Page 30

Amelia

I locked the register with fingers that moved on autopilot, my body feeling the weight of an eight-hour shift that had stretched to ten when Marla, another waitress, called in sick.

The diner’s fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, harsh against my tired eyes as I counted out my tips -- decent tonight, enough to buy Chase those new sneakers he needed but wouldn’t ask for.

Beyond the windows, darkness had settled completely over the parking lot, the diner’s neon sign casting alternating flashes of pink and blue across the cracked asphalt.

I rubbed at the small of my back, dreaming of the hot shower waiting for me at home.

At Hammer’s home. Our home, I corrected myself, still not quite used to the thought.

“Night, Phil,” I called to our evening shift cook, who grunted his goodbye from the kitchen where he was finishing cleanup.

I gathered my purse and jacket, tucking the tips inside my wallet before heading toward the back door.

My car sat alone in the employee section, the only vehicle left besides Phil’s ancient pickup.

The manager had left hours ago, trusting me to close up as I’d done dozens of times since starting here.

The night air hit me with a welcome coolness after hours in the stuffy diner.

I inhaled deeply, letting the tension in my shoulders ease slightly as I fumbled for my keys.

My thoughts drifted to home, to the boys, to Hammer.

Saturday’s fair plans had lit something in all of them that warmed me through.

Even Chase had seemed genuinely excited, though he tried to hide it behind his usual stoic facade.

My keys jingled as I shifted them to grab the car remote.

The parking lot lights flickered, one of them buzzing before going dark completely.

I made a mental note to tell Phil tomorrow -- the lot was too dark already without losing another light.

For the first time, I was cursing myself for being so independent.

Hammer had told me I didn’t need to work here anymore, and several people at the compound had tried to talk me out of keeping my shifts.

Right now, I was wishing I’d listened, or that maybe Hammer had been a little less understanding and forced me to remain home.

The hairs on the back of my neck prickled.

I froze, my fingers tightening around my keys until the metal bit into my palm. Something shifted in the shadows behind me -- not the wind, not an animal. A presence. Heavy. Deliberate. Watching.

I spun around, heart hammering against my ribs, and that’s when I saw him.

The bulk of his frame separated from the darkness like a nightmare materializing.

Broad shoulders. Close-cropped hair. The familiar swagger in his step that had once made my stomach flutter with attraction, now made it clench with dread.

Piston.

“Hey, baby,” he drawled, stepping fully into the weak pool of light cast by the flickering neon sign. “Miss me?”

My throat closed up, breath shallow and quick in my chest. I backpedaled until my spine pressed against my car door, trapping me.

“What are you doing here?” My voice came out steadier than I felt, a small victory.

He moved closer, every step measured, predatory. The smell hit me before he did -- whiskey, cigarettes, and that cologne he always wore, the one that used to cling to my clothes after he’d been near me. His eyes, cold and calculating despite the whiskey on his breath, raked over me.

“That’s not much of a greeting after I drove all this way.” His lips curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “But then, you never did have proper respect.”

I gripped my keys tighter, pressing the sharp edge of one between my knuckles the way Aura had shown me. A small defense. Probably useless, but it steadied me.

“What do you want?” I asked, though I knew. Of course I knew.

“Where are my boys?” He spat the words, all pretense of casual conversation vanishing. His hand shot out, fingers closing around my upper arm with bruising force. “Where are you hiding them?”

The pain radiated up my arm, but I refused to wince. “They’re not your boys,” I said. “They never were. You never wanted them except as punching bags and leverage.”

His grip tightened, fingers digging deeper. I could feel the cold metal of his rings against my skin, pressing little circles of ice where bruises would form tomorrow.

“Mouthy bitch,” he growled, yanking me closer until his face was inches from mine. “You think you can just take my sons? My blood?” His other hand came up to grip my chin, forcing my face up. “Tell me where they are, Amelia. Now.”

I stared into the eyes I’d once thought I loved, seeing nothing but emptiness and rage reflected back. My hands trembled, and my heart pounded so hard I was sure he could hear it, but I held his gaze.

“They’re safe,” I said. “They’re happy. That’s all you need to know.”

Something dangerous flashed across his face. “You think you’re so fucking smart, don’t you? Running to another club, spreading your legs for protection?” His fingers dug deeper into my chin. “Who is he? Which one of these backwater bikers are you fucking?”

I said nothing, which only infuriated him more. His hand slid from my chin to my throat, not squeezing yet, but the threat was clear.

“It doesn’t matter,” he continued, voice dropping to a whisper that frightened me more than his shouting ever had. “I’ll find them. And when I do, I’ll make sure they understand what happens to boys who betray their father.”

My fear crystallized into something harder, sharper. “You’ll never touch them again,” I said, each word deliberate despite the tremor in my voice. “They’re not yours anymore.”

His face contorted, ugly with rage. “Everything I own has my mark on it, baby. Including you. Including them.” The hand at my throat tightened fractionally. “The only way you escape me is if you’re dead. Is that what you want?”

The threat hung in the air between us, heavy and real in a way that made my skin go cold. I’d known he would come eventually. Had prepared myself mentally for this moment. But standing here, with his hands on me again, the reality was so much worse than my imagination.

“Why now?” I asked, playing for time, hoping Phil might come out, though I knew he always left through the front. “You never cared about them before. Chase spent years trying to gain your attention, your approval. You barely noticed him.”

“They’re mine,” he snarled, as if that explained everything. “My property. My bloodline. You think I’ll let some other man raise my sons?” His breath, hot and whiskey-sour, washed over my face. “Is that who you’re with now? Some father figure for them? Some replacement for me?”

The image of Hammer -- strong, steady, gentle with the boys despite his gruff exterior -- flashed through my mind. The absolute opposite of the man before me.

“They deserve better than you,” I said, the words escaping before I could stop them.

His fingers spasmed against my throat, and for a moment, I thought he might actually strangle me right here in the parking lot. Instead, he leaned closer, his voice dropping to that terrifying whisper again.

“I’m going to find them, Amelia. I’m going to take them back. And before I do, I’m going to make you watch while I dismantle every piece of this new life you think you’ve built.” The metal of his rings bit deeper into my skin. “Starting with whatever old man you’ve tricked into protecting you.”

My breath caught. He knew about Hammer. Maybe not specifically, but he knew there was someone. Fear flooded through me, no longer just for myself or my boys, but for Hammer too.

“Leave us alone,” I said, hating the pleading note that crept into my voice. “Just let us go.”

Piston’s laugh was cold and hollow. “You know that’s not how this works, baby. You’re mine until you’re dead.” His eyes, flat and shark-like, bore into mine. “And maybe I won’t let you go even then.”

Piston shoved me hard against the car, my back hitting the cold metal with enough force to knock the air from my lungs.

His face loomed over mine, features twisted with a rage I knew too well -- the same expression that had preceded broken bones and black eyes in our past life together.

I braced myself, muscles tensing, my body remembering exactly how to curl inward to protect vital organs.

But something had changed in the weeks since I’d fled Florida.

The fear was still there, primitive and overwhelming, but alongside it burned something new -- a certainty that I deserved better than this man’s rage, that my boys deserved their freedom, that the life we were building with Hammer was worth fighting for.

“They don’t want you,” I said, my voice stronger now despite the pain radiating across my back. “They’re happy now. Happier than they ever were with you.”

His eyes narrowed to slits, nostrils flaring with each heavy breath. “Happy? With some washed-up old biker?”

I said nothing, but something in my expression must have confirmed his suspicions. His hand shot out, gripping my jaw with bruising force, fingers digging into my cheeks.

“You stupid bitch,” he hissed. “You think you can just replace me? That my boys will call some other man ‘Dad’?”

“They never called you that,” I said, the words muffled by his grip but clear enough to hit their mark. At least, not to his face they hadn’t. “Not once. Not even when they were little.”

The truth of it seemed to slice through him. I saw the flicker of recognition in his eyes before rage consumed it. His free hand closed into a fist, drawing back as his weight pinned me against the car door.

“I’m going to remind you of your place,” he growled. “Then we’re going to get my boys, and you’re going to wish you’d never --”