Page 26 of Hammer

Amelia

I heard a vehicle long before I saw it, the deep rumble echoing between the buildings like distant thunder.I’d expected Hammer to show up on his bike, but instead, a big truck pulled in.My fingers curled into fists at my sides as I stepped onto the landing outside my apartment.A slight breeze blew as I watched.I’d called him in panic, and now he was here -- my reluctant savior, wrapped in leather and denim.

He pulled up by the stairs, the engine’s growl cutting off abruptly as he turned the key.The sudden silence felt heavier than the noise had been.Hammer swung open the door and stepped out, his movements unhurried yet purposeful.His leather cut bore the Dixie Reapers patch I’d come to both fear and respect -- so different from the Devil’s Minions emblem that had haunted my nightmares for years.

“You’re alone?”he asked, his deep voice carrying up to me as he surveyed the area, eyes scanning every shadow.

I nodded, wrapping my arms around myself despite the lingering heat of the day.“The boys are inside.Levi’s watching through the window.”

Hammer climbed the metal stairs, each step deliberate.Up close, the lines etched around his eyes seemed deeper, his beard more silver than I’d noticed in the diner.Tattoos crawled up his forearms, faded with age but still bold against his tanned skin.

“Tell me exactly what you saw,” he said, stopping a respectful distance away.

Words tumbled out of me then, my voice unsteady at first but gaining strength as I recounted the Prospect watching the diner, how I’d recognized the Devil’s Minions colors instantly, how I’d fled with the boys from school.

“He was young,” I said, “Maybe twenty-two, twenty-three.Thin, dark hair.Watching me like… like he was memorizing everything.”I swallowed hard.“Like Piston told him to.”

Hammer’s expression remained impassive, but something in his expression hardened at Piston’s name.

“There’s more,” I admitted, my hand unconsciously rising to my throat where phantom fingers still seemed to press.“This wasn’t our first attempt to escape.Last time, Piston… he got drunk.Angrier than usual.”

I closed my eyes briefly, the memory washing over me like ice water.Piston’s face twisted with rage, his breath hot with whiskey as he’d pinned me against the wall.“You think you can take my sons?”he’d snarled, his hand closing around my throat until black spots danced before my eyes.“You try to leave, and I’ll make sure those boys watch while I teach you your place.”

“He threatened me, said he’d make the boys watch while he hurt me,” I told Hammer, my voice dropping to a whisper.“I have no doubt he’ll kill me if he gets his hands on me again.”

Hammer’s weathered face remained still as stone, but his eyes -- those deep brown eyes that had watched me in the diner -- flashed with something dangerous.

“If a Prospect is here, others won’t be far behind,” he said finally.“Piston’s reaching out, testing.Seeing if the rumors about you being here are true.”

A chill ran through me despite the warm evening.“What do we do?”

Hammer studied me for a long moment.“The Dixie Reapers protect their own, Amelia.But there are rules.”

“Rules,” I repeated, the word bitter on my tongue.Rules had governed my life with Piston too.

“To get full protection from the club,” Hammer continued, his voice level, “you need to be family.Blood relation, or an old lady of a member.”

I stared at him, understanding dawning slowly.“You’re saying I need to… to belong to someone in the club for protection?”

Hammer’s jaw tightened.“Not belong to.Be with.There’s a difference.”

I laughed, a harsh sound with no humor in it.“Is there?Really?”

“Yes,” he said simply.“The women of the Dixie Reapers are respected, Amelia.Protected.Not owned.But the club won’t go to war with another MC for someone who isn’t family.”

I turned away, looking out over the street.Chase and Levi were watching through the window.I could feel their eyes on us, their worry a tangible thing.They’d already lost so much -- their childhood, their sense of safety.I couldn’t let them lose more.

“How long do we have?”I asked, still not facing him.“Before they come for us?”

“Hard to say.Could be days.Could be hours.But you won’t face them alone.We can move you tonight.Somewhere safe until we figure this out.”

I turned back, meeting his gaze directly.“And then what?We just keep running?Keep hiding?”My voice trembled with sudden anger.“I’m so tired of being afraid, Hammer.So damn tired of looking over my shoulder, of checking locks three times, of jumping every time a motorcycle drives by.”

His expression softened almost imperceptibly.“I know.”

Two simple words, but somehow I believed he did know.That he understood what it was to live with fear as a constant companion.

I took a deep breath, steeling myself for what I was about to say.The thought had formed the moment he’d mentioned old ladies, crystallizing with sudden clarity.It was desperate.Possibly insane.But I was done running.

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