Page 59 of Hammer

“Should’ve done more,” I muttered, slamming my empty glass down harder than intended.

I scanned the room, counting brothers present.Almost everyone accounted for, save those on runs or guard duty.Word traveled fast in a club like ours.A brother in trouble, an old lady threatened -- it pulled everyone in like gravity.

“Church in five,” Savior announced from across the room, his voice carrying effortlessly over the low rumble of conversation.

Brothers began moving toward the chapel doors, some clapping my shoulder as they passed, others nodding in silent solidarity.I remained at the bar, draining a second whiskey, needing the liquid fire to calm the rage still coursing through my system.

“You good?”Saint asked, pausing beside me.

I grunted an affirmative, though we both knew it was bullshit.I wouldn’t be good until Piston was dealt with permanently.Until my family was safe.

My family.The words still felt strange rolling through my mind.Not long ago I’d been a confirmed bachelor with an adult son and an adopted daughter.Now I had a wife and two teenage boys.A ready-made family dropped into my life thanks to a hacker kid’s meddling.And somehow, somewhere along the line, I’d started thinking of them as mine.The realization sat heavy in my chest, both comforting and terrifying.

The chapel fell silent as we filed in, boots thudding against the worn hardwood, leather cuts creaking as brothers took their seats around the scarred wooden table.Decades of cigarette burns, knife marks, and spilled whiskey decorated its surface, each imperfection a piece of club history.

I took my place, feeling the weight of eyes on me.Not judging -- never that -- but assessing, calculating.Measuring how far I’d go to protect what was mine.How far they’d need to go with me.

Savior called the meeting to order with a single rap of his knuckles against the table.No gavel needed -- just the simple authority of a respected President.

“Most of you know we’ve got a situation,” Savior began, his gaze steady on the gathered faces.“Hammer’s old lady was approached tonight.Threatened.”He nodded in my direction.“Tell them what happened, brother.”

I leaned forward, elbows on the table, feeling the familiar scratch of wood against my forearms.The words came out harsh, clipped, each one tasting like bile as I recounted finding Piston with his hands on Amelia.How he’d promised to take the boys back.

“Talking about her like she was property.Like the boys were his to claim when he’s never done a Goddamn thing for them except terrorize them.”

Murmurs of anger rippled around the table.There were lines even we didn’t cross.Threatening women and children topped that list.

“He put his hands on her?”Tempest asked, his voice dangerously soft.

I nodded, feeling my jaw clench so tight my teeth might crack.“Had her pinned against her car.Would’ve done worse if I hadn’t shown up.Thank God, Wire had spotted that asshole near the diner and called me.”

“Did she tell you what he wanted?”Saint asked, his voice calmer but no less intense.

“The boys,” I answered flatly.“Claims they’re his blood, his property.Said he’d dismantle everything she’d built here, starting with me.”

Low curses circled the table.Brothers shifted in their seats, the air in the chapel growing thick with tension and unspoken violence.

“He knows you’re married?”Savior confirmed.

“He knew she’s with someone in the club.Didn’t seem to know about the marriage certificate specifically.”I leaned back, crossing my arms over my chest.“Doesn’t matter.I told him, made it clear those boys are mine now.My family.Under my protection.”

The words hung in the air, a formal declaration that carried weight in our world.I hadn’t planned to say it -- hadn’t even admitted it fully to myself until tonight -- but seeing Piston’s hands on Amelia, hearing his threats against her and the boys, had crystallized something inside me.They were mine.Not just on paper, not just as an arrangement, but mine to protect.Mine to care for.

“Those boys,” I continued, my voice dropping lower, “have been through hell with that man.Chase still stands between his brother and the door, every Goddamn time someone enters a room.Levi flinches at sudden movements.They’ve been carrying scars from that bastard their whole lives.”I looked around the table, meeting each brother’s gaze.“I won’t let him near them again.I claimed them tonight, to his face.Told him they weren’t his sons anymore.They’re mine.”

Prophet nodded slowly, his expression grim.“Devil’s Minions won’t take that lying down.This isn’t just about an ex-wife anymore.It’s about respect.About saving face.”

“Fuck their respect,” I snapped.“They want a war, I’ll give them a war.And for the record, she made sure to tell him she was never his wife.”

Savior raised his hand, a subtle gesture that immediately quieted the room.“We do this smart,” he said, his voice level but carrying an undercurrent of steel.“We do this right.The Devil’s Minions aren’t just some random assholes.They’ve got reach.Got connections.But so do we.”He looked around the table.“I want options.I want strategies.How do we handle this?”

We’d tossed some ideas around before, but when it had only been a Prospect in town, the club hadn’t given the issue the attention it really needed.But now that Piston was here, things were different.

The floor opened, brothers exchanging glances, the seasoned members calculating potential moves like a chess game.The younger ones leaning forward, eyes bright with the prospect of conflict.All of them -- every last brother at this table -- ready to stand against anyone who threatened one of our own.

My rage simmered, hot and ready beneath my skin, but I forced myself to listen.To think beyond the blood I wanted to spill.Amelia and the boys needed protection, not just vengeance.They needed a permanent solution, not just temporary satisfaction.

And as I looked around at my brothers, at men I’d ridden with for decades, I knew we’d find that solution.Together.Because that’s what family did.

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