Page 5

Amelia

I stood next to Scratch outside the diner at the edge of town, watching him inspect our car with methodical precision.

The chill of the morning air seeped through my thin jacket, but it wasn’t the cold making me shiver.

Every second we remained in this town was another second Piston could find us, find my boys.

I clutched my arms around myself, gaze darting to the trunk of the car, where Chase and Levi were retrieving our meager belongings, wondering if we were truly going to escape this time.

“Stand back,” Scratch muttered, lifting the hood of our beat-up sedan. His weathered hands moved with practiced efficiency, checking something I couldn’t understand. The leather of his cut creaked as he leaned forward, his shoulders blocking my view.

“Is something wrong with it?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. The parking lot was empty at this hour, but still, I couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched.

Scratch straightened up and wiped his hands on a rag he pulled from his back pocket. “Car’s fine. That’s not the issue.” His eyes, hard as steel, scanned the horizon before returning to me. “We need to ditch it.”

My stomach dropped. “Ditch it? But that’s all we have --”

“That’s exactly why we gotta leave it behind.

” He crouched down, checking underneath the chassis now.

What the heck was he looking for under there?

“First thing Piston’s gonna look is for this vehicle.

Plates, VIN number, make, model… he’s got people who can track this shit faster than you’d believe.

Especially if he’s attached a GPS tracker to it. ”

I swallowed hard, knowing he was right. Piston had connections everywhere -- police, DMV, even some judges.

That was how he’d found us the last time I tried to run.

The memory of that night made my hands shake, and I shoved them into my pockets to hide my fear from Scratch.

I’d found my courage once before, and after it ended so horribly, I’d vowed to never run again.

Until now. “So what do we do? How do we get anywhere without a car?” The panic in my voice was rising, despite my efforts to stay calm.

Scratch straightened up and moved to check the license plate, giving it a tug to ensure it was secure. “Already taken care of.” He reached inside his cut and pulled out three bus tickets, extending them toward me.

I stared at them, afraid to reach out, as if they might disappear. “Where do they go?”

“Alabama. Dixie Reapers will take care of you there.” His voice softened just slightly, the closest thing to gentleness I’d heard from him. “You’ll be far enough away that Piston won’t think to look, and you’ll have protection.”

My fingers closed around the tickets, feeling the weight of what they represented -- freedom, safety, a chance for my boys to live without fear. “The Dixie Reapers… will they really help us? We’re nothing to them.”

“You’re under their protection now. All of you.” Scratch glanced at the boys. “Club takes that seriously. Their President, Savior, he’s a good man. Better than most. He’s arranged everything.”

“What does that mean?” I asked, watching as Chase positioned himself slightly in front of Levi his gaze scanning everywhere for threats.

“Means you’ve got a job waiting. Place to live too.” Scratch nodded toward my sons as they approached. “Boys will be able to go to school, have normal lives.”

I clutched the tickets tighter, afraid to believe it could be that simple. “Why would they do all this for us?”

“Club has a code. Women and children don’t deserve the shit men like Piston dish out.” His expression darkened. “Besides, Piston’s made enemies with more clubs than just ours. Dixie Reapers have connections to some of those clubs, including ours, so they have their own score to settle.”

Chase reached us first, dropping the bags at his feet and eyeing Scratch with open suspicion. He already carried himself like a man, shoulders squared against whatever the world threw at us. Like he was ready to fight everything and everyone.

“We ready to go?” he asked me, not Scratch. Always protective, my Chase.

Levi hung back slightly, his slim frame nearly hidden behind his brother, but his eyes were alert, taking in everything.

I nodded, showing them the tickets. “We’re taking a bus.” I tried to sound confident, for their sake. “To Alabama.”

Chase’s eyes narrowed. “What about the car?”

“Can’t take it,” Scratch answered before I could. “Too easy to track.”

I watched as understanding passed between them. Chase’s jaw tightened, but Levi nodded.

“Dixie Reapers,” Levi said quietly. “That’s the MC outside Mobile, right? I read about them when I was looking for places we could go.”

Scratch raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised by Levi’s knowledge. “That’s right, kid. You did your homework.”

A hint of pride crossed Levi’s face, quickly replaced by his usual serious expression. “They have a reputation for protecting women and children,” he added, looking at me. “It’s a good choice, Mom.”

I felt tears threatening and blinked them back. My boys -- one so physically strong, the other so mentally sharp -- both trying to be men before their time because they’d never had the luxury of being children.

“Bus leaves in an hour,” Scratch said, checking his watch. “We need to move. Someone from the club will take care of this car, make it disappear.”

I nodded, gripping the tickets like a lifeline. Hope mixed with terror in my chest -- terror that Piston would find us again, hope that this time, we might truly escape.

Chase picked up our bags, his uncertain gaze meeting mine for just a moment before his expression hardened into determination. Levi stood at his side, brown eyes resolute behind his glasses. They were ready. We all were.

It was time to leave the nightmare behind.

The walk to the bus station felt like running a gauntlet.

Scratch led the way, his broad shoulders creating a shield between us and whatever dangers might lurk in the quiet streets.

I kept Chase and Levi close, one on either side of me, my gaze constantly scanning our surroundings.

Every car that passed made my heart stutter, every shadow seemed to hide one of Piston’s men waiting to drag us back to that hell.

The few blocks might as well have been miles.

“Keep your head down,” Scratch instructed, his voice low enough that only we could hear. “Don’t make eye contact with anyone.”

Chase walked stiffly beside me, his body coiled tight like a spring ready to release.

His hand kept brushing against mine, a silent reassurance that he was ready to protect us if needed.

Levi stayed on my other side, his steps quick to keep up, taking in everything around us with those observant eyes.

“Are we being followed?” I whispered to Scratch when he glanced back for the third time in as many minutes.

“No,” he answered, but his eyes never stopped moving, sweeping across rooftops, alleyways, parked cars. “Just being careful. Piston’s got eyes everywhere in this town.”

A chill ran down my spine at the mention of his name. For seventeen years I’d lived in fear of that man, walking on eggshells, protecting my boys from his rages. The bruises had faded, but the terror remained, embedded in my bones like a disease.

The bus station came into view -- a small, dingy building with a few benches out front.

At this early hour, it was nearly deserted, just a couple of tired-looking travelers clutching coffee cups and an elderly security guard who barely glanced our way.

The emptiness should have been comforting, but it only made us more visible, more exposed.

Scratch guided us to a corner away from the other passengers, positioning himself so he could see every entrance. “Bus will be here in twenty minutes,” he said, checking his watch. “Once you’re on it, don’t get off until Alabama. Not for anything.”

I nodded, clutching our meager belongings -- one duffel bag with clothes, a backpack with our important documents, and the small amount of cash I’d managed to hide from Piston over the years, as well as what Chase had given me. Everything we owned, reduced to what we could carry.

Scratch reached inside his cut and pulled out a cheap flip phone. “Burner,” he explained, pressing it into my palm. “There’s only one number programmed in it. Call when you reach the station in Alabama. Someone will be waiting.”

I stared at the small black phone, my lifeline to safety. “Who?”

“Don’t know yet. Whoever Savior sends.” He glanced at Chase, who was watching our exchange with distrustful eyes. “Could be a guy called Venom. Or Bull. Doesn’t matter who -- they’ll all be wearing cuts with Dixie Reapers patches. You’ll know them when you see them.”

I slipped the phone into my pocket, its weight both reassuring and terrifying. So much depended on this fragile connection. “Thank you,” I said, my voice cracking slightly. “For everything. I know we’re strangers to you --”

“Don’t,” Scratch cut me off, uncomfortable with gratitude. “Just doing what’s right. What should’ve been done years ago.”

Levi moved closer to me, his slim fingers wrapping around my arm. “What about our car? You said it would be taken care of, but how exactly?” he asked Scratch directly, his voice steadier than I expected.

Scratch gave him an appraising look. “Smart to ask. Someone from the club will pick it up from the motel. We’ll strip it down, get rid of any evidence you were ever there.

By tomorrow, that car won’t exist anymore.

Still run a chop shop on the side. A holdover from our more lawless days.

Not that we’re walking the straight and narrow exactly. ”

Levi nodded, seemingly satisfied with the answer. Chase remained silent, but I could feel the tension radiating from him, the distrust. He’d heard too many promises from his father before -- promises that broke like glass when tested.