Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
Brandy
Two days later...
I’d been waiting for this moment since King sent the DNA sample to Bane.
Two long, agonizing days of sitting in my room at the clubhouse, staring at the same four walls, trying desperately not to think about what the results would say.
Two days of Grace checking on me every few hours, her face creased with worry, bringing me food I couldn’t even look at, let alone eat, asking if I needed anything when all I needed—all I wanted—was answers.
Two days of pacing the small room like a caged animal, wearing tracks in the carpet, counting the cracks in the ceiling at three in the morning when sleep wouldn’t come.
Two days of my mind spinning in endless circles, imagining every possible outcome, every possible scenario, until I couldn’t tell what was anxiety and what was just exhaustion playing tricks on me.
Two days of wondering if Torment even cared enough to think about me, about us, about what might be growing inside me.
Two days of replaying that final night with him over and over in my head—the way he’d touched me, looked at me, whispered things that made my heart race.
Two days of questioning whether any of it had meant something or if I’d just been another warm body to him, another notch on his belt, another meaningless hookup before he rode back to New York and forgot I existed.
The knock on my door came just after noon on that second day.
I jumped at the sound, my heart slamming against my ribs so hard I thought it might crack straight through bone and burst out of my chest. The book I’d been pretending to read—the same page for the last hour—slipped from my numb fingers and hit the floor with a dull thud that seemed to echo in the tense silence.
For a second, maybe two, I just sat there on the edge of my bed, completely frozen, unable to move or breathe or think. My hands gripped the comforter so tightly my knuckles turned white, my nails digging into the fabric like it was the only thing tethering me to reality.
Then the knock came again, softer this time, more hesitant, almost apologetic.
“Brandy?” Grace’s muffled voice came through the door, gentle and careful. “Honey, can I come in?”
I forced myself to stand up, my legs shaky and uncertain beneath me, smoothing down my shirt with trembling hands—a nervous habit I couldn’t shake no matter how hard I tried—and walked slowly to the door, each step feeling heavier than the last. My hand hovered over the doorknob for a moment, my breath coming in short, shallow gasps, before I finally turned it and pulled the door open.
When I opened it, Grace stood there in the hallway, her expression calm but serious, her eyes searching my face with that motherly concern that always made me want to cry and feel safe all at once.
Behind her was Cash, the Silver Shadows’ VP, his broad shoulders filling the doorway, his muscular arms crossed over his chest, his weathered face completely unreadable.
His presence alone told me this was official club business, not just a friendly check-in.
“Bane called,” Cash said simply, his deep voice matter-of-fact, no emotion betraying what the results might be. “King wants you in his office. Now.”
My stomach dropped like a stone thrown into deep water, plummeting down, down, down into an abyss.
I nodded, not trusting my voice, not sure I could speak even if I wanted to. My throat felt like someone had wrapped their hands around it and squeezed.
Grace reached out and took my hand in hers, squeezing gently, her warmth seeping into my cold fingers. “Come on, honey. Let’s go.”
I followed them down the hallway, my legs moving on autopilot, my mind blank with fear and anticipation.
The clubhouse was quiet today, most of the brothers out working or handling club business.
Their absence made everything feel more ominous, more final.
The silence felt oppressive, suffocating, like the walls were slowly closing in around me, pressing down on my chest. Our footsteps echoed on the hardwood floors, each sound sharp and too loud in the empty corridor.
Somewhere in the distance, I could hear the low hum of voices, the clink of bottles, the rumble of motorcycles outside—normal clubhouse sounds that seemed surreal and distant, like they were happening in another world entirely.
Grace kept hold of my hand as we walked, her thumb brushing over my knuckles in a soothing, rhythmic pattern that should have calmed me but didn’t. Nothing could calm the storm raging inside me. The terror and hope and dread all twisted together into something unrecognizable.
“No matter what,” she said softly, her voice low enough that only I could hear, pitched just for me, “you have a home here and people who care about you, Brandy. People who love you. Don’t forget that. Don’t ever forget that.”
I looked at her, my throat so tight I could barely swallow. My eyes burned with unshed tears I refused to let fall, not yet, not here in this hallway where anyone could see.
She gave me a small, reassuring smile, the kind that reached her eyes and crinkled the corners in that genuine way that made her beautiful despite—or maybe because of—the lines life had etched there.
“You’re not alone in this. You hear me? You’re not alone.
No matter what that test says, no matter what happens next, you have us. You have this family.”
I wanted to believe her. God, I wanted to believe her so badly it physically hurt, like something sharp and jagged was lodged in my chest.
But the fear coiling in my chest, wrapping around my lungs like a vise, tightening with every breath, made it hard to breathe, let alone believe anything good could come from this.
We reached King’s office at the end of the hall, and Cash didn’t bother knocking. He just opened the heavy wooden door and stepped aside, gesturing with one tattooed hand for me to go in. The skull and crossbones inked across his knuckles seemed to grin at me mockingly.
I hesitated at the threshold, my feet refusing to move forward, suddenly feeling like if I stepped through that doorway, everything would change irrevocably.
Like I was standing on the edge of a cliff and that one step would send me tumbling over the side.
I looked back at Grace with wide, pleading eyes, silently begging her not to make me do this alone.
“Are you staying too?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, shaking with uncertainty and desperate hope.
Grace smiled, warm and steady and solid, like an anchor in a storm. “Only if you want me to, honey. This is your news, your moment. But if you need me, I’m here.”
I nodded quickly, too quickly, desperate. “Please. Please stay. I can’t—I need you there.”
She stepped into the office with me without hesitation, without judgment, and Cash shut the door behind us with a quiet, final-sounding click that made my stomach turn and my pulse spike. That soft sound felt like the closing of a chapter, the sealing of a fate.
King was sitting behind his massive desk, his leather cut draped over his broad shoulders, the Silver Shadows’ patch worn and faded from years of wear.
His expression was serious but not unkind, his dark eyes holding a gravity that made my heart pound even harder.
The afternoon sunlight streaming through the window behind him cast him in silhouette, making him look larger than life, more intimidating.
His office smelled like leather and motor oil and the faint, lingering scent of cigar smoke.
The walls were covered with photographs of the club throughout the years—brothers laughing, riding, celebrating.
Memories of a family I was now part of, whether I’d planned it or not.
His eyes met mine as he gestured to the two chairs positioned in front of him, worn leather seats that had probably held countless people receiving news both good and terrible.
“Have a seat, Brandy.”
I sat down carefully, like I might break if I moved too fast, lowering myself into the chair with exaggerated caution, my hands trembling uncontrollably in my lap.
I tried to fold them together to hide the shaking, but it was useless.
Grace pulled up a chair next to me, scraping it across the floor until it was close enough that our shoulders touched, her presence grounding me, reminding me I wasn’t alone.
Cash moved to lean against the wall behind King, his arms still crossed, his steady gaze fixed on me with an intensity that should have made me uncomfortable but instead felt protective, like a guardian standing watch.
King didn’t waste time with pleasantries or small talk. He never did. That wasn’t his way, and right now, I appreciated it. I couldn’t have handled pointless conversation, couldn’t have pretended everything was normal for even another second.
“Torment is the father,” he said, his voice calm, like he was discussing the weather instead of changing my entire life with four simple words. “Bane confirmed it. The DNA test came back positive. There’s no doubt. No margin of error. It’s definitive.”
My eyes widened, my breath catching in my throat, getting stuck somewhere between my lungs and my mouth.
For a second, I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t process what he’d just said, couldn’t make my brain understand the words even though they were simple enough. English words I’d known since childhood, arranged in a way that should have made perfect sense.
Torment.
It was Torment.
The DNA test confirmed it.
He was the father of my baby.
The baby growing inside me right now, the size of a lentil or a blueberry or whatever the pregnancy app I’d downloaded said it was this week.
I looked at Grace, my vision blurring slightly as the reality of it hit me like a freight train going full speed, knocking the air from my lungs, making the room tilt and spin.