Page 19

Hammer

I leaned against the porch railing, the weathered wood creaking under my weight.

Amelia stood a few feet away, arms crossed over her chest, moonlight catching the strands of her hair as she waited for me to speak.

The question her boy had thrown out hung between us like smoke -- thick, suffocating, impossible to ignore.

Crickets chirped in the darkness beyond the porch light’s reach. The familiar sounds of the compound at night should have been comforting, but everything felt off-kilter since Amelia had made her desperate proposition.

“Your boy doesn’t pull punches,” I finally said, breaking the silence.

Amelia sighed, her shoulders drooping slightly. “Chase has been the man of the house for years. Mostly because his father was just an abusive asshole. He’s protective.” She stepped closer, her voice dropping. “I’m sorry he put you on the spot like that.”

“Don’t apologize for him looking out for you.” I straightened, turning to face her fully. “But we do need to talk about what you proposed earlier.”

Her chin tilted up, defiance and vulnerability warring in her expression. “I meant what I said, Hammer. I’ll be your old lady in exchange for protection.”

“It’s not that simple,” I said, rougher than I intended. I softened my tone. “Being someone’s old lady in this club isn’t just for show. It’s not something we take lightly.”

“I understand --”

“No, you don’t.” I cut her off, needing her to grasp the weight of what she was offering. “The Dixie Reapers have a code. When we claim a woman, it’s serious. It’s a commitment.”

The porch light cast shadows across her face, highlighting the wariness in her eyes. She’d learned to be cautious, to expect the worst. Piston had taught her that lesson through pain. I wanted to reach for her hand, to offer some comfort, but kept my distance. She needed to hear me out first.

“In this club, there’s no cheating,” I continued. “No sleeping around. If you become my old lady, that means something to every man who wears this patch.” I tapped my cut. “They’ll expect me to handle my business, and they’ll expect you to be loyal.”

“Piston didn’t believe in fidelity,” she said quietly. “At least, not for himself.”

“I’m not Piston.” The words came out harsher than I’d meant, edged with anger at the man who’d hurt her, not at her. “We don’t operate that way here. One woman, one man. And divorce isn’t an option.”

Her eyes widened slightly. “What do you mean?”

“I mean if we do this, we’re in it for good. The club doesn’t recognize divorces. It’s a life commitment.” Of course, her being my old lady was the same as marriage in this place. To my brothers anyway. The women sometimes had a different point of view.

Of course, I left off the part where at my age, a lifetime could mean as few as ten years. She’d still be young enough to start fresh and fall in love with someone more appropriate.

Amelia absorbed this, her fingers twisting the hem of her shirt. I could almost see the wheels turning in her head, weighing the cost of safety against the burden of another permanent bond.

“What about…” She hesitated, a flush creeping up her neck. “Physical expectations?”

There it was. The question I’d been dreading. My jaw tightened as I turned slightly away, staring out into the darkness beyond the porch. Now that I was in my sixties, I wasn’t the man I’d been at thirty. Hell, not even the man I’d been at fifty.

“I won’t force anything,” I said gruffly. “I’m not that kind of man. But you should know… sometimes the equipment doesn’t work like it used to.” The admission burned in my throat, pride making the words difficult. “Age catches up with everyone eventually.”

Silence stretched between us. I kept my gaze fixed on the distant security lights rather than watch her reaction. Damn it all to hell. I hadn’t planned on discussing my occasional dick problems with a woman I barely knew, but she deserved honesty.

“Hammer.” Her voice was softer than I expected. “Look at me.”

I turned, bracing myself for pity or disgust. Instead, her expression held something closer to relief.

“After Piston,” she said carefully, “the idea of… physical demands… it’s not something I’m eager for. If anything, knowing there might be… limitations… makes this easier.”

I blinked, taken aback by her candor. “You’re not concerned?”

“I’m not looking for a lover, Hammer. I’m looking for safety.

A companion, and for someone who won’t hurt me or my boys.

” She stepped closer, close enough that I could smell the faint scent of coffee that clung to her from the diner.

“If we eventually become more… intimate… we’ll figure it out. But it’s not a deal-breaker for me.”

Something loosened in my chest -- a tension I hadn’t realized I was carrying. It still bothered me, this arrangement based on necessity rather than desire, but knowing she wasn’t expecting sexual miracles eased one of my concerns.

“Besides,” she added with a small, hesitant smile, “there’s more to a relationship than just… that.”

I studied her face in the dim light, searching for any sign of deception.

All I found was tired honesty and cautious hope.

This woman had endured hell with Piston, had risked everything to protect her boys, and now stood before me offering herself as collateral for their safety.

The weight of that responsibility settled on my shoulders, heavier than my cut had ever felt.

“If we do this,” I said slowly, “it’s real to the world.

You wear my patch, you’re under my protection.

The club will treat you as my woman. Your boys will be considered my responsibility.

And we’ll sleep in the same bed, whether or not anything happens other than sleeping. Are you prepared for that?”

She nodded, a single decisive movement. “Yes.”

The simple answer hung between us, neither of us quite believing we were having this conversation. A frog croaked loudly from somewhere nearby, the sound almost comically ordinary against the gravity of the moment.

“All right then,” I said, still not entirely convinced this wasn’t a massive mistake. “But there’s more we need to discuss.”

Amelia shifted her weight, angling her body slightly away from me. Her gaze drifted toward the house where her boys were with Aura and Sam. When she looked back at me, her expression had hardened with maternal determination.

“What about my boys?” she asked, her voice steady but thin with tension. “Before we go any further, I need to know how you’ll treat them.”

The question didn’t surprise me. If anything, I’d have thought less of her if she hadn’t asked. She crossed her arms over her chest, a physical barrier between us as she waited for my answer. Every line of her body screamed protection -- a mother bear ready to fight for her cubs.

“That’s fair,” I said, giving her question the respect it deserved. “What exactly are you worried about?”

“Piston…” She hesitated, her jaw tightening.

“He was cruel to them. Used them against me. Terrorized them when he was angry or drunk or just bored.” Her voice dropped.

“Chase tried to protect me from the time he was twelve, but when he was fourteen Piston put him in the hospital. Three broken ribs and a concussion.”

Rage flared hot in my chest. No wonder the kid was so vigilant, so protective. He’d been in the trenches, fighting a war he was too young to understand against an enemy he had no hope of defeating.

“I need to know you won’t hurt them,” Amelia continued, watching my face with the careful assessment of someone who’d learned to read moods to survive. “That you won’t treat them like they’re in your way or use them to control me.”

I straightened up from the railing, meeting her gaze directly. This wasn’t a moment for casual postures or half-truths. “I have never laid a hand on a child in anger,” I said, my voice steady and firm. “Not my own, not anyone else’s. And I never will.”

She didn’t flinch from my stare, measuring the truth in my words. “Even when Chase challenges you? Because he will. It’s how he protects himself -- how he protects all of us.”

“The boy’s earned the right to be cautious,” I acknowledged. “I don’t expect blind obedience or instant trust. That would be foolish of me.”

I thought of my own journey with Aura and Sam. Fatherhood hadn’t come naturally to me, but I’d learned. Made mistakes. Grown. The memories of Aura’s early days with me -- her nightmares, her distrust, her slow journey toward healing -- flooded back.

“I raised a daughter who came to me traumatized,” I continued. “And a son who tested every boundary I set, even though he was already a grown-ass adult. I’m not perfect. I get angry. I say things I regret sometimes. But I don’t solve problems with my fists, especially not with kids, or with women.”

Amelia’s posture relaxed slightly, but her eyes remained watchful. “And how would you discipline them?”

“They’re not little kids, Amelia. Chase is nearly a man, and Levi’s not far behind. At their age, it’s about guidance more than discipline.” I shook my head. “But if you’re asking if I’d hit them, the answer is no. Never. Not an option.”

“And if they break rules? If they mess up?”

“Then there are consequences. Loss of privileges. Extra chores. Straight talk about making better choices.” I shrugged.

“Same as with any kid. Once I realized Aura was interested in motorcycles, her punishment was learning how to take a bike apart and put it back together. No phone calls, no TV. Taught her a skill and made her think twice about lying to me.”

A ghost of a smile touched her lips before fading. “You’d be firm with them?”

“When needed.” I nodded. “I won’t pretend to be a pushover. Rules matter, especially in our world. But there’s a world of difference between being strict and being unreasonable or abusive. They need room to grow, and that means making mistakes. It’s how people learn, even adults.”