Page 17 of Hammer

“That’s what the club’s for,” I countered, pushing back my chair.The legs scraped against the linoleum, the sound cutting through our conversation.“Savior’s got Prospects taking turns watching over the apartment and diner.She’s safe.”

“Safe isn’t the same as happy,” Aura said quietly.

I stood, my knees cracking in protest.“Happy’s a luxury some people don’t get to worry about.”The words came out harsher than I’d intended, and I saw Aura flinch slightly.I sighed, softening my tone.“I’m gonna head out to the garage, finish putting that carburetor back together.”

Aura nodded, knowing me well enough to recognize when I needed space.“I’ll clean up here.”

As I turned toward the garage, my sanctuary of tools and motorcycle parts, I couldn’t help but think about Amelia again.The gentle sway of her hips as she’d moved around the small apartment, the strength in her slim arms as she’d carried her bags into the apartment.She couldn’t be much over thirty-five, and here I was almost old enough for social security.

No, I decided firmly as I flipped on the garage light.Some lines weren’t meant to be crossed, no matter how pretty the view on the other side.But even as I settled onto my stool, the familiar comfort of tools and grease couldn’t quiet my mind.I reached for a wrench, the weight of it solid and real in my hand as I leaned over the disassembled parts of my Harley.The carburetor needed to be put back together -- a simple job that should have kept my attention, but my thoughts kept drifting back to those haunted brown eyes.

The scent of motor oil and metal filled my nostrils as I worked, the rhythmic sound of metal against metal usually soothing my nerves.Not tonight.Tonight, I kept seeing the way Amelia had flinched when Saint moved too quickly near her.The way her hands had trembled slightly the entire time we were there.The protective way she’d gathered her boys close, like she was expecting someone to try and snatch them away.

I knew those signs better than most.Had seen them before in women who’d escaped bad situations.Hell, I’d helped more than a few over the years get new IDs, new lives far away from the men who’d hurt them.The club had connections for that sort of thing.But something about this woman’s circumstances had gotten under my skin in a way the others hadn’t.

Maybe it was the quiet dignity she projected, despite everything.Or the way she’d looked me straight in the eye when she thanked me -- no artifice or flirtation, just genuine gratitude.

I sat staring at the disassembled carburetor, not really seeing it.Instead, I was remembering Amelia’s oldest boy -- Chase, if I recalled correctly.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, interrupting my thoughts.I wiped my hands on a shop rag before pulling it out.Saint’s name flashed on the screen.

“Yeah?”I answered, wedging the phone between my ear and shoulder as I picked up my wrench again.

“Need you at the clubhouse tomorrow morning,” Saint said without preamble.“Eight sharp.”

I frowned.Early morning meetings usually meant trouble.“Something wrong?”

There was a pause on the other end.“Got word from Scratch down in Florida.Seems our new friend’s ex is making noise about his missing family.Putting out feelers.Nothing concrete yet, but we need to be prepared.”

My grip tightened on the wrench.Which meant, it might not be long before he realized they were here.The calm I’d been cultivating all evening evaporated.“How solid is the intel?”

“Solid enough that I’m calling everyone in,” Saint replied, his voice grim.“He hasn’t connected Alabama to their disappearance yet, but he’s asking questions in Georgia, Tennessee.Working his way north.When those states run out, he’ll head this direction.”

I set the wrench down, no longer interested in the carburetor.“Does she know?”

“Not yet.Thought we’d discuss how to approach it tomorrow.”

I grunted, already calculating what needed to be done.The apartment above the diner had decent security -- Saint had made sure of that -- but it wouldn’t stop a determined one-percenter with resources.“I’ll be there.”

After hanging up, I sat motionless on my stool, staring at the concrete floor without seeing it.The peaceful evening had turned sour in my mouth.I’d seen enough club wars play out to know how ugly they could get, especially when women and children were involved.And from what little Amelia had shared about her ex, the man was a special kind of monster.

The thought of her facing that bastard again made my blood run cold, then hot with a fury I hadn’t felt in years.

I stood abruptly, my back protesting the sudden movement.The half-built bike could wait.I strode into the house, finding Aura curled up on the couch with a book.

“Saint called,” I said without preamble.“Her ex is looking for her.”

Aura’s eyes widened.“Shit.Is he coming here?”

“Not yet.But he probably will eventually.”I grabbed my cut from where it hung by the door, the leather well-worn and familiar as I slipped it on.The weight of it settled on my shoulders like armor.

“Where are you going?”she asked, setting her book aside.

“Need to clear my head.”It wasn’t entirely a lie.The vibration of my Softail between my legs and the wind against my face had always been the best way to sort through my thoughts.

But we both knew there was only one place I’d be heading tonight.

The night air was cool against my face as I rolled my 2010 Softail Custom out of the garage.Late September in Alabama meant the days were still warm, but the evenings carried a hint of the coming fall.I fired up the engine, the familiar rumble settling something in my chest that had been restless since Saint’s call.

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