Page 9 of Sinner’s Torment

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.

CHAPTER THREE

Brandy

Two days later...

The Diamond Creek Clinic smelled of fresh paint and new carpet.

I sat in one of the waiting room chairs—sleek, modern things that were actually comfortable, not the cracked plastic monstrosities I remembered from the old clinic—and tried not to fidget. Grace sat to my left, flipping through a parenting magazine with the kind of casual disinterest that suggested she had seen it all before. Sam was on my right, scrolling through her phone.