Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
Torment
Montana exploded.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” His voice boomed through the boardroom, echoing off the walls like a gunshot.
The fluorescent lights overhead seemed to flicker in response to the intensity of his rage.
“This is what I need right now? This? I’ve got a bullet wound that’s barely healed, a club that’s falling apart at the seams, the Death Dogs breathing down our necks like rabid animals, and Reaper trying to absorb us into the Golden Skulls—and now I’ve got to deal with one of my brothers knocking up a club whore? ”
His hand slammed down on the table again, harder this time. The sound reverberated through the room, rattling the empty beer bottles and ashtrays scattered across the scarred wood surface. I could see the veins in his neck bulging, his face flushing red with fury.
“I don’t need this on my fucking plate, Torment. I don’t need this shit. Not now. Not when everything else is going to hell.”
I sat there, frozen in my chair, my mind still trying to process what was happening. The words weren’t quite sinking in, like they were bouncing off some protective barrier my brain had thrown up.
Brandy. Pregnant. Mine.
Maybe.
Probably.
Fuck.
Montana was still going, his voice rising with every word, each syllable like a hammer blow.
“Do you have any idea what this means? Do you? This isn’t just your problem anymore.
This is club business. Club. Business. Which means I have to deal with it.
Mercy has to deal with it. The entire fucking charter has to deal with it.
We all have to deal with the fallout from your inability to keep your dick in your pants. ”
“Montana—” I started, my voice catching in my throat, but he cut me off before I could get another word out.
“Don’t.” His eyes were blazing with a fury I’d never seen before, practically burning holes through me. “Don’t fucking talk right now. I can’t even look at you.” He turned his head away sharply, his jaw working like he was chewing on nails.
Bane stood up abruptly, his chair scraping loudly against the polished hardwood floor, the sound cutting through the tension like a knife. The screech seemed to hang in the air for a moment, making everyone in the room wince.
Montana’s head snapped toward him with predatory speed. “Where the fuck are you going?” His voice was low, dangerous, barely controlled.
Bane didn’t answer. He didn’t even acknowledge the question. He just walked toward the door with deliberate steps, his broad shoulders shaking in a way that seemed almost... odd. Wrong, even.
Then he started laughing.
Not a chuckle. Not a smirk. Not even a nervous giggle.
Full-on, uncontrollable laughter that erupted from deep in his chest and echoed through the boardroom like a goddamn symphony of chaos.
It bounced off the walls, filling every corner of the space, completely shattering whatever remained of the professional atmosphere.
“Bane!” Montana roared, shooting up from his seat, his face turning an alarming shade of red. “Get your ass back here! Right fucking now!”
But Bane was already out the door, his laughter only getting louder and more manic as he went, trailing behind him like smoke from a wildfire. It faded down the hallway, leaving nothing but stunned silence in its wake.
The door slammed shut with a resounding bang that made several people jump.
Montana turned back to me slowly, his movements measured and controlled in a way that was somehow more terrifying than his earlier outburst. His jaw was clenched so tight I thought his teeth might crack under the pressure.
A vein pulsed visibly in his temple. “Unbelievable.” The word came out quiet, deadly. “Un-fucking-believable.”
Mercy leaned forward, his expression serious, his tattooed forearms resting on the scarred wooden table between us. The weight of his gaze made it clear this wasn’t just a casual conversation. “Alright. Let’s talk about what this means.”
“What it means?” Montana’s voice was sharp, cutting through the tension like a blade. He slammed his beer bottle down on the table hard enough to make it rattle. “It means Torment fucked up. Plain and simple.”
“It means,” Mercy said calmly, his tone measured and deliberate as he shot Montana a warning look, “that we need to follow club protocol. This is a paternity issue involving a club whore from an allied MC. That makes it complicated. More complicated than your average baby mama drama.”
“Complicated,” Montana repeated, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “That’s one word for it.”
Mercy ignored him, keeping his focus trained on me.
“According to club rules, if a brother fathers a child with a club whore, he’s responsible for that child.
Financially, at minimum. If he wants to claim the kid, step up and be a father, he can.
If he doesn’t, he still pays support. No exceptions. No walking away clean.”
I stared at him, my mind racing, trying to process everything he was laying out. “I don’t even know if it’s mine.”
“That’s what the DNA test is for,” Mercy said, his voice steady and patient.
“But if it comes back positive, you’re on the hook.
Period. And since this involves the Silver Shadows, we need to handle it carefully.
Real carefully. King’s already involved.
That means this is inter-club business now.
We can’t just ignore it or sweep it under the rug. ”
“I’m not ignoring it,” I said, my voice tight with frustration as I ran a hand through my hair. “I just found out about it five minutes ago. Give me a second to fucking breathe.”
“And now you know,” Mercy said, his voice steady and matter-of-fact.
“So we deal with it. We handle this like we handle everything else—methodically and smart. Step one: confirm paternity. Get a test done, make sure we’re dealing in facts, not assumptions.
Step two: figure out what you want to do.
What kind of father you want to be, if that’s what this turns out to be.
Step three: communicate with King and the Silver Shadows.
We need to loop them in before this becomes a bigger issue than it already is.
Step four: handle the fallout, whatever that looks like. ”
“Fallout,” I repeated, the word tasting bitter in my mouth, like ash and regret mixed together.
“Yeah, fallout,” Mercy said, his expression darkening slightly.
“Because this isn’t just about you and some girl you hooked up with.
This is about alliances. About respect. About how we handle our business and our responsibilities.
If we fuck this up, if we handle this wrong, it reflects on the entire club. Every single one of us.”
Montana leaned back in his chair, his massive arms crossed over his chest, his eyes still blazing with barely contained anger. “Great. Just fucking great. This is exactly what we need right now.”
Payne and Rage were grinning like a couple of idiots.
I could see them out of the corner of my eye, leaning back in their chairs like they were watching the best goddamn show on earth, like this was premium entertainment laid out just for them.
Payne caught my eye and smirked, that infuriating, knowing smirk of his. “Never thought I’d see the day, brother.”
“Right?” Rage said, his grin widening until it practically split his face in two. “Torment, of all people. Mr. Controlled. Mr. Analytical. Mr. I-Never-Make-Mistakes. Mr. I-Always-Have-My-Shit-Together. And now look at you—knocked up some girl and didn’t even know about it.”
“Fuck off,” I muttered, my jaw clenching so hard I thought my teeth might crack.
“Can’t fuck off,” Payne said, still grinning like an idiot who’d just won the lottery. “This is too good. This is once-in-a-lifetime entertainment right here.”
Rage nodded enthusiastically, his eyes gleaming with mischief.
“I mean, if it was me, I’d get it. Or Payne.
Or hell, even Fury. We’re all walking disasters when it comes to this shit.
But you? You’re the guy who probably has a checklist for sex.
‘Step one: obtain enthusiastic consent. Step two: utilize appropriate protection. Step three: post-coital hydration and aftercare discussion.’”
Payne snorted so hard he nearly choked on his own spit. “Post-coital hydration. Jesus Christ, that’s perfect.”
“I’m just saying,” Rage continued, gesturing wildly with his hands like he was presenting a TED talk, “this is the most human thing I’ve ever seen you do. The most normal, fuck-up-like-the-rest-of-us thing. It’s beautiful, really.”
“Glad I could entertain you,” I said flatly, my voice devoid of emotion.
Fury leaned over and slapped me on the back, hard enough that I nearly lurched forward and face-planted into the table in front of me.
“Congratulations, brother,” he said, his voice absolutely dripping with sarcasm and mock sincerity. “Couldn’t have happened to a nicer, more uptight, straitlaced, by-the-book guy.”
I turned to glare at him. “Really?”
“Really.” Fury’s grin was wide and completely unapologetic, showing all his teeth like a predator who’d cornered his prey.
“I mean, you’re the guy who color-codes his fucking bookshelf by genre and author.
You probably have a spreadsheet for your grocery list with formulas and projected monthly expenses.
And now you’ve knocked up a club whore. It’s poetic, really.
Like something out of a twisted romance novel. ”
“It’s not confirmed,” I said through gritted teeth, my hands balling into fists at my sides.
“But it’s likely,” Fury said, leaning back in his chair with smug satisfaction. “And that’s enough for me. That’s enough to make this the best day I’ve had in months.”
Vicious groaned from across the table, a low, guttural sound that cut through the heated conversation like a knife.
Everyone turned to look at him, the room falling silent except for the faint hum of the overhead lights.