Page 8 of Hammer

“No,” he answered, but his eyes never stopped moving, sweeping across rooftops, alleyways, parked cars.“Just being careful.Piston’s got eyes everywhere in this town.”

A chill ran down my spine at the mention of his name.For seventeen years I’d lived in fear of that man, walking on eggshells, protecting my boys from his rages.The bruises had faded, but the terror remained, embedded in my bones like a disease.

The bus station came into view -- a small, dingy building with a few benches out front.At this early hour, it was nearly deserted, just a couple of tired-looking travelers clutching coffee cups and an elderly security guard who barely glanced our way.The emptiness should have been comforting, but it only made us more visible, more exposed.

Scratch guided us to a corner away from the other passengers, positioning himself so he could see every entrance.“Bus will be here in twenty minutes,” he said, checking his watch.“Once you’re on it, don’t get off until Alabama.Not for anything.”

I nodded, clutching our meager belongings -- one duffel bag with clothes, a backpack with our important documents, and the small amount of cash I’d managed to hide from Piston over the years, as well as what Chase had given me.Everything we owned, reduced to what we could carry.

Scratch reached inside his cut and pulled out a cheap flip phone.“Burner,” he explained, pressing it into my palm.“There’s only one number programmed in it.Call when you reach the station in Alabama.Someone will be waiting.”

I stared at the small black phone, my lifeline to safety.“Who?”

“Don’t know yet.Whoever Savior sends.”He glanced at Chase, who was watching our exchange with distrustful eyes.“Could be a guy called Venom.Or Bull.Doesn’t matter who -- they’ll all be wearing cuts with Dixie Reapers patches.You’ll know them when you see them.”

I slipped the phone into my pocket, its weight both reassuring and terrifying.So much depended on this fragile connection.“Thank you,” I said, my voice cracking slightly.“For everything.I know we’re strangers to you --”

“Don’t,” Scratch cut me off, uncomfortable with gratitude.“Just doing what’s right.What should’ve been done years ago.”

Levi moved closer to me, his slim fingers wrapping around my arm.“What about our car?You said it would be taken care of, but how exactly?”he asked Scratch directly, his voice steadier than I expected.

Scratch gave him an appraising look.“Smart to ask.Someone from the club will pick it up from the motel.We’ll strip it down, get rid of any evidence you were ever there.By tomorrow, that car won’t exist anymore.Still run a chop shop on the side.A holdover from our more lawless days.Not that we’re walking the straight and narrow exactly.”

Levi nodded, seemingly satisfied with the answer.Chase remained silent, but I could feel the tension radiating from him, the distrust.He’d heard too many promises from his father before -- promises that broke like glass when tested.

“Bus is coming,” Scratch said, nodding toward the road where I could see the vehicle approaching in the distance.He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small wad of cash.“Take this.Emergency money.”

I started to protest, but he pushed it into my hand.“Take it.You’ll need it.”

The bus pulled into the station with a hiss of brakes, its doors opening like the gates to another world.The driver stepped out, calling for passengers to Alabama.

“That’s you,” Scratch said, stepping back to give us space.“Remember -- call as soon as you arrive.”

I clutched the tickets in one hand, the emergency money in the other.“I will.”

Chase picked up our bags, still eyeing Scratch warily.“Come on, Mom,” he said, moving toward the bus with purpose.

Levi took my elbow gently.“It’s going to be okay,” he whispered, with a certainty I wished I could feel.

We boarded the bus, finding seats near the middle -- not too far back to be trapped, not too close to the front to be noticed.Chase took the aisle seat, his body positioned like a barrier between us and anyone who might come down the narrow passageway.Levi sat by the window, peering out as the other passengers slowly filed aboard.

I settled between my sons, clutching my purse.Through the window, I could see Scratch still standing there, watching us, a solitary figure in his leather cut.He raised his hand in a brief salute as the bus engine rumbled to life.

The vehicle pulled away from the curb, and I watched out the window as we began our journey away from Piston and the state of Florida.

Chase stared straight ahead, his jaw set in determination, but his eyes flicked back once, briefly, toward the life we were leaving.Levi pressed his face to the glass, looking forward to what lay ahead, his expression a mixture of fear and hope.

I closed my eyes, feeling the vibration of the bus beneath me, carrying us away from danger and toward an uncertain future, the distance between us and Piston growing with each turn of the wheels.For the first time in years, I allowed myself to breathe without calculating the consequences.

Whether the Dixie Reapers would truly protect us or not, I couldn’t know.But for now, we were moving, we were free, and my boys were safe beside me.It would have to be enough.

The bus rumbled along the highway.Each mile should have been a comfort, but I couldn’t relax, not fully.My body remained tense, shoulders tight, gaze constantly scanning for threats.Every time the bus slowed, my heart nearly stopped.

“Mom,” Levi whispered, his voice pulling me from my spiral of worry.“You should try to sleep.It’s going to be a few hours.”

I forced a smile for him, reaching over to smooth his hair.“I’m fine, baby.”

“You’re not,” he said, voice low enough that only I could hear.“You haven’t slept properly in days.”

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