Page 10 of Hammer

“Liar,” Levi muttered, but there was affection in his voice.

I settled back in my seat, my sons on either side of me.We were together.We were moving forward.It was at least a step in the right direction.

The miles rolled on beneath us, the steady thrum of the engine lulling Levi to sleep against my shoulder.His glasses had slipped down his nose, and I gently removed them, folding them into my hand.He looked so young in sleep, the worry lines that had no business on a fifteen-year-old’s face finally smoothed away.

Chase fought it longer, his eyelids growing heavy even as he continued to scan the bus for threats.When his head finally drooped against my other shoulder, I felt tears prick my eyes.My boys deserved so much better than this life on the run, this constant fear.They deserved stability, safety -- all the things I’d failed to provide them.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered to their sleeping forms.“I’m going to make this right.”

I’d let guilt weigh me down for so long it had become an ingrained reaction to our situation by this point.But when we’d set off to leave Piston and start over, I’d made the decision I’d jump in with both feet.I was tired of feeling guilty.It was time to start a new chapter, one where I became stronger and more reliable for my children, as well as for myself.We all deserved to be happy.But turning my guilt off wouldn’t be an easy, nor a quick, process.

Outside the window, Alabama welcomed us with greenery and the occasional flash of water.Nothing like the Florida we’d left behind.Maybe that was good.Maybe here, we could truly disappear.

It wasn’t much later when the bus driver’s voice crackled over the intercom, announcing our approach to Mobile.Chase jerked awake instantly, his body tensing before he remembered where we were.

“We’re almost there,” I told him softly, watching as he blinked away sleep and immediately resumed his protective posture.

Levi stirred more slowly, reaching instinctively for his glasses.I handed them to him, and he slipped them on, peering out the window at our new surroundings.

“Looks different,” he murmured.“Greener.”

I nodded, gathering our few belongings as the bus slowed.My fingers found the burner phone in my pocket, tracing its edges.One call away from safety -- or possibly another trap.

The bus terminal was larger than I expected, bustling with activity even in the late afternoon.We disembarked cautiously, Chase insisting on exiting first, scanning the area before allowing Levi and me to follow.I clutched both their hands as we made our way through the crowd, my heart hammering with each step.

“We should find a bathroom first,” I said, spotting the signs.“Then decide what to do.”

Chase nodded, his eyes never stopping their constant surveillance.“I’ll wait here with the bags.You and Levi go.”

“I can stay --” Levi began, but Chase cut him off.

“Go with Mom.”

There was no arguing with that tone.Levi and I made our way to the restrooms, which were mercifully empty.I splashed cold water on my face, trying to wash away the exhaustion of the journey and the fear that still clung to me like a second skin.After relieving my bladder, I washed my hands and went outside to wait on Levi.Except he’d beat me.

“Are you going to call them?”Levi asked.

“Yeah, I think I should.”

He nodded and we went to join Chase.Something told me he was going to argue with my decision.

Chapter Four

Hammer

I leaned against the black SUV, squinting through my sunglasses at the bus terminal entrance.The Alabama heat pressed down like a weighted blanket, making my leather cut stick to my sweat-dampened shirt.It had been nice and cool this morning.Now the sun was trying to fucking kill me.

Saint stood beside me, his posture relaxed but gaze alert, scanning faces in the crowd.We’d been waiting twenty minutes already for this woman and her kids to arrive.Scratch had called ahead, given us the rundown on their situation.Another club wife on the run, another piece-of-shit husband who thought women were punching bags.Some things never changed, no matter how many years I’d been riding.

“Bus is pulling in,” Saint muttered, nodding toward the far end of the terminal where a Greyhound was rolling to a stop.

I grunted acknowledgment, pushing away from the vehicle.My knees protested the movement, a reminder of sixty-plus years of hard living.“We got a photo?”

“Nah,” Saint said.“Scratch said she’s mid-thirties, brown hair, two teenage boys.One’s around sixteen, built like a fighter.The other’s a bit younger, wears glasses.”

“Not exactly narrowing it down,” I grumbled, but kept my eyes trained on the bus doors as they opened and passengers began to file out.

They weren’t hard to spot once they appeared.Two teens and a woman who looked both worn out and terrified.The older boy, tall and muscular for his age, exited first, positioning himself to scan the terminal before allowing his mother and brother to step down.Smart kid.The younger one stayed close to his mother, his glasses magnifying wary eyes that took in everything.

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