Page 23 of Hammer

A motorcycle appeared in my mirror, and my heart lodged in my throat before I realized it was just an old man on a Honda Gold Wing -- nothing like the Prospect’s Harley.Still, my foot pressed harder on the accelerator, the Honda’s engine whining in protest as I pushed it past sixty on a thirty-five mph road.

“Shit, shit, shit,” I muttered under my breath, my mind racing through possibilities.Had I slipped up somewhere?Had one of the boys contacted someone back in Florida?Had someone in Florida seen us leaving?Or had Piston’s reach always been longer than I’d estimated?Sure, they’d said he was trying to find us.But some part of me had hoped he’d never figure out where we were.

The high school came into view, its red-brick walls and American flag a picture of normalcy that felt obscene against my panic.I jerked the wheel, pulling into the first parking space I saw -- a loading zone clearly marked “NO PARKING.”The car rocked as I slammed on the brakes, my seat belt catching painfully across my chest.

I checked all my mirrors one last time before killing the engine.Nothing.No motorcycles, no leather cuts, no hint of pursuit.But that didn’t mean they weren’t coming.Prospects never worked alone.They were always just the eyes and ears for someone higher up the food chain.

I made it to the front door and pressed the buzzer.A woman’s voice came over the intercom.“May I help you?”

I cleared my throat.“Yes, I’m Amelia Decker.I need to pick up my sons Chase and Levi.Family emergency.”

It was quiet for a moment before she responded.

“Hold your ID up to the camera, please.”I did as she asked.“I’ll buzz you through.When you come through the doors, take the door on the right.”

I heard the buzzer and I popped the door open, then went through the entrance she’d told me about.The main office smelled of copier toner and stale coffee, an administrative blandness that clashed with the adrenaline coursing through my system.The secretary looked up from her computer, mild irritation crossing her face at the interruption.

“Can I help you?”Her drawled question carried just enough Southern politeness to mask her annoyance.

“I just spoke to you, or someone.I’m Amelia Decker.I need to pick up my sons,” I said, the words tumbling out too fast.I forced myself to slow down.“Chase and Levi Decker.”

She raised an eyebrow.“Both of them?”

I nodded, trying to look appropriately hassled rather than terrified.“Family emergency.”

“I’ll need to see your ID,” she said, holding out her hand.

My fingers trembled as I fumbled with my wallet, nearly dropping it before extracting my driver’s license.Why had they asked to see it before I entered the building if they were going to ask for it again?The secretary examined it longer than necessary, glancing between my face and the photo.

“I’ll call them down,” she finally said, reaching for the phone.“Have a seat.”

I perched on the edge of a plastic chair, my back to the wall so I could watch both the office entrance and the windows overlooking the parking lot.Each second that ticked by on the wall clock felt like a minute, each minute an hour.My legs bounced with nervous energy, heel tapping against the industrial carpet.

The office door opened, and I leapt to my feet.A teenage girl entered, dropping a tardy slip on the counter before heading back out.I sank back down, my heart pounding so loudly I was sure everyone could hear it.

Reaching for my phone, I nearly called one of the Dixie Reapers but stopped myself.They’d said I could call if we were in trouble, but what if I was wrong and panicking over nothing?Or even worse, what if they didn’t really want me to bother them about this stuff?It wasn’t like they could do anything while I was at the school waiting on the boys.As far as I knew, I’d lost the Prospect.He could be anywhere by now.

After what felt like an eternity, the door opened once more, and Chase appeared with Levi trailing behind him.One look at my face, and Chase’s expression hardened.

“What happened?”Chase asked, his voice pitched low as he moved immediately to stand between me and the office door.

“Aunt Betty is in the hospital,” I said, the code we’d established years ago for emergencies.“We’re running late.”

Levi’s eyes narrowed behind his glasses, his gaze sweeping over me with analytical precision.

“Both of you need to sign out,” the secretary instructed, sliding a clipboard across the counter.

Chase kept his body angled so he could watch the door while signing his name.His shoulders had squared up, his stance widening slightly -- unconsciously preparing for confrontation.Levi signed after him, his signature as precise as always despite the tension crackling in the air.

“Hope your aunt feels better,” the secretary called as we headed for the door, finally noticing the gravity in our postures.

Chase merely nodded, his hand on my elbow as he guided me out, his height making him seem older than sixteen as he scanned the area before letting us proceed.Levi fell into step on my other side, his smaller frame tense with unspoken questions.

Outside, the afternoon sun beat down on the empty parking lot.No motorcycles.No Prospects.Just the shimmer of heat rising from asphalt and my illegally parked Honda.

“Keys,” Chase said, holding out his hand.

“I can drive,” I protested.

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