Chapter 2 #2
I looked down again, tracing the beads of condensation trailing down the glass, the cold biting into my skin. “I don’t know.” My voice was so small it almost vanished in the hush.
The words filled the space between us, heavy as thunderclouds, impossible to ignore.
Grace didn’t flinch or turn away, didn’t let a flicker of judgment cross her face.
She just waited, her patience a quiet comfort that let me breathe through the panic closing in.
The only sound was the faint tick of her watch and our mingled breaths.
“I was careful,” I whispered, the words rough in my mouth.
“I’m on the pill. I always used condoms. Always.
But there were... there was one guy before the evacuation.
And some others after we came back, when everything was still up in the air.
I can narrow it down, but I can’t say for sure who—” My words broke apart, the room suddenly feeling colder, like the window had opened to let the wind in.
Grace reached out, her hand surprisingly warm as she squeezed my knee.
A simple, steadying touch. “It’s okay,” she murmured.
“Really. I remember what it was like after the attack. After we all returned. Everything was a jumbled mess, and tensions were still high. Sometimes, we do everything right, and life still throws a curveball.”
“It’s not okay.” My voice cracked, raw with fear. “King’s going to lose his shit. Everyone will think I’m careless and stupid and—”
“Brandy.” Grace’s tone was firmer now, but still gentle, cutting through my spiral of panic.
“You’re not stupid. And you’re not careless.
Sometimes shit just happens, even when we do everything right.
I’ve been there, too.” She let that hang between us.
A small offering, a reminder that I wasn’t alone in the randomness of disaster.
I wanted to believe her. God, I wanted to believe her so badly. The taste of hope was as sharp and fleeting as the cold glass in my grip. But before I could respond, the door opened.
My entire body went rigid.
King filled the doorway, his massive frame blocking out the light from the hallway. He was wearing his cut, his President patch prominent on the leather, and his expression was unreadable as his gaze moved from Grace to me and back again.
“What’s going on?” His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it. A sharpness that made my stomach drop.
Grace stood, moving to stand between King and me. Not blocking him, exactly, but positioning herself as a buffer. A shield.
“We’re talking,” she simply replied.
King’s eyes narrowed. “About?”
Grace looked back at me, and in that moment, I understood what she was doing.
She wasn’t going to tell him. She wasn’t going to betray my confidence or throw me under the bus.
She was giving me the choice, the agency, to tell him myself.
It was a kindness I didn’t deserve. But it also meant I had to face him.
Had to say the words out loud. Had to watch his reaction when I told him I fucked up in the worst possible way.
My hands trembled so badly the water in the glass rippled.
King’s gaze shifted to me, and I saw the exact moment he registered my state. My tear-streaked face, my shaking hands, the way I looked like I was about to bolt or vomit or both.
His expression softened, just slightly. “Brandy?”
I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. Grace moved back to my side, her hand resting on my shoulder. Grounding me. Reminding me I wasn’t alone as I forced myself to meet King’s eyes.
“I’m pregnant.”
The words came out flat, emotionless, like I was reporting the weather instead of dropping a bomb that would change everything.
For a moment, King didn’t react. He just stood there, staring at me, his face an unreadable mask. Then he stepped fully into the room and closed the door behind him with a quiet click that sounded deafening in the silence.
“Pregnant,” he repeated, his voice carefully neutral.
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.
King crossed his arms over his chest, his jaw tight. “How long have you known?”
“About an hour.”
“And how far along?”
“I don’t know. Maybe two months? I haven’t seen a doctor yet.”
He nodded slowly, processing. Then his gaze sharpened, and I knew what was coming before he even opened his mouth.
“Who’s the father?”
My throat closed up as Grace’s hand tightened on my shoulder, a silent reminder that she was there, that I could do this.
“I don’t know,” I whispered.
King’s expression didn’t change, but something flickered in his eyes. Disappointment, maybe. Or anger. I couldn’t tell.
“You don’t know,” he repeated, his tone flat.
“I was careful,” I blurted quickly, my words tumbling out in a rush. “I’m on the pill, and I always used condoms. Always. But there were a few guys, and I can’t say for sure which one.”
“How many?”
The question was sharp, cutting, and it made me flinch.
“King,” Grace said, her voice carrying a warning.
But King ignored her. His focus remained locked on me. “How many, Brandy?”
I forced myself to hold his gaze, even though every instinct screamed at me to look away. “Three. Maybe four. I don’t remember exactly.”
The silence that followed was suffocating.
King’s jaw worked, his hands flexing at his sides like he was fighting to keep his temper in check. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and controlled, but I could hear the anger simmering beneath the surface.
“You’re telling me you’re pregnant, and you don’t know who the father is. You can’t even give me an exact number of possibilities?”
“I was doing my job, King.” I shot back, a spark of defiance flaring in my chest. “I was doing what I’ve always done. What the club expects me to do.”
“Your job,” King sternly said, “is to cook and clean the clubhouse. Not to get knocked up.”
The words hit me like a slap, and I recoiled, my breath catching in my throat.
“That’s enough.” Grace’s voice was sharp, cutting through the tension like a blade. She stepped between us again, her posture protective. “She’s scared, King. She’s terrified, and tearing into her isn’t going to help.”
King’s gaze shifted to his old lady, and for a moment, I thought he might argue. But then he exhaled slowly, some of the tension draining from his shoulders.
“You’re right,” he said quietly. Then he looked at me, his expression softer but still serious. “I’m not trying to be a dick, Brandy. But this is a problem. A big one. I’ve had several clubs here and we need to figure out how to handle it.”
I nodded, my throat too tight to speak.
King scrubbed a hand over his face, suddenly looking exhausted. “Do any of the potential fathers know?”
I shook my head. “No. I just found out.”
“Do you want to tell them?”
The question caught me off guard. I hadn’t thought that far ahead. I had been too consumed by panic and fear to consider what came next.
Do I want to tell them?
Do I want to tell him?
Torment’s face flashed through my mind. Those dark eyes, that controlled intensity, the way he looked at me that last night, like he was memorizing every detail.
He hadn’t called. Hadn’t texted. Hadn’t reached out once in the last two months.
Maybe he didn’t care. Maybe I had been nothing more than a convenient distraction, a warm body to pass the time.
Or maybe he was dealing with his own shit.
Burying his brother, navigating the patch-over, trying to figure out what came next for the Soulless Sinners.
I didn’t know, and that uncertainty was almost worse than the pregnancy itself.
“I don’t know,” I said finally, my voice small.
King studied me for a long moment, then nodded. “Okay. Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to see a doctor. Get a blood test, find out how far along you are, and make sure everything’s okay. Then we’ll figure out the next steps.”
“And the father?” I asked, hating how weak my voice sounded.
King’s expression was grim. “That depends on who the father is and what you want, Brandy. But if it’s who I think it is—” He paused, his gaze hardening. “Then we’re going to have a conversation with him. Whether you want to or not.”
My stomach dropped because King was right.
If Torment was the father, and deep down, I knew he probably was, then this wasn’t just my problem anymore.
It was club business.
And club business always got messy.