Page 15 of Hammer

I watched the apartment window in the side mirror, caught a glimpse of the younger boy peering out through the blinds.“Depends if they learn to trust.”

“That boy -- Chase -- he’s wound tight as a spring.”

I nodded.“Got reason to be.Protecting his family from a monster ain’t easy at any age.”

The SUV turned onto Main Street, the diner fading into the background.The club would keep its word, keep the family safe.Whether they’d ever believe that, whether they’d ever stop looking over their shoulders -- that was harder to guarantee.

“Some people never learn to trust men in cuts,” I said after a moment.“Can’t blame them, given what they’ve seen.”

Saint shrugged, philosophical as always.“We’re not all Piston.”

“No,” I agreed quietly.“But to them, we all look the same at first.Takes time to see the difference.”

As we drove away, I couldn’t help wondering if that family would find peace here, or if the shadows of their past would keep them running forever.Some ghosts weren’t so easy to outrun.

But at least for tonight, they were safe.Sometimes, that had to be enough.

Chapter Five

Hammer

Two Weeks Later

I stabbed at a chunk of pot roast with my fork, savoring the way it fell apart without much effort.There was something to be said for a home-cooked meal, even if neither Aura nor I were winning any culinary awards.The kitchen light buzzed overhead, casting shadows across our modest table.Through the doorway to the garage, I could see the disassembled parts of my project Harley spread across a tarp.Some men my age took up golf.I preferred keeping my hands dirty with things I understood.

“This turned out better than last time,” Aura said, gesturing to her plate with her fork.“Remember when I forgot to add liquid to the crockpot and nearly burned down the kitchen?”

I grunted in acknowledgment, the corner of my mouth lifting despite my best efforts.“Hard to forget the smoke alarm screaming for twenty minutes.”

My adopted daughter smiled, the ink on her arm shifting as she reached for her glass of water.Eight years she’d been with me now, ever since I’d found her in that hellhole in Georgia.The memory still made my blood boil.She’d been just sixteen then, terrified and broken.Now at twenty-four, she was strong, capable, and wore a smaller version of our club’s colors mixed in with her sleeve tattoo -- a privilege the Dixie Reapers rarely granted to anyone outside full members.

“So,” she said, dragging out the word in a way that immediately put me on alert.When Aura used that tone, she was working her way up to something.“Everyone at the compound’s talking about the new arrivals.”

I focused on scooping up some mashed potatoes.“That right?”

“Mmm-hmm.”Her brown eyes, so different from my own yet somehow carrying the same stubborn glint, studied my face.“The mother and her two kids.They’ve got that little apartment over the diner.Atlas mentioned something about it.”

I grunted, refusing to comment, even though I knew damn well every detail about the situation.The woman’s name, her children’s ages, the clothes she’d been wearing when she arrived -- all filed away in my mind despite my best attempts to appear uninterested.I’d done my best to convince myself and everyone around me I had no interest in her.Hell, I was probably old enough to be her dad.She had to be younger than my son, Sam.

Aura wasn’t buying it.“Dad, come on.Everyone knows you went with Saint to meet them.You know exactly who they are and why they’re here.”

I set down my fork with a sigh.My fingers, calloused from decades of wrenching on bikes and throwing punches when necessary, not to mention my time behind bars, drummed once on the wooden tabletop.“What exactly are you fishing for, darlin’?”

“I want to know their story.People don’t just get help from the Reapers unless there’s a reason.”

She had me there.I took a long drink of my beer, giving myself a moment before answering.“Her ex belongs to the Devil’s Minions MC down in Florida.One percent club with a reputation that makes even hardened bastards like me think twice.”

Aura’s expression shifted to concern.“She’s running from him?”

I nodded, feeling the weight of my silver beard move with the motion.“Scratch over at the Devil’s Boneyard helped them get on a bus and sent them here.”

“And Savior offered to help her.”It wasn’t a question.

“Yeah,” I said.“Yeah, he did.”

I shifted in my seat, my lower back protesting after a long day in the garage.At sixty-one, I wasn’t as resilient as I’d once been, though I’d sooner take another stint in prison than admit it to anyone.

“That’s not all of it though, is it?”Aura pressed, setting her silverware down and folding her arms.“I heard the club pitched in to cover her rent for three months, found that job for her, and Saint even gave her a list of contacts.”

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