Page 32 of The Bane of a Sinner
Shame ran a hand through his hair, his expression grim. “I’ll handle George, but you need to get ready to leave. Pack only what you need and be prepared to move quickly. We don’t have much time. I’ll do my best to get him out, but it won’t be easy. George is determined to use him as leverage, and with what he knows and the risk he might get your father involved, it becomes even more complicated.” He paused, his eyes searching mine. “But I promise you, I will not leave him there to rot.”
I nodded, my throat tight with unshed tears. “Okay,” I said, my voice steady, though my insides were churning. “Okay, I’ll do it. I’ll transfer schools and disappear. But you have to promise me something.” I looked Shame directly in the eyes, my gaze unwavering. “Promise me you’ll keep him safe. I don’t trust Sinclair. Swear to me that no harm will come to him because of me.”
“I promise.”
As I packed, my hands moved mechanically, my mind elsewhere. I thought of August, brave and defiant, facing down George. I thought of my father, caught in a web of secrets and lies. The weight of it all threatened to crush me, but I pushed the emotions aside. I had to stay strong for my baby, for August, and for myself. I would face whatever came next, but first, I had to get out of the city.
Chapter Seventeen
August
That same night...
The rough-hewn wood of the St. Andrew’s cross dug into my shoulders, a familiar ache now. Blood, thick and dark, matted my already tangled hair, blurring my vision. George Stone’s sneering face swam into focus on me; the glint of his ring, a crude skull, catching the flickering candlelight.
I wasn’t sure how much more I could take, but I knew what they intended to do.
They were waiting for me the moment I left the hospital.
My supposed brothers. Men who swore to have my back, no matter what, now looked on as if I were some stranger, some villain, some piece of shit they’d never met. To make matters worse, my best friend, the one I thought I could always count on, stood unmoving against the back wall, silent for the first time in his life.
“Hit him again, Truth,” George rasped, the words a guttural command that scraped against my raw nerves. Impact slammed into me, a brutal percussion that resonated in my bones, the metallic tang of blood already blooming on my lip.
Truth.
The name itself was a poisoned dart, a whisper of the chilling efficiency that clung to the Soulless Sinner enforcer like a shroud. He’d been a legend in the club long before I’d even glimpsed its shadowed heart, a veteran whose methods were as brutal as they were effective. His eyes, the color of blackobsidian, held a terrifying emptiness, reflecting not a soul, but a cold, calculating intellect. The air thrummed with the low growl of his approaching boots, each step a measured beat of impending agony. He wasn’t just extracting confessions; he was carving them from flesh and bone, a meticulous sculptor of pain, and the sickening sweetness of fear coated my tongue. He was a masterpiece of depravity, and I was his latest canvas.
The blow sent me reeling, as my head snapped back against the wood with a crack that echoed through my skull. Truth’s handiwork, no doubt—an artist’s touch that left its mark. My body, once a folio of memories, was now a map of pain, each strike a new territory of agony. I could feel the heat of Truth’s breath on my face, his eyes boring into me, as he searched for any sign of weakness. George, ever the eager spectator, leaned in, his voice a hiss of anticipation. “Again,” he urged, his command spurring Truth on like a hound.
Another blow, another flash of light behind my eyes. I tasted copper, my own blood, as my lip split further. I welcomed the pain, letting it fuel my defiance. They wanted a reaction, a plea for mercy, but I would give them nothing. My silence was my shield, my only defense against their onslaught. Truth’s vacant eyes narrowed, his expressionless mask slipping for a moment as he registered my resistance. His boots scraped against the floor as he adjusted his stance, preparing for another strike.
I braced myself, knowing that my endurance would be tested further. The cross, usually a symbol of suffering and penance, now represented my defiance.I will not break, I vowed, even as the prospect of more pain loomed.
“Where is the godless bitch, August?” George Stone’s voice was a low growl, laced with the chilling patience of a predator. “Tell us, and this shit ends.”
My breath hitched, a ragged rasp in my throat. I spat blood; the taste was metallic and bitter. “I... I don’t know.”
My lie tasted like victory because I did know. Diana was hidden, safe, but revealing who had her would condemn her and kill Shame. The club’s reach was long, their ruthlessness legendary.
Montana stood in the shadows, his usual cocky swagger replaced by a stark stillness. His eyes, usually alight with mischief, were dark pools reflecting the flickering candlelight. He didn’t intervene, didn’t even flinch at the sickening thud of Truth’s boot against my ribs.
My best friend.
My betrayer.
“You think we’re fools, boy?” snarled another voice, a gruff bellowed from one of the other club brothers as a blow landed on my head, a dizzying crack, the last of my resolve threatening to crumble under the unending pressure.
“Don’t play games,” Stone said, his voice colder than the dungeon air. He pulled out a long, thin knife, the blade gleaming ominously. He dragged it across my cheek, leaving a burning trail that echoed the burning shame and betrayal in my heart. My blood ran warm, a bitter stream down my neck.
Still, Montana didn’t move, didn’t speak.
Was this his punishment? He couldn’t be involved. Or did he simply not care?
“Montana,” I croaked, the sound barely audible. “Help me.”
He didn’t even glance my way as George Stone laughed. “You think my boy will help a traitor? He does what he’s told.” The fucker sneered as he leaned in close and whispered, “Just like that little slut you fucked. Remember her? The fucking underage bitch who spread her legs so easily for you. She did exactly what I told her to do. I own you, August. You either start talking or I will find those brats she gave birth to and kill them with my bare hands.”
My eyes snapped to his.
