Page 25 of Hammer

“We need to tell the Reapers,” Chase said, stopping his pacing to look at me.“That’s why they gave us those numbers.They said to call if anything happened.”

I hesitated.The Dixie Reapers had been nothing but helpful.They’d given us a place to stay, set me up with a job, enrolled the boys in school.But they were still an MC.Still men who lived outside the law in ways I didn’t fully understand.Trading one club’s protection for another’s felt like slipping backward.

“He’s right, Mom,” Levi said, pushing his glasses up his nose.“Hammer would help us.He watches you at the diner all the time.”

I blinked, surprised.“What do you mean, he watches me?”

Even if he was a regular at the diner, that didn’t mean he’d been there for me.A lot of people in town ate there nearly every day.

Levi exchanged a look with Chase.“The older guy with the silver beard.For the last week, he’s come in almost every day you work.Sits in the same booth.Always watching the door and windows.We didn’t realize you weren’t aware he was there.”

Chase nudged him.“She’s busy at work.If he’s not in her section, then she doesn’t really have time to go socialize.”

“How do you know that?”I asked.I worked while they were in school most of the time.

“Jessie told me,” Levi said.

“And you,” Chase added.“He watches you too.”

I felt a flush creep up my neck.Of course I’d noticed Hammer’s appearance the other day, his quiet presence in the corner booth.I’d attributed it to routine.The idea that he’d been there deliberately, keeping an eye on me…

“Jessie said Hammer’s been making sure no one bothers you.And Tank said they’ve been rotating shifts, different guys checking different times.”Chase smiled a little.“They’re good men, Mom.”

My mouth went dry.I mean, yeah.A few had come through the diner and asked how we were doing, but the way Chase worded it made it seem more… deliberate, like they’d been standing guard.“They’ve been watching us?”

“Protecting us,” Levi corrected.“That’s what Tank told Chase.”

I sank back in my chair, processing this information.All these weeks I’d thought we were establishing independence, building a new life.Instead, we’d been under surveillance -- benevolent perhaps, but surveillance nonetheless.

“Mom,” Chase said, his voice gentler than I’d heard it in months as he righted his chair and sat back down.“I know you hate asking for help.I know you’re afraid of getting mixed up with another club.But the Reapers aren’t like Dad’s club.”

“You don’t know that,” I whispered.

“Actually, I do.”He leaned forward.“I’ve been at the garage.I’ve seen how they treat their women, their kids.It’s different.Hammer’s granddaughter came by the other day with her son, Kellen.You should have seen how those guys melted while talking to that kid.And if Amity needed anything, whoever was closest would jump like she’d given an order.”

I thought of Hammer in the diner, his quiet presence, the way he’d left me a generous tip.His words before he’d left the other day.“Your boys are safe here, Amelia.And so are you.”

“The numbers are right there,” Levi said, nodding toward the refrigerator.“We can’t wait for Dad to find us.It’s time to ask for help.”

Chase reached across the table, taking my hand in his.His palm dwarfed mine now, calloused already from whatever work he’d been doing at the garage.“You’ve protected us our whole lives, Mom.Let someone help protect you for a change.”

Tears pricked at my eyes.When had my boys become so wise?When had they grown into these young men, capable of seeing truths I’d been too afraid to acknowledge?And how could they possibly feel like I’d protected them?I’d failed them so many times.

I stood, crossed to the refrigerator, and stared at the list of numbers.My fingers hovered over Hammer’s name, hesitating only briefly before I plucked the paper from under its magnet.My hands had stopped shaking, I realized.The paralyzing fear from earlier had receded, replaced by something stronger -- determination.

“You’re right,” I said, turning back to my sons.“We can’t wait for Piston to find us.”

I reached for the phone, dialing the number.As it rang, I caught my reflection in the microwave door -- pale, frightened, but standing straight.No longer running.This time, I was facing the threat head-on.

“Hello?”The gruff voice on the other end was instantly recognizable.

“Hammer, it’s Amelia Decker,” I said, my voice steadier than I’d expected.“I need your help.A Devil’s Minions Prospect was watching the diner today.”

The momentary silence felt endless before he replied, “Stay put.Lock your doors.I’ll be there in ten minutes.”A pause, then, more softly, “You did the right thing calling, Amelia.”

As I hung up, I realized with startling clarity that for the first time since leaving Florida, I believed those words might actually be true.

Chapter Eight

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