Page 78 of Hammer

“Boys and Aura in the middle,” Hammer directed, helping me into the back row before joining me.The seating arrangement wasn’t accidental -- he wanted the kids contained in the center, protected from both front and back if necessary.

As we pulled away from the curb, silence filled the van like a living thing.I stared out the tinted window at the Vegas skyline, the midday sun glinting off glass and steel.So different from the small Alabama town I’d called home since fleeing Florida.

“First time in Vegas?”Knuckles asked, breaking the silence as we merged onto the highway.

“For most of us,” I replied, grateful for the attempt at conversation.“Hammer’s been here before.”

“Club business,” Hammer added, not elaborating further.

Knuckles nodded as if this explained everything.“Wrath’s been busy since your call.Had the clubhouse cleaned top to bottom.Old ladies bringing in food all week.”

The idea of my father -- this stranger -- preparing for our arrival sent a fresh wave of nerves through me.What was he expecting?What was I expecting?

“That’s the Strip,” Knuckles commented, nodding toward the glittering hotels rising in the distance.“Tourists think that’s Vegas, but the real city’s out here.”He gestured to the sprawling neighborhoods beyond the famous boulevard.“Knights territory covers most of the north and east sides.”

The boys pressed closer to the windows, momentarily distracted from their nerves by the spectacle of Vegas.Even Chase’s perpetual wariness seemed to ease as he pointed out the Stratosphere tower to Levi.

Aura caught my eye in the reflection of the window, giving me a reassuring smile.She’d been my rock through this entire process, from that first phone call with Wrath to the frantic packing last night.

We turned off the main road onto a quieter street lined with warehouses and industrial buildings.The van slowed as we approached a large compound surrounded by a high concrete wall topped with security cameras.The Savage Knights logo -- a grinning skull wearing a medieval helmet -- was painted on the gate that slowly swung open as we approached.

“Home, sweet home,” Knuckles announced as we pulled into a parking lot filled with motorcycles arranged in neat rows.“Wrath’s waiting inside.”

Hammer’s hand found mine, squeezing gently.“Ready?”

I wasn’t.Not even close.But I nodded anyway, because some moments you’re never ready for until you’re already living them.

“As I’ll ever be,” I replied, my stomach twisting as the van came to a stop.

We got out and approached the building.As we entered, I took in the differences between this one and the one back home.The clubhouse interior smelled of leather, cigarette smoke, and floor polish -- the latter clearly a recent addition in preparation for our arrival.Brothers nodded respectfully as Knuckles led us through the main room, where pool tables and a long bar occupied most of the space.Eyes followed our progress, curious but not hostile, a subtle difference I’d learned to distinguish during my time around the Dixie Reapers.These men had been told we were family, and in their world, that meant something.Still, I felt Hammer’s protective presence at my back as we approached a closed door at the far end of the room, my heart hammering against my ribs with each step.

“He’s waiting in there,” Knuckles said, stopping before the door.His face softened slightly as he looked at me.“Been pacing all morning.Never seen the boss this worked up.”

That simple observation -- that my father was nervous too -- somehow steadied me.I glanced back at my family: Hammer, solid and watchful; Chase and Levi, both trying to appear braver than they felt; and Aura, offering an encouraging smile.Whatever happened next, I wasn’t alone.

Knuckles knocked once, then opened the door without waiting for a response.“They’re here,” he announced, stepping aside to let us enter.

The room was smaller than I’d expected, with a worn leather couch against one wall and a desk positioned in the center rather than behind it.And there, rising from his seat as we entered, stood my father.

Wrath stood tall and broad-shouldered, his salt-and-pepper hair swept back from a face that bore the marks of a life lived hard.His beard was neatly trimmed, showing more silver than his hair, and his skin was tanned and lined from years in the sun.But it was his eyes that caught me -- brown eyes exactly like mine, widening slightly as they took me in.In them, I saw the same shock of recognition I felt seeing my own features reflected in his face.

“Amelia,” he said, my name sounding heavy with decades of absence.

I couldn’t speak.Words had abandoned me completely as I stood facing the missing piece of my life -- the man whose existence my mother had acknowledged only in bitter comments about bikers and irresponsibility.The man who had never even known I existed until the Dixie Reapers had reached out for help with Piston.

He moved first, crossing the space between us with surprising grace for such a large man.His arms opened, hesitant, and I stepped into his embrace automatically.The hug was stiff, awkward -- the embrace of strangers trying to be family.He smelled of leather and expensive cologne, his cut creaking as his arms tightened briefly around me before releasing me just as quickly.

“You look like her,” he said gruffly, stepping back.“Your mother.But your eyes…” He trailed off, shaking his head slightly.“Guess there’s no question who your old man is.”

“I guess not,” I agreed, finding my voice at last.The resemblance was uncanny now that I stood before him -- the shape of our jaws, the set of our eyes, even the way he held himself with one shoulder slightly lower than the other.

His gaze shifted beyond me, taking in the rest of our group with the assessing stare of a man used to evaluating potential threats.His eyes lingered on Hammer, narrowing slightly as he took in the silver beard, the weathered face, the Dixie Reapers cut.

“So you’re the old man who married my daughter,” Wrath said, crossing his arms over his broad chest.The words held an edge, a challenge beneath the surface politeness.

Hammer stepped forward, his face impassive.“I am.”

The two men stared at each other, an entire conversation happening without words.I recognized the language of alpha males establishing boundaries -- had seen it often enough having been around more than one MC now.This was different, though.More personal.More charged.

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