Page 1 of Sinner’s Torment

PROLOGUE

Brandy

One week before the Death Dogs attacked...

I knew this would be the last time I would feel his hands on me.

The thought sat heavy in my chest as I stood in the doorway of my small room at the back of the Silver Shadows’ clubhouse, watching as he took off his jacket and draped it carefully over the chair. The leather hit the wood with a soft thud that seemed too loud in the quiet space. Outside, the clubhouse buzzed with controlled chaos as brothers prepared for war, women packed bags, and children were shuffled to vehicles in the dead of night.

But in here, it was just us.

King’s orders had been clear: all women and children out of Diamond Creek by dawn. No exceptions. The Death Dogs were closing in, and none of us were stupid enough to argue when survival was on the line. I had already packed my duffel and said my goodbyes to the other girls. My ride was leaving in six hours.

Six hours.

That was all the time I had left with him.

Torment turned to face me, and the look in his dark eyes made my stomach clench. He didn’t have to say anything. I could read it all there. The tension. The frustration. The same gnawing awareness that this was it. Whatever this thing between us was, it ended tonight.

“Come here,” he said, his voice low and rough.

I didn’t hesitate. I crossed the room in three strides, and the moment I was within reach, his hands were on me. He grabbed my hips and pulled me flush against him, his mouth crashing down on mine with a hunger that stole my breath. There was nothing gentle about the way Torment kissed me. There never was. His teeth scraped my bottom lip before his tongue swept into my mouth, claiming, demanding. I melted into him, my fingers curling into the fabric of his T-shirt as I kissed him back just as fiercely.

This was what we did. What we had always done.

No strings. No promises. Just heat and need and the kind of raw, primal connection that left me aching for days after.

Except somewhere along the way, it had stopped being just sex for me.

I shoved that thought down deep as his hands slid under my shirt, rough palms skimming up my ribs. I didn’t want to think about feelings tonight. I didn’t want to ruin this by admitting that I had looked for him every time I walked into a room, that the sound of his voice made my pulse quicken in a way that had nothing to do with anticipation of what he could and would do to my body.

Tonight, I just wanted to feel.

Torment broke the kiss long enough to yank my shirt over my head and toss it aside. His gaze raked over me, dark and possessive, and I felt that look everywhere. My bra followed a second later, and then his mouth was on my neck, my collarbone, the swell of my breast. He bit down just hard enough to make me gasp, and I felt him smile against my skin.

“You like that,” he murmured, not a question.

“You know I do.”

He did know. Torment knew exactly what I liked, what made me come apart in his hands. He learned my body the way he probably learned everything—methodically, thoroughly, with an attention to detail that was almost clinical. Except there was nothing clinical about the way he touched me now.

His hands were everywhere. Rough, demanding, leaving trails of fire in their wake. He spun me around and pressed me face-first against the wall, his body a solid wall of heat at my back. I braced my palms against the cool surface as he made quick work of my shorts, shoving them down my hips along with my panties. The denim pooled at my ankles, and I kicked them off, already trembling with anticipation.

“Spread your legs,” he ordered, his breath hot against my ear.

I obeyed, widening my stance, and felt his hand slide between my thighs from behind. His fingers found me wet and ready, and he made a low sound of approval that sent a shiver down my spine.

“Fuck, Brandy,” he muttered, his fingers circling my clit with just enough pressure to make my knees weak. “You’re always so ready for me.”

I was. God help me, I always was.

He worked me with his fingers, slow and deliberate, building the tension until I was panting against the wall. Just when I thought I couldn’t take anymore, he pulled his hand away, and I heard the clink of his belt buckle followed by the rasp of his zipper. My heart hammered in my chest as I waited, every nerve ending on fire.

Then he was there, the thick head of his cock pressing against my entrance, and I bit my lip to keep from begging.

“Tell me you want this,” he said, his voice strained.

“I want this,” I breathed. “I want you.”