’d seen my brokenness and hadn’t turned away. She’d looked at all the jagged, damaged pieces of who I was and decided I was worth loving anyway.
I’d spent so many years convinced I didn’t deserve this. Didn’t deserve happiness or peace or love. I’d carried Elise’s death like a weight around my neck, a constant reminder that I was dangerous, that I destroyed the things I touched, that I wasn’t capable of protecting the people I cared about.
But Brandy had changed everything.
She’d walked into my life like a storm—wild and unpredictable and impossible to ignore.
And somehow, in the chaos of everything that had happened, she’d shown me that I wasn’t the monster I’d believed myself to be.
That my past didn’t have to define my future.
That I was capable of more than just surviving—I was capable of living. Of loving. Of being loved in return.
We were both broken when we found each other. Both carrying scars that ran too deep to ever fully heal. But together, somehow, we were whole. Together, we made sense in a way that nothing else ever had.
I reached out carefully, brushing a strand of hair away from her face, my fingers lingering against her cheek. She stirred slightly but didn’t wake, just pressed closer to me with a soft sigh that made my chest tighten.
God, I loved her. Loved her in a way that terrified me and exhilarated me and made me feel like I could take on the entire world as long as she was by my side.
I was going to spend the rest of my life making sure she knew how wanted she was.
How loved. How absolutely essential to my existence.
I was going to protect her and cherish her and give her everything she’d ever been denied.
I was going to be the man she deserved—the man she’d already decided I was, even when I couldn’t see it myself.
This was my redemption. My second chance. My future.
And I wasn’t going to waste a single moment of it.
I let my hand trail down to rest over hers on my chest, my fingers threading through hers, holding on like she was the only thing keeping me anchored to the earth.
The celebration downstairs had finally quieted, the last of the brothers heading home or crashing in the clubhouse rooms. The world outside this room felt distant, unimportant.
All that mattered was right here. Right now. This woman sleeping peacefully beside me, her body warm and soft against mine, her breathing steady and calm.
I could have stayed like this forever. Just watching her. Just being with her. Just—
My phone vibrated on the nightstand.
The soft buzz cut through the quiet like a knife, and I froze, my eyes darting to the screen. The display lit up in the darkness, casting a pale glow across the room.
Bane.
I frowned, carefully reaching for the phone without disturbing Brandy. It was two in the morning. Who the hell called at two in the morning unless something was wrong?
My heart kicked up a notch as I answered, keeping my voice low and urgent, hoping not to wake my son who slept in the small crib in the corner of the room. “What?”
“I found her!” Bane’s voice exploded through the speaker, loud and excited and completely oblivious to the time.
I pulled the phone away from my ear slightly, wincing. “Jesus, Bane, keep it down. What are you talking about?”
“I found her!” he repeated, his excitement barely contained. “Torment, I fucking found her!”
I sat up slowly, careful not to wake Brandy, my hand still holding hers against my chest. “Found who?” I asked, confusion threading through my voice. “Bane, what the hell are you—”
There was a pause. A beat of silence that stretched too long, too heavy, like Bane was building up to something. Like he was savoring the moment before he dropped a bomb that would change everything.
And then he said the words I thought I’d never hear.
“Your sister,” Bane said, his voice softer now, more serious. “Torment, I found your sister. I found Zoey!”
THE END