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I couldn’t speak. Words had abandoned me completely as I stood facing the missing piece of my life -- the man whose existence my mother had acknowledged only in bitter comments about bikers and irresponsibility.

The man who had never even known I existed until the Dixie Reapers had reached out for help with Piston.

He moved first, crossing the space between us with surprising grace for such a large man.

His arms opened, hesitant, and I stepped into his embrace automatically.

The hug was stiff, awkward -- the embrace of strangers trying to be family.

He smelled of leather and expensive cologne, his cut creaking as his arms tightened briefly around me before releasing me just as quickly.

“You look like her,” he said gruffly, stepping back. “Your mother. But your eyes…” He trailed off, shaking his head slightly. “Guess there’s no question who your old man is.”

“I guess not,” I agreed, finding my voice at last. The resemblance was uncanny now that I stood before him -- the shape of our jaws, the set of our eyes, even the way he held himself with one shoulder slightly lower than the other.

His gaze shifted beyond me, taking in the rest of our group with the assessing stare of a man used to evaluating potential threats. His eyes lingered on Hammer, narrowing slightly as he took in the silver beard, the weathered face, the Dixie Reapers cut.

“So you’re the old man who married my daughter,” Wrath said, crossing his arms over his broad chest. The words held an edge, a challenge beneath the surface politeness.

Hammer stepped forward, his face impassive. “I am.”

The two men stared at each other, an entire conversation happening without words. I recognized the language of alpha males establishing boundaries -- had seen it often enough having been around more than one MC now. This was different, though. More personal. More charged.

“You realize you’re older than me, right?” Wrath asked, the question deliberately provocative.

I tensed, but Hammer didn’t rise to the bait. “Not by more than a few years,” he acknowledged calmly. “Doesn’t change anything.”

“Doesn’t it?” Wrath’s voice hardened.

“Dad,” I interrupted, the word feeling strange on my tongue. I hadn’t planned to call him that yet, but it slipped out naturally in my urgency to diffuse the tension. “These are my sons. Your grandsons.”

The diversion worked. Wrath’s attention shifted to the boys, who stood slightly behind Hammer, watching the exchange with wary eyes.

“Chase and Levi,” I continued, gesturing them forward. “Boys, this is… your grandfather.”

Levi, surprisingly, moved first, stepping around his brother with cautious curiosity. “You look like mom around the eyes,” he observed quietly.

Something in Wrath’s expression softened at Levi’s directness. “That so?” He extended a hand to my younger son. “Good to meet you, Levi.”

Levi shook the offered hand, his small fingers disappearing in Wrath’s massive grasp. “Your clubhouse is cool,” he added, a tentative olive branch.

Chase moved forward then, his jaw set in that stubborn expression I recognized all too well. He extended his hand with determined formality. “Sir,” he said simply.

Wrath’s eyebrows rose slightly at the formal address, but he accepted Chase’s handshake with equal seriousness. “No need for ‘sir,’ boy. Grandpa works. Or Wrath, if you prefer.”

Chase nodded but didn’t commit to either option, retreating to stand beside his brother. I could see the wheels turning behind his eyes, evaluating this new addition to our complicated family tree.

“And this is Aura,” I added, drawing the focus to where she stood quietly observing the interactions. “Hammer’s daughter.”

Wrath nodded to her. “Knuckles mentioned you. Said you’re looking to prospect. Didn’t think the Dixie Reapers allowed women in their club, except as old ladies.”

Aura’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Word travels fast between clubs.”

“When it’s interesting news,” Wrath agreed, a hint of approval in his tone.

His gaze hardened again as it returned to Hammer. “We need to talk, you and me. About intentions.”

“No, we don’t,” I interjected, my voice firmer than before.

Both men looked at me in surprise, clearly not expecting the interruption.

“Hammer’s intentions are clear from his actions.

He took us in when we had nowhere else to go.

Protected us when Piston came after us. Gave the boys his name.

” I stepped closer to Hammer, my hand finding his. “He loves us. And we love him.”

Wrath studied my face, perhaps hearing the steel beneath my words. I’d spent too many years being silent when I should have spoken. I wouldn’t make that mistake again -- not even with the father I’d just found.

“That true?” he asked Hammer, though his gaze stayed on me.

“Every word,” Hammer confirmed.

Something shifted in Wrath’s expression -- not quite acceptance, but a grudging respect. “Well,” he said after a moment, “guess that’s what matters, then.”

The tension in the room eased by fractions. Not gone completely but reduced to a more manageable level. Wrath gestured toward the door. “Let’s join the others. Food’s ready in the main room. We can talk more out there.”

As we followed him from the private room back into the clubhouse proper, Hammer leaned close to my ear. “Nice defense, wife,” he murmured.

I squeezed his hand in response. “Nobody gets to question us. Not even my newly discovered father.”

Hammer’s eyes crinkled at the corners -- his version of a smile. “That’s my girl.”

The simple praise warmed me more than it should have.

As we entered the main room where Knights and their old ladies waited with curious eyes, I held my head higher.

I might be meeting my father for the first time, might be navigating waters I’d never expected to chart, but I knew exactly who I was and who I loved.

That certainty would carry me through whatever came next.

* * *

The clubhouse common area had been transformed into something resembling a family gathering, with tables of food lining one wall and Knights mingling with their old ladies.

Children darted between the adults’ legs, a surprising sight in what I’d expected to be an adults-only space.

Everything felt both strange and familiar -- the rituals of MC life were similar enough to what I’d experienced with the Dixie Reapers to create a sense of déjà vu , yet distinctly different in ways I couldn’t quite name.

I stuck close to Hammer’s side as Wrath introduced us to key members of his club, hyperaware of the curious glances thrown our way and the protective stance Hammer maintained beside me.

“That’s Santa’s old lady,” Wrath explained, nodding toward a woman passing out plates. “She’s been cooking since dawn. Says it’s not every day she gets to feed the President’s newfound family.”

“That’s very kind,” I replied, overwhelmed by the effort that had clearly gone into welcoming us, despite the lingering tension between the men.

Wrath guided us to a table. Chase and Levi followed, their earlier wariness giving way to cautious curiosity as they took in the clubhouse environment. Aura had already drifted toward a group of younger Knights, her natural charisma drawing them in despite her outsider status.

“Eat,” Wrath instructed, gesturing toward the food. “We’ll talk after.”

I felt Hammer’s hand settle at the small of my back as we navigated the buffet line, a casual touch that communicated volumes.

Mine. Safe. Here. That simple contact grounded me in the surreal experience of standing in my father’s clubhouse, surrounded by his family of choice while accompanied by my own.

We settled at the table with full plates, an awkward family dinner with decades of absence between us.

Wrath sat directly across from Hammer, their gazes meeting briefly over the spread of food.

I caught him watching as Hammer passed Levi the salt without being asked, anticipating my son’s preference before he could voice it. A small thing but telling.

“So,” Wrath began, directing his attention to Levi. “Heard you’re pretty good with computers. Got a few brothers here who could learn a thing or two.”

My boy shrugged, but I could see the pleased flush on his cheeks at being singled out. “I’m okay. Not as good as Atlas back home, but I know some stuff.”

“He’s being modest,” Hammer interjected, his gruff voice softened with pride. “Kid figured out how to boost our security system at the compound. Rigged up motion sensors where we had blind spots.”

I watched as Levi’s posture straightened at Hammer’s praise, his chest puffing slightly as he added, “It wasn’t that complex. Just repurposed some old equipment.”

Wrath’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he observed the exchange, something shifting in his expression as he noted the genuine pride in Hammer’s voice, the way Levi leaned almost imperceptibly toward Hammer as he spoke.

“How’d you learn that?” Wrath asked Levi directly, his interest sincere.

“I learned a lot on my own while we lived in Florida, but Dad also got me some books,” Levi replied, glancing briefly at the older man beside him. “And let me practice on the clubhouse systems.”

“With supervision,” Hammer added with a hint of a smile. “Kid’s a natural. Just needed the right tools and someone to point him in the right direction.”

Again, that thoughtful look crossed Wrath’s face, his gaze moving between Hammer and my son as if reassessing something fundamental.

Chase remained quiet, and Hammer noticed. He glanced at our son before facing Wrath again. “Your grandson here has a natural feel for engines that most grown men would kill for. Show him something once, he’s got it memorized.”

“He’s teaching me about bikes,” Chase explained. “How the V-twin works and the difference in the various engines. I’ve learned how to do oil changes and tune-ups. Even worked on some cars.”

“That right?” Wrath asked, genuine surprise coloring his tone.