Page 44

Amelia

One Week Later

The Las Vegas airport buzzed with activity as we collected our bags from the carousel, the harsh fluorescent lighting highlighting the exhaustion etched on all our faces after the cross-country flight.

Hammer stayed close to my right side, his substantial frame a constant presence I’d come to rely on more than I cared to admit.

My stomach churned with nerves, a lifetime of questions about to be answered in the next hour.

Thirty-six years of wondering who my father was, and now we were in his city, about to meet the man who’d never known I existed until a week ago.

Mom might have told me he was a biker who went by Wrath, but it wasn’t like I’d had any proof she’d been telling the truth.

Nor had I really known many details about him. She’d never wanted to talk about him.

“You okay?” Hammer asked, his voice low enough that only I could hear. His hand rested at the small of my back, steady and warm.

I nodded, not trusting my voice. The week since that first phone call with Wrath had passed in a blur of preparations -- arrangements with the diner for time off, the boys’ school absences, Hammer coordinating with the club.

Through it all, I’d oscillated between excitement and terror, unable to settle on how I actually felt about meeting my father.

“Got it,” Chase announced, hefting the last of our bags from the carousel.

My oldest son had insisted on handling the luggage, his shoulders squared with the responsibility he’d always taken too seriously for his age.

Beside him, Levi fidgeted with his backpack straps, eyes darting nervously around the crowded terminal.

Aura appeared at my left, her arm linking through mine. “Vegas is wild,” she commented, nodding toward a group of bachelorettes staggering past in matching pink sashes and tiaras. “Never been here before.”

I was grateful for her attempt at normalcy, at distraction. That was Aura -- perceptive enough to know exactly what everyone needed. She’d become such an essential part of our strange little family that I couldn’t imagine making this trip without her.

“Dad,” she said suddenly, her voice dropping to match his earlier tone. “Three o’clock. Cuts.”

I followed her gaze across the baggage claim area to where three men stood near the exit doors.

Even without the leather vests emblazoned with the Savage Knights insignia, I would have recognized them as bikers.

It was in their stance, the watchful way they surveyed the crowd, the invisible bubble of space other travelers unconsciously gave them.

Hammer shifted subtly, positioning himself slightly behind me where he’d have better access to his waistband if necessary. I knew he wasn’t carrying -- we’d flown commercial -- but the instinct to protect was bone-deep for him.

“That’s our welcoming committee,” he said, his voice neutral though I could feel the tension radiating from him. “Stay together.”

Chase moved closer to Levi, one hand on his younger brother’s shoulder. The protective gesture made my heart ache -- he’d been doing that since he was tiny, standing between Levi and any potential threat.

The three men began walking toward us with measured steps, their eyes locked on our group. The tallest led the way, his face creased in a permanent scowl beneath a bandana tied around his head. The patch on his cut identified him as the Sergeant-at-Arms.

“Amelia,” the tall one said as they reached us, my name sounding strange in his gravelly voice. His eyes flicked briefly to me before settling on Hammer with open assessment. “These the boys?”

I nodded, finding my voice. “Yes. Chase and Levi.” I gestured to each of them in turn, then to Aura. “And this is Aura. Hammer’s daughter.”

The man nodded once, his gaze still fixed on Hammer. I could feel the silent evaluation happening -- sizing up the man who’d claimed me as his, measuring him against whatever standard these men used to judge others.

“Knuckles,” he finally introduced himself, extending a hand to Hammer first. “Sergeant-at-Arms for the Knights. Wrath sent us to bring you to the clubhouse.”

Hammer grasped the offered hand, neither man flinching at what I suspected was a test of strength disguised as a handshake. “Appreciate the escort,” Hammer replied, his tone carefully neutral.

Knuckles’ mouth twitched in something that might have been approval. “Got a van outside. Your luggage is coming with Diesel and Quake in the truck.” He gestured to the two men flanking him, who nodded in acknowledgment.

The walk through the terminal felt like running a gauntlet, with Knuckles leading the way, the other Knights taking up positions behind us, and Hammer keeping me tucked against his side.

Aura had fallen in step with the boys, her arm slung casually around Levi’s shoulders while Chase walked on his other side.

Outside, the dry Vegas heat hit like a physical wall after the air-conditioned terminal. Knuckles led us to a black van with tinted windows parked in the loading zone. A man in a Knights cut sat behind the wheel, nodding once as Knuckles opened the side door for us.

“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.