Page 58 of Hammer

Piston’s eyes darted toward the sound, then back to Hammer.With what looked like monumental effort, he rolled onto his side and pushed himself to his knees, then to his feet.He swayed dangerously, one arm wrapped around his ribs where Hammer’s kick had landed.

“This isn’t over,” he spat, blood dribbling down his chin.“Not by a long shot.”

“It is for tonight,” Hammer replied, his stance relaxed but ready.

Piston’s gaze shifted to me, and I instinctively pressed harder against the car door.“You better hope he never lets his guard down, Amelia,” he said, voice thick with blood and malice.“Because when he does -- and he will -- I’ll be waiting.For all of you.”

Without waiting for a response, he staggered backward, putting distance between himself and Hammer.From the shadows beyond the parking lot, a figure emerged -- one of Piston’s club brothers, I realized with a jolt of fear.The man helped Piston limp toward a car parked on the street, hidden from where I’d been standing earlier.

The distinctive headlights of several motorcycles cut through the darkness at the entrance to the parking lot.Venom led the procession, his massive frame recognizable even at a distance.Behind him came at least four other Reapers, their bikes moving in perfect formation.

Piston and his brother were already in their car, pulling away from the curb with a squeal of tires before the Reapers fully entered the lot.

Hammer turned to me then, the fierce protector of moments ago transforming back into the man I’d come to rely on over these past weeks.He approached slowly, giving me time to process, to breathe, to find my footing in the aftermath of violence.

“Are you hurt?”he asked, his voice gentler than I’d ever heard it.Blood -- Piston’s blood -- smeared his knuckles, and a bruise was already forming at his temple where one of Piston’s punches had landed.

I shook my head, though in truth I wasn’t sure.My body felt numb, disconnected, like I was floating slightly above the scene rather than participating in it.

Hammer moved closer, positioning himself between me and the direction Piston had disappeared, his body a shield even now.His hand reached up, hesitating just short of touching my face where Piston’s fingers had dug into my jaw.

“I should’ve killed him,” he said quietly, the words not meant to frighten but offered as a simple truth.

“No,” I whispered, finding my voice at last.“No more violence.Not for me.”

His eyes, dark and intense in the dim light, searched mine.“And that’s why I didn’t, but… He won’t stop, Amelia.A man like that doesn’t back down.Doesn’t let go.”

“I know.”I swallowed hard.“But I don’t want his blood on your hands.”

Hammer’s expression softened, the fierce protector giving way to something more vulnerable.“Already got his blood on my hands,” he said, lifting his battered knuckles with a ghost of a smile.“Question is, are you okay with that?With what happened here?”

I thought about Piston’s threats, about the violence I’d witnessed, about Hammer claiming my boys -- claiming all of us -- as his family.About the fierce protectiveness that had driven this man to defend us without hesitation.

“Yes,” I said, my voice stronger now.“I’m okay with that.”

Hammer lifted his bloodied hand, cupping my cheek with impossible gentleness.

“Let’s go home,” he said simply.

Home.To the house where my boys slept safely.Where Hammer’s gruff kindness had slowly healed wounds we hadn’t even recognized were still bleeding.Where, somehow, in the midst of danger and false starts and awkward beginnings, we had begun to build something real.

I nodded, leaning into his touch despite the blood, despite the violence, despite everything.“Home,” I agreed.

Chapter Sixteen

Hammer

My knuckles throbbed as I pushed through the clubhouse door, the smell of whiskey, cigarettes, and brotherhood hitting me like a physical force.I flexed my fingers, feeling the skin pull tight over split flesh, Piston’s blood still crusted in the creases.The satisfying ache reminded me of the solid connection my fist had made with his face.Not enough.Not nearly enough for threatening what was mine.The usual evening noise dropped to a low murmur as I stepped inside, brothers turning to watch my entrance, their eyes noting the blood on my hands, the bruise forming on my arm where I’d blocked his hit.

I’d sent Amelia home with Venom and Ridley, despite her protests.She’d wanted to stay with me, to face this together, but I needed her safe with the boys.Needed to know they were protected while I handled club business.The memory of Piston’s hands on her burned in my gut like battery acid.

Viking approached first, handing me a glass of whiskey without asking.“Left that asshole bleeding pretty good,” he said, voice low and approving.“Should’ve let us finish him.”

“Next time,” I growled, throwing back the whiskey in one burning swallow.“Amelia isn’t ready.Not that she wants him alive, but she doesn’t want us to kill him.”

The clubhouse was unusually full for a weeknight, brothers gathered in tight clusters.Four had been at the diner when shit went down -- Prophet, Warden, Dice, and Venom -- called in by Wire as soon as Piston’s bike had been spotted in town.They’d arrived just as the fight was ending and had apparently seen a Devil’s Minions Prospect helping Piston into a car.I’d been more focused on my wife.

“He won’t go far,” Sticks remarked, leaning against the bar next to me.“Not with his face rearranged like that.You did a number on him, brother.”

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