Page 14

The office door opened, and I leapt to my feet. A teenage girl entered, dropping a tardy slip on the counter before heading back out. I sank back down, my heart pounding so loudly I was sure everyone could hear it.

Reaching for my phone, I nearly called one of the Dixie Reapers but stopped myself.

They’d said I could call if we were in trouble, but what if I was wrong and panicking over nothing?

Or even worse, what if they didn’t really want me to bother them about this stuff?

It wasn’t like they could do anything while I was at the school waiting on the boys.

As far as I knew, I’d lost the Prospect. He could be anywhere by now.

After what felt like an eternity, the door opened once more, and Chase appeared with Levi trailing behind him. One look at my face, and Chase’s expression hardened.

“What happened?” Chase asked, his voice pitched low as he moved immediately to stand between me and the office door.

“Aunt Betty is in the hospital,” I said, the code we’d established years ago for emergencies. “We’re running late.”

Levi’s eyes narrowed behind his glasses, his gaze sweeping over me with analytical precision.

“Both of you need to sign out,” the secretary instructed, sliding a clipboard across the counter.

Chase kept his body angled so he could watch the door while signing his name. His shoulders had squared up, his stance widening slightly -- unconsciously preparing for confrontation. Levi signed after him, his signature as precise as always despite the tension crackling in the air.

“Hope your aunt feels better,” the secretary called as we headed for the door, finally noticing the gravity in our postures.

Chase merely nodded, his hand on my elbow as he guided me out, his height making him seem older than sixteen as he scanned the area before letting us proceed. Levi fell into step on my other side, his smaller frame tense with unspoken questions.

Outside, the afternoon sun beat down on the empty parking lot. No motorcycles. No Prospects. Just the shimmer of heat rising from asphalt and my illegally parked Honda.

“Keys,” Chase said, holding out his hand.

“I can drive,” I protested.

“Your hands are shaking,” he replied, not unkindly. “And you parked in a loading zone. Come on, Mom.”

I surrendered the keys, allowing Chase to guide me to the passenger side while Levi climbed in the back. As soon as the doors closed, Chase turned to me.

“What’s happening, Mom?” His knuckles were white on the steering wheel, just as mine had been. “Is it him? Did Dad find us?”

My throat constricted with the effort of holding back tears. Both my boys watched me -- Chase’s green eyes sharp with worry, Levi’s brown ones steady behind his glasses. They deserved the truth, but not here. Not in an exposed parking lot where anyone could drive past.

“Not yet,” I managed, shaking my head. I wasn’t going to panic them right his minute. “When we get home. Just… drive carefully. Watch for motorcycles.”

Chase’s jaw clenched as he started the car and pulled out of the parking space with precision I hadn’t known he possessed. In the rearview mirror, I could see Levi’s reflection, his face calm but alert, taking in everything.

“Did someone come to the diner?” Levi asked softly from the back seat.

“Later,” I said, eyes scanning the road ahead and behind. “When we’re home.”

Chase took a route I didn’t recognize, making several unexpected turns. I raised an eyebrow, and he shrugged.

“Just making sure we’re not followed,” he said. “Tank showed me how to spot a tail.”

Tank. One of the Dixie Reapers. Under different circumstances, I might have been upset that he was learning such things from bikers. Now, I was pathetically grateful.

“Good thinking,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “You’re doing good, baby.”

Chase’s expression softened slightly at the endearment he usually protested. “We’re okay, Mom. Whatever it is, we’ll handle it.”

The confidence in his voice nearly broke me. My son, trying to reassure me when it should have been the other way around. I nodded, not trusting myself to speak as we made our way home, each of us scanning the roads for signs of the men I’d spent years trying to escape.

* * *

I fumbled with the keys three times before successfully unlocking our apartment door.

Chase gently took them from my still-trembling hands, opened the door, and ushered us inside.

The moment we were in, I flipped the deadbolt, slid the chain into place, and secured the extra lock we’d installed our first week here.

Still not enough. I moved to each window, checking the locks, drawing the blinds until the room dimmed to a muted gold, dust motes dancing in the narrow strips of sunlight that managed to break through.

“Mom,” Levi said quietly, setting his backpack by the door. “You’re scaring me.”

I paused, trying to compose myself. My boys stood watching me -- Chase with his fists clenched at his sides, Levi with his arms wrapped around himself. I’d promised myself when we left Florida that I wouldn’t let fear rule our lives anymore. Yet here I was, checking window locks for the third time.

“I’m sorry, baby.” I forced my hands to still. “Let’s sit down.”

I moved to the refrigerator first, eyes finding the list of phone numbers stuck to the door. Emergency contacts. Men with road names instead of real ones. Tank. Saint. Hammer. Men who’d helped us escape Florida. Men I’d been both grateful for and wary of.

The boys settled at our small kitchen table, schoolbooks still in their backpacks, forgotten in the rush. Chase pulled out a chair for me, the scrape of its legs against linoleum abnormally loud in the tense silence.

I sat, hands flat on the table to steady them. “I saw a Devil’s Minions Prospect at the diner today,” I said, the words dropping like stones. “He was watching me.”

The effect was immediate. Chase shot to his feet, the chair tipping backward and crashing to the floor. His face flushed with anger, green eyes flashing as his hands curled into fists.

“Fuck,” he spat, the word explosive in our small kitchen.

Levi remained seated, but his face had drained of color, making the light dusting of freckles across his nose stand out in stark relief. His expression remained composed, but I didn’t miss how his fingers gripped the edge of the table, knuckles white with tension.

“Did he follow you?” Levi asked, his voice steady despite the fear I could see in his eyes.

I shook my head. “I don’t think so. I was careful. Went out the back door and watched my mirrors the whole way to your school.”

“Are you sure it was Devil’s Minions?” Levi pressed. “Not just some other MC passing through?”

“I know what I saw.” My voice came out sharper than intended. I softened it. “Black leather cut, red devil’s head with horns, ‘Devil’s Minions’ above it, Florida territory rocker at the bottom. Prospect patch on the front. I lived with those colors for nearly seventeen years, baby. I know them.”

Chase paced our tiny kitchen, five steps one way, five steps back, like a caged animal. He’d grown so tall in the past year, his movements reminding me painfully of Piston when he’d been younger, before the drugs and alcohol had bloated him.

“We need to tell the Reapers,” Chase said, stopping his pacing to look at me. “That’s why they gave us those numbers. They said to call if anything happened.”

I hesitated. The Dixie Reapers had been nothing but helpful.

They’d given us a place to stay, set me up with a job, enrolled the boys in school.

But they were still an MC. Still men who lived outside the law in ways I didn’t fully understand.

Trading one club’s protection for another’s felt like slipping backward.

“He’s right, Mom,” Levi said, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Hammer would help us. He watches you at the diner all the time.”

I blinked, surprised. “What do you mean, he watches me?”

Even if he was a regular at the diner, that didn’t mean he’d been there for me. A lot of people in town ate there nearly every day.

Levi exchanged a look with Chase. “The older guy with the silver beard. For the last week, he’s come in almost every day you work. Sits in the same booth. Always watching the door and windows. We didn’t realize you weren’t aware he was there.”

Chase nudged him. “She’s busy at work. If he’s not in her section, then she doesn’t really have time to go socialize.”

“How do you know that?” I asked. I worked while they were in school most of the time.

“Jessie told me,” Levi said.

“And you,” Chase added. “He watches you too.”

I felt a flush creep up my neck. Of course I’d noticed Hammer’s appearance the other day, his quiet presence in the corner booth. I’d attributed it to routine. The idea that he’d been there deliberately, keeping an eye on me…

“Jessie said Hammer’s been making sure no one bothers you. And Tank said they’ve been rotating shifts, different guys checking different times.” Chase smiled a little. “They’re good men, Mom.”

My mouth went dry. I mean, yeah. A few had come through the diner and asked how we were doing, but the way Chase worded it made it seem more… deliberate, like they’d been standing guard. “They’ve been watching us?”

“Protecting us,” Levi corrected. “That’s what Tank told Chase.”

I sank back in my chair, processing this information. All these weeks I’d thought we were establishing independence, building a new life. Instead, we’d been under surveillance -- benevolent perhaps, but surveillance nonetheless.

“Mom,” Chase said, his voice gentler than I’d heard it in months as he righted his chair and sat back down. “I know you hate asking for help. I know you’re afraid of getting mixed up with another club. But the Reapers aren’t like Dad’s club.”

“You don’t know that,” I whispered.

“Actually, I do.” He leaned forward. “I’ve been at the garage.

I’ve seen how they treat their women, their kids.

It’s different. Hammer’s granddaughter came by the other day with her son, Kellen.

You should have seen how those guys melted while talking to that kid.

And if Amity needed anything, whoever was closest would jump like she’d given an order. ”

I thought of Hammer in the diner, his quiet presence, the way he’d left me a generous tip. His words before he’d left the other day. “ Your boys are safe here, Amelia. And so are you .”

“The numbers are right there,” Levi said, nodding toward the refrigerator. “We can’t wait for Dad to find us. It’s time to ask for help.”

Chase reached across the table, taking my hand in his. His palm dwarfed mine now, calloused already from whatever work he’d been doing at the garage. “You’ve protected us our whole lives, Mom. Let someone help protect you for a change.”

Tears pricked at my eyes. When had my boys become so wise? When had they grown into these young men, capable of seeing truths I’d been too afraid to acknowledge? And how could they possibly feel like I’d protected them? I’d failed them so many times.

I stood, crossed to the refrigerator, and stared at the list of numbers.

My fingers hovered over Hammer’s name, hesitating only briefly before I plucked the paper from under its magnet.

My hands had stopped shaking, I realized.

The paralyzing fear from earlier had receded, replaced by something stronger -- determination.

“You’re right,” I said, turning back to my sons. “We can’t wait for Piston to find us.”

I reached for the phone, dialing the number. As it rang, I caught my reflection in the microwave door -- pale, frightened, but standing straight. No longer running. This time, I was facing the threat head-on.

“Hello?” The gruff voice on the other end was instantly recognizable.

“Hammer, it’s Amelia Decker,” I said, my voice steadier than I’d expected. “I need your help. A Devil’s Minions Prospect was watching the diner today.”

The momentary silence felt endless before he replied, “Stay put. Lock your doors. I’ll be there in ten minutes.” A pause, then, more softly, “You did the right thing calling, Amelia.”

As I hung up, I realized with startling clarity that for the first time since leaving Florida, I believed those words might actually be true.