Chapter 32
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Torment
I sat on the ridge, my eyes locked on the farmhouse below, and tried not to think about what was happening inside those rotting walls.
But I couldn’t stop. The thoughts came anyway, relentless and vicious, tearing through my mind like claws.
What was Stone doing to her right now? Was she hurt?
Bleeding? Terrified? Was she protecting the baby—our baby—with her body, the way I knew she would?
Was she thinking about me? Wondering if I was coming?
Or had she given up hope entirely, convinced I’d abandoned her the way I’d abandoned her in that bedroom when I’d chosen club business over her?
The therapist in me knew this spiral was unproductive.
Knew that catastrophizing wouldn’t help her, wouldn’t change the situation, wouldn’t make the others arrive any faster.
But the man in me—the man who loved her, who’d fucked her against a wall and felt her come apart in his arms, who’d heard their baby’s heartbeat and felt something fundamental shift inside him—that man couldn’t stop the images from flooding in.
Brandy’s face. Her voice. The way she’d looked at me in the clinic when I’d kissed her, like she was seeing me for the first time.
The way she’d felt in my hands, soft and warm and alive.
I could see the farmhouse from here. Could see the dim lights flickering in the windows.
Could see the Death Dogs moving around outside, laughing and smoking like they didn’t have a care in the world.
Like they weren’t holding a pregnant woman captive.
Like they weren’t part of something so fucking evil it made my stomach turn.
I was close enough to see them, close enough to count them, close enough to imagine charging down that hill and tearing through every single one of them until I found her.
But I couldn’t move. Couldn’t act. Couldn’t do anything but sit here and wait while the woman I loved suffered at the hands of a monster.
Twenty minutes. Montana and the others would be here in twenty minutes.
Maybe less. But twenty minutes might as well be forever when every second felt like an eternity.
When every breath I took was another breath Brandy might not get to take.
When every heartbeat was another moment she was in danger, in pain, in hell.
The guilt was crushing. It sat on my chest like a physical weight, pressing down until I could barely breathe.
She’d run because of me. Because I’d left her in that bedroom and gone to deal with club business.
Because I’d chosen the barn and Hex and Montana’s phone call over staying with her, over holding her, over telling her what she meant to me.
And she’d interpreted that choice exactly the way I’d feared she would—as proof that she didn’t matter.
That the club came first. That she was just an obligation, a burden, a problem to be solved.
And then Stone had taken her. Had grabbed her at a gas station while she was running from me, while she was convinced she wasn’t worth fighting for.
Had dragged her to this farmhouse and done God knew what to her.
And it was my fault. Both losses were on me.
My failures. My inability to keep her safe.
My inability to make her understand that she was everything.
I heard footsteps behind me, quiet and deliberate, and I didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.
Hex moved like a predator—silent, controlled, dangerous.
He stopped beside me, his eyes on the farmhouse, and for a long moment, neither of us spoke.
We just stood there, two men watching the same building, thinking about the same woman, carrying the same desperate need to act.
Then Hex lowered himself to the ground beside me, his movements stiff but steady, and settled into a sitting position.
Still, he didn’t speak. Didn’t look at me.
Just stared at the farmhouse with the same intensity I felt burning in my own chest. The silence stretched between us, heavy and loaded, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.
It was the silence of shared understanding.
Of shared desperation. Of shared love for one woman who meant everything to both of us.
Finally, after what felt like hours but was probably only minutes, Hex spoke. His voice was low, rough, like the words were being dragged out of him against his will. “I know I haven’t been fair to you.”
I turned to look at him, surprised, but he kept his eyes on the farmhouse.
His jaw was tight, his hands resting on his knees, his entire body radiating tension.
“I didn’t want to believe you were different,” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Didn’t want to believe my daughter could fall for someone in this world.
Didn’t want to accept that the life I’d tried so hard to protect her from had found her anyway. ”
He paused, his throat working as he swallowed hard.
“I tried to protect her from this. From all of it. From the violence and the chaos and the way the club takes everything you love and twists it into something ugly. I thought if I kept her away, if I built a normal life for her, she’d be safe.
She’d be happy. She’d never have to know what it’s like to love someone in this world and watch them get destroyed by it. ”
His voice cracked slightly, and I saw his hands curl into fists.
“But she chose you. She loves you. And I’ve been too blind to see why.
Too caught up in my own fear and my own past to see that maybe—just maybe—you’re not like the men I knew.
That maybe you’re the kind of man who’d fight for her instead of using her.
Who’d protect her instead of breaking her. ”
The words hit me like a punch to the gut, and I felt something inside me crack wide open.
All the walls I’d built, all the control I’d maintained, all the careful distance I’d kept between myself and the world—it all shattered in that moment.
My voice broke when I spoke, the words coming out raw and jagged and desperate.
“I love her. God, Hex, I love her so much it terrifies me.”
I turned to face him fully, needing him to see the truth in my eyes.
Needing him to understand. “I’m not good enough for her.
I know that. I’ve never been good enough.
I’m broken and fucked up and I carry so much guilt it’s a wonder I can stand upright.
But she makes me want to be better. She makes me believe that maybe—just maybe—I could be the kind of man who deserves her. ”
The confession poured out of me like blood from a wound, and I couldn’t stop it.
Didn’t want to stop it. “I killed someone. A submissive in a scene. Years ago, before I joined the club. I was responsible for her safety, for her life, and I failed. She died because I lost control. Because I wasn’t careful enough.
Because I thought I knew what I was doing and I was wrong. ”
My hands were shaking now, my entire body trembling with the weight of the admission.
“I’ve carried that guilt my entire life.
It’s shaped everything I am, everything I do.
It’s why I became a therapist—to try to save people, to try to make up for the one person I couldn’t save.
And now the one person who could make me believe I deserve redemption, the one person who looks at me and sees something worth loving—she’s in there.
And I can’t reach her. I can’t save her.
And if she dies because I wasn’t fast enough, wasn’t smart enough, wasn’t enough—”
My voice broke completely, and I had to stop, had to press my palms against my eyes to keep the tears from falling. “I can’t lose her, Hex. I can’t. She’s everything. She’s the only good thing I’ve ever had, and I’ll tear this world apart to get her back.”
Hex was quiet for a long moment, and when I finally lowered my hands and looked at him, I saw something in his eyes I hadn’t expected.
Understanding. Not judgment. Not dismissal.
Just pure, raw understanding. “I know what it’s like to carry a death,” he said quietly.
“To know that someone died because of choices you made, actions you took. To wake up every morning and wonder if you could have done something different. Something better.”
He turned to look at me fully, and I saw the weight of decades in his eyes.
The scars. The regrets. The ghosts. “I know what it’s like to love someone so much you’d burn the world down to keep them safe.
To know that you’d kill or die for them without hesitation.
To understand that they’re the only thing standing between you and the darkness. ”
His voice softened, and for the first time since I’d met him, I saw something other than cold calculation in his expression.
I saw a father. A man who loved his daughter more than life itself.
“She sees something in you I couldn’t. My daughter sees a good man.
A man worth fighting for. A man worth loving.
And I’m learning to trust her judgment. I’m learning that maybe the world she’s chosen—the life she’s chosen—isn’t the nightmare I thought it was.
Because she chose you. And if she chose you, there must be a reason. ”
The words settled over me like a benediction, and I felt something shift in my chest. Something that had been locked down and buried for years. Hope. Fragile and tentative, but real. “I’d die for her,” I said, my voice steady now, certain. “Without hesitation. Without regret.”
“I know,” Hex said simply. “I can see it in your eyes. The same look I had when I met Hannah. The same desperation. The same certainty.”
“I want to be a father to that baby,” I continued, needing him to understand the full scope of what I was offering.
What I was promising. “I want to marry her. I want to build a life with her. I want to wake up every morning and know that she’s mine and I’m hers and nothing in this world can change that.
I want that more than I’ve ever wanted anything. ”
Hex studied me for a long moment, his eyes searching mine, cataloging every micro-expression, every shift in body language. Then he nodded slowly, and I saw the decision settle over him like armor. “Then we get her out. Alive. Safe. And we figure out the rest together.”
He extended his hand to me, and I stared at it for a moment, understanding the weight of what he was offering.
Not asking permission. Not granting approval.
Offering partnership. Offering alliance.
Offering trust. I took his hand, and his grip was firm, solid, unbreakable.
“You’re going to marry her,” he said, his voice carrying the weight of a command and a blessing all at once.
“And you’re going to be a good father. And I’m going to stop getting in the way of that. ”
“I’m going to spend the rest of my life making sure she never regrets choosing me,” I said, my voice rough with emotion. “I’m going to protect her and love her and give her everything she deserves. I swear it.”
Hex’s grip tightened, and I saw something flicker in his eyes. Respect, maybe. Or recognition. “Good,” he said simply. Then he released my hand and turned back to the farmhouse. “Because if you don’t, I’ll kill you myself.”
I almost smiled at that. Almost. “Fair enough.”
We sat there in silence for another moment, both of us staring at the farmhouse, both of us processing what had just happened.
We weren’t enemies anymore. We weren’t adversaries.
We were allies. Brothers, in a way that transcended blood and club patches and all the bullshit politics that had tried to keep us apart.
We were two men who loved the same woman, and we were about to go to war to get her back.
In the distance, I heard the rumble of motorcycle engines. Multiple bikes, moving fast, heading our way. I turned and saw headlights cutting through the darkness, a convoy of riders approaching from the east. The Soulless Sinners. The cavalry.
Time was up. The wait was over.
Hex stood, his movements fluid and controlled despite his age, and I rose beside him.
We stood shoulder to shoulder, watching the headlights grow closer, watching the farmhouse below, watching the Death Dogs start to notice the approaching bikes and scramble into defensive positions.
The air crackled with tension, with anticipation, with the promise of violence.
“Let’s go get my daughter,” Hex said, his voice low and dangerous.
I nodded, my hand moving to the gun at my side, my entire body coiling with readiness. “And your grandbaby.”
Hex glanced at me, and for the first time since I’d met him, I saw him smile. It was a cold smile, a predator’s smile, the smile of a man who’d spent decades perfecting the art of violence. “My grandbaby,” he repeated, testing the words. Then he nodded. “Yeah. Let’s bring them home.”
The bikes pulled up behind us, engines cutting off one by one, and I heard boots hitting the ground, voices calling out, weapons being checked.
Montana’s voice rose above the rest, barking orders, coordinating positions, preparing for the assault.
Mercy appeared at my side, his expression grim but determined.
Smokey and Dutch flanked Hex, their weathered faces set in hard lines.
We were ready. All of us. Ready to tear through that farmhouse and everyone in it. Ready to bring Brandy home. Ready to end this.
I looked at Hex one more time, and he met my gaze with steady certainty. We didn’t need words. We understood each other perfectly. We were no longer adversaries. We were brothers about to go to war.
And God help anyone who stood between us and the woman we both loved.