Chapter 7 #2
He stood up slowly, his chair scraping against the floor with a harsh screech. His expression was weary, almost defeated, with dark circles under his eyes that suggested he hadn’t slept properly in days. “I need a drink.”
“We’re not done here,” Mercy said, his voice sharp and commanding. He fixed him with a steely glare that had made grown men reconsider their life choices.
“I don’t give a fuck,” Vicious said flatly, already turning away from the table. His voice was devoid of emotion, like he’d used up every last bit of patience he had. “I need a drink. This is too much.”
Shame stood up too, his movements deliberate and unapologetic, following Vicious toward the door without hesitation. “I’m with him.”
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Montana demanded, rising from his seat as if he might physically block their exit. His face was flushed with anger and frustration.
“To get a drink,” Shame said simply, not even bothering to turn around. “Because if I have to sit here and listen to this shit sober for one more minute, I’m going to lose my goddamn mind.”
The door opened and closed again with a definitive thud, leaving the rest of us sitting in tense, uncomfortable silence. The absence of Vicious and Shame felt like a vacuum, sucking all the energy out of the room.
Storm leaned forward after a long moment, resting his elbows on the table, his expression thoughtful and contemplative. “You know, this reminds me of—”
“Don’t,” Montana said sharply, his tone cutting through the tension in the room like a knife.
Storm blinked, genuinely confused by the sudden hostility. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t compare this to your situation with Delany,” Montana said, his eyes narrowing as he pointed a warning finger in Storm’s direction. “We don’t need to hear it. Not right now.”
“I’m just saying—” Storm started, raising his hands defensively.
“We know what you’re saying,” Mercy cut in, his voice firm and unyielding as he crossed his arms over his chest. “You fucked Delany, she got pregnant, you didn’t find out until years later because she deliberately kept it from you.
We all know the story. We’ve heard it a hundred times. But this isn’t the same.”
“It’s similar,” Storm insisted, leaning forward with an earnest expression on his face.
“It’s not,” Montana snapped, his patience clearly wearing thin. “Your situation was a clusterfuck of epic proportions that involved lies, manipulation, and a kid who didn’t know her own father for half her life. This is just a regular clusterfuck. There’s a difference.”
“I was just trying to help—” Storm protested weakly.
“Well, don’t,” Montana said, his voice dropping to a dangerous low. “Shut the fuck up and let us handle this our own way.”
Storm leaned back in his chair, his jaw tight and his arms folded across his chest in a posture of barely restrained frustration. “Fine”
“Not just Storm,” Pippen added.
Montana turned his icy glare on the kid. He might have only been a few years younger than me, but he was still barely patched in.
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
Pippen shrunk back a little. He was still gaining his footing as a fully patched brother. With all the shit he’d been through in the past year, he hadn’t had much of an opportunity to spread his wings yet.
“I think at this point, Rage and Payne, and probably Shame, are the only brothers who haven’t gotten a woman pregnant without knowing. Though Vicious was technically married first, but even that was out of necessity.”
“Bane was married to Diana before the twins were born—we just didn’t know it,” Fury argued.
“But he wasn’t married to my mother.” Pippen shrugged. “Granted she drugged him, so not sure that counts. But you didn’t know about York until after he was born, Montana. Hell, even I found out I had a kid and I’m gay.”
The room fell silent again at Pippen’s words, the air thick with unspoken words and simmering emotions.
And through it all, I just sat there like a damn statue.
My mind was whirling, spinning, racing a mile a minute. Thoughts crashed into each other, fragmenting and reforming before I could grab hold of any single one. My hands gripped the edge of the table hard enough that my knuckles went white.
Brandy.
I could see her in my mind. Every detail, sharp as broken glass.
The way she looked that last night in Diamond Creek, leaning against the bar with that knowing smile on her lips.
The way she moved—all confidence and curves, like she owned every inch of space around her.
The way she sounded when she came, that breathy gasp that drove me out of my goddamn mind.
The way her eyes had softened when I’d told her to take care of herself, just for a second, before she’d put that wall back up and walked away.
She was a great fuck. No question about that. No apologies, no pretense. She knew what she wanted, knew how to take it, knew how to give as good as she got. She was a club whore, and she played the role perfectly. Never asked for more than what was on offer. Never made it complicated.
But pregnant?
How the fuck did that happen? We’d been careful. Hadn’t we? My brain scrambled back through the haze of whiskey and sweat and tangled sheets, trying to remember.
I tried to remember every encounter. Every time we’d been together. Every moment, every night, every stolen afternoon. I replayed each memory in my mind like footage on a loop, scrutinizing every detail. Every time I’d touched her, fucked her, made her scream my name until her voice went hoarse.