Page 7
Hammer
I leaned against the black SUV, squinting through my sunglasses at the bus terminal entrance. The Alabama heat pressed down like a weighted blanket, making my leather cut stick to my sweat-dampened shirt. It had been nice and cool this morning. Now the sun was trying to fucking kill me.
Saint stood beside me, his posture relaxed but gaze alert, scanning faces in the crowd.
We’d been waiting twenty minutes already for this woman and her kids to arrive.
Scratch had called ahead, given us the rundown on their situation.
Another club wife on the run, another piece-of-shit husband who thought women were punching bags.
Some things never changed, no matter how many years I’d been riding.
“Bus is pulling in,” Saint muttered, nodding toward the far end of the terminal where a Greyhound was rolling to a stop.
I grunted acknowledgment, pushing away from the vehicle. My knees protested the movement, a reminder of sixty-plus years of hard living. “We got a photo?”
“Nah,” Saint said. “Scratch said she’s mid-thirties, brown hair, two teenage boys. One’s around sixteen, built like a fighter. The other’s a bit younger, wears glasses.”
“Not exactly narrowing it down,” I grumbled, but kept my eyes trained on the bus doors as they opened and passengers began to file out.
They weren’t hard to spot once they appeared.
Two teens and a woman who looked both worn out and terrified.
The older boy, tall and muscular for his age, exited first, positioning himself to scan the terminal before allowing his mother and brother to step down.
Smart kid. The younger one stayed close to his mother, his glasses magnifying wary eyes that took in everything.
“That’s them,” I said, recognizing the fear and vigilance that radiated from the trio like heat waves off asphalt.
Saint nodded and started forward, then stopped. We watched as the mom and youngest went to the restrooms. So far, the oldest hadn’t spotted us, or he wasn’t letting on if he had. We hung back to wait and see what happened.
After the others returned, they talked amongst themselves for a moment.
Then Saint decided we’d waited long enough and headed off in their direction again.
I followed a step behind, keeping my movements deliberate, non-threatening.
Too many years dealing with frightened women and children had taught me how easily a man my size could intimidate without meaning to.
The older boy spotted us immediately, his body tensing as he registered our cuts. His hand moved slightly to his waistband, and I noted the motion with approval. Kid was ready to defend his family, even if he didn’t actually have a weapon.
“Ms. Decker?” Saint called softly as we approached, keeping a respectful distance. “I’m Saint, Vice President of the Dixie Reapers. This is Hammer. Scratch sent us to meet you.”
The woman -- Amelia -- tightened her grip on her duffel bag, nodding slightly. “Yes, I’m Amelia Decker. These are my sons, Chase and Levi.”
Up close, I could see the toll that running had taken on her.
Shadows hung beneath her eyes, and tension lined her mouth.
Still pretty, though, in a worn-down kind of way.
Brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, a few strands of silver catching the light.
She couldn’t have been more than thirty-six, thirty-seven, but fear had aged her.
Over the loudspeaker, someone announced the next bus leaving the station and a group of people rushed by us. I gave them a quick glance, making sure none of them were a threat. A few feet away, someone dropped a bag, the loud bang making a few people jump, then laugh nervously.
I went back to observing the little family, once I knew they weren’t in danger from the people here. The older boy -- Chase -- stepped slightly forward, angling his body between us and his mother. “You got ID?” he demanded, his voice deeper than I expected.
Saint’s lips twitched, not quite a smile. “Smart question.” He reached slowly into his cut, pulling out his wallet to show his driver’s license. “Scratch said he gave your mother a phone. You call the number yet?”
“We were about to,” Amelia said, her voice soft but steady.
I studied Chase while they talked, recognizing the hardness in his eyes. Kid had seen things no teenager should have to see, done things no kid should have to do. Reminded me of Prospects who’d grown up too fast, the ones who came to us already battle-scarred by life.
“We’ve arranged a place for you to stay,” Saint was explaining. “Apartment above Jessie’s Diner on Main Street. It’s not fancy, but it’s clean, furnished, and the rent’s covered for the first three months.”
“Covered by who?” Chase asked sharply.
“The club,” Saint answered easily. “Consider it a loan if it makes you feel better. Your mother can start paying it back once she’s on her feet.”
I noticed the younger boy -- Levi -- watching us with calculated scrutiny. Unlike his brother’s confrontational stance, this kid’s observation was more analytical, measuring us against some internal scale.
Another announcement blasted through the place, making us pause our conversation. Otherwise, we’d have had to shout to be heard. “Bus 426 to Birmingham is now boarding!”
The announcement repeated twice. Once it was finished, the regular noise of the station filled the space again.
“I understand there’s a job waiting for me?” Amelia asked, her fingers nervously plucking at the strap of her bag.
Saint nodded. “Waitressing at the diner. Owner’s a friend of the club. Hours work with the boys’ school schedule, tips are decent.”
I shifted my weight, drawing Chase’s attention. His gaze locked onto me, assessing the threat. I met his gaze steadily, seeing the fear beneath the bravado.
“How do we know we can trust you?” he asked bluntly.
“You don’t,” I said, speaking for the first time. My voice came out rougher than intended, gravel over steel. “But we ain’t him.”
Chase’s jaw tightened at the reference to his father. Good. Kid understood what I meant.
“The Dixie Reapers have a reputation for protecting women and children,” Levi said quietly, adjusting his glasses. “Especially from other MCs.”
I raised an eyebrow at the kid. Hadn’t expected that kind of research from someone his age.
“That’s right,” Saint confirmed, shooting me a glance. “Devil’s Minions aren’t welcome in our territory, and Piston knows it.”
At the mention of her ex’s name, Amelia flinched. Just slightly, but I caught it. Fucking bastard. Men who hit women deserved whatever hell came their way.
“Our SUV’s right over there,” Saint continued, gesturing to where we’d parked. “We can take you straight to the apartment, get you settled in.”
I watched as Amelia and her sons exchanged glances, having one of those silent family conversations. After a moment, she nodded.
“Thank you,” she said, the words sounding rusty, like she wasn’t used to accepting help.
As we turned toward the parking lot, I noticed Chase quickly scan for exit routes, memorizing landmarks. Good instincts. Kid would make a decent Prospect someday, if that was a path he chose.
“Might not seem like it now,” I said quietly as Chase passed me, “but you’re safe here.”
He glanced up, surprise flickering across his face before the mask of distrust slipped back into place. He didn’t believe me. Didn’t need to. Actions would prove our words true or false soon enough.
I followed behind as Saint led them to the SUV, watching their backs, scanning the terminal for threats. Old habits. Necessary ones when dealing with a situation like this. Piston might be in Florida, but men like him had connections, and a wounded ego made for dangerous desperation.
The family’s possessions amounted to a single duffel bag and two backpacks. Everything they owned in the world. I’d seen it before, too many times. Women and children running with nothing but the clothes on their backs and whatever they could grab in the minutes between violence and escape.
As Saint helped them load their meager belongings into the back of the SUV, I caught Amelia looking at me, a question in her eyes.
“We’ll keep you safe,” I said simply. No promises beyond that. No bullshit. Just the truth.
She nodded once, then climbed into the back seat with her boys, Chase taking the spot behind the driver, Levi in the middle beside his mother. Strategic positioning. These three had done this before.
I got into the passenger seat as Saint started the engine. In the rearview mirror, I could see the wariness in their faces. It would take more than words to earn their trust.
But that was all right. We had time.
The SUV’s air conditioning fought a losing battle against the Alabama heat as we pulled away from the bus terminal.
Saint drove with one hand draped over the wheel, casual as always, while I kept my attention divided between the road ahead and the rearview mirror.
Chase had positioned himself directly behind Saint, where he could watch both of us and still keep an eye on his mother and brother.
Smart kid. Tactical thinking. In the mirror, I caught him studying me.
Been a long time since I’d seen a teenager with the hardened gaze of a soldier, but I recognized it all the same.
“Town’s not much to look at,” Saint said, breaking the silence as we merged onto the main road, “but it’s quiet. Good place to disappear.”
Amelia nodded stiffly, her hands clasped tight in her lap. She sat ramrod straight, like relaxing might be dangerous. Beside her, Levi fidgeted, his fingers moving in rhythmic, nervous patterns.
I shifted slightly in my seat, angling the side mirror to check behind us. No tail. Force of habit more than immediate concern.
“That’s the high school there,” Saint continued, nodding toward a brick building as we passed. “Both boys can enroll next week. Principal’s wife is friends with some of our old ladies. She’ll help smooth things over with paperwork and such.”
Table of Contents
- Page 1
- Page 2
- Page 3
- Page 4
- Page 5
- Page 6
- Page 7 (Reading here)
- Page 8
- Page 9
- Page 10
- Page 11
- Page 12
- Page 13
- Page 14
- Page 15
- Page 16
- Page 17
- Page 18
- Page 19
- Page 20
- Page 21
- Page 22
- Page 23
- Page 24
- Page 25
- Page 26
- Page 27
- Page 28
- Page 29
- Page 30
- Page 31
- Page 32
- Page 33
- Page 34
- Page 35
- Page 36
- Page 37
- Page 38
- Page 39
- Page 40
- Page 41
- Page 42
- Page 43
- Page 44
- Page 45
- Page 46