Page 9

Hammer

Two Weeks Later

I stabbed at a chunk of pot roast with my fork, savoring the way it fell apart without much effort.

There was something to be said for a home-cooked meal, even if neither Aura nor I were winning any culinary awards.

The kitchen light buzzed overhead, casting shadows across our modest table.

Through the doorway to the garage, I could see the disassembled parts of my project Harley spread across a tarp.

Some men my age took up golf. I preferred keeping my hands dirty with things I understood.

“This turned out better than last time,” Aura said, gesturing to her plate with her fork. “Remember when I forgot to add liquid to the crockpot and nearly burned down the kitchen?”

I grunted in acknowledgment, the corner of my mouth lifting despite my best efforts. “Hard to forget the smoke alarm screaming for twenty minutes.”

My adopted daughter smiled, the ink on her arm shifting as she reached for her glass of water.

Eight years she’d been with me now, ever since I’d found her in that hellhole in Georgia.

The memory still made my blood boil. She’d been just sixteen then, terrified and broken.

Now at twenty-four, she was strong, capable, and wore a smaller version of our club’s colors mixed in with her sleeve tattoo -- a privilege the Dixie Reapers rarely granted to anyone outside full members.

“So,” she said, dragging out the word in a way that immediately put me on alert. When Aura used that tone, she was working her way up to something. “Everyone at the compound’s talking about the new arrivals.”

I focused on scooping up some mashed potatoes. “That right?”

“Mmm-hmm.” Her brown eyes, so different from my own yet somehow carrying the same stubborn glint, studied my face. “The mother and her two kids. They’ve got that little apartment over the diner. Atlas mentioned something about it.”

I grunted, refusing to comment, even though I knew damn well every detail about the situation.

The woman’s name, her children’s ages, the clothes she’d been wearing when she arrived -- all filed away in my mind despite my best attempts to appear uninterested.

I’d done my best to convince myself and everyone around me I had no interest in her.

Hell, I was probably old enough to be her dad. She had to be younger than my son, Sam.

Aura wasn’t buying it. “Dad, come on. Everyone knows you went with Saint to meet them. You know exactly who they are and why they’re here.”

I set down my fork with a sigh. My fingers, calloused from decades of wrenching on bikes and throwing punches when necessary, not to mention my time behind bars, drummed once on the wooden tabletop. “What exactly are you fishing for, darlin’?”

“I want to know their story. People don’t just get help from the Reapers unless there’s a reason.”

She had me there. I took a long drink of my beer, giving myself a moment before answering. “Her ex belongs to the Devil’s Minions MC down in Florida. One percent club with a reputation that makes even hardened bastards like me think twice.”

Aura’s expression shifted to concern. “She’s running from him?”

I nodded, feeling the weight of my silver beard move with the motion. “Scratch over at the Devil’s Boneyard helped them get on a bus and sent them here.”

“And Savior offered to help her.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yeah,” I said. “Yeah, he did.”

I shifted in my seat, my lower back protesting after a long day in the garage. At sixty-one, I wasn’t as resilient as I’d once been, though I’d sooner take another stint in prison than admit it to anyone.

“That’s not all of it though, is it?” Aura pressed, setting her silverware down and folding her arms. “I heard the club pitched in to cover her rent for three months, found that job for her, and Saint even gave her a list of contacts.”

I sighed. No point hiding it from her -- she’d find out eventually anyway. “Her ex is an officer with the Devil’s Minions, and she’s worried he’ll kill them if he finds them. Probably has a good reason for that. I could see the signs of abuse on her and the kids.”

Aura nodded, a small smile playing at her lips as she watched me intently. I realized I’d been sitting up straighter while talking about the woman, my voice taking on a harder edge at the mention of her ex. I deliberately slumped back in my chair, focusing on my nearly empty plate.

“We protect those who need it,” I said gruffly, knowing I sounded defensive and was only digging my hole deeper. “Always have.”

“And it has nothing to do with the fact that you keep looking toward the diner every time you ride through town for the past two weeks?”

I glared at her, but there was no heat behind it. “You got too observant for your own good, girl.”

She laughed, the sound brightening our worn kitchen. “And you’re too stubborn for yours.”

I shrugged and stuffed the last bite of pot roast into my mouth, chewing slowly to avoid further conversation.

But even as I tried to appear indifferent, my mind wandered to the slight woman with haunted eyes who’d arrived with two children and three bags to her name.

The way she’d stood tall despite her circumstances spoke of a strength I couldn’t help but admire.

Not that I’d been paying special attention or anything.

Aura set her fork down with a deliberate clink against her plate, leaning forward with that look in her eyes that told me I was about to be interrogated. “So what was she like? What did you talk about?”

I grunted noncommittally, staring at my empty plate.

“That’s not an answer,” she pressed, the smile in her voice evident even without looking up.

“I helped bring her to the apartment, said a few words to her oldest,” I muttered, trying to sound disinterested. “Nothing more to it than that.”

The truth was, the second we’d gotten the call a woman needed our help and Savior had set up the job and apartment for her, I’d spent nearly two hours there the day before they’d arrived, fixing a leaky faucet in the bathroom and making sure the ancient HVAC unit would survive the coming fall weather.

I’d even planned to come back to repair the wobbly steps -- a task any Prospect could have handled, but somehow I’d volunteered before I could stop myself.

And that had been before I met her. Now I found myself wanting a reason to ride past the diner and check on her.

I was desperately trying to avoid this conversation but was running out of ways to do it without getting up and leaving. The kitchen smelled of rosemary and meat, comfortable and homey in a way my life hadn’t been for a long time before Aura came along.

“Is she pretty?” The question landed like a grenade, and I nearly choked on my swallow of beer.

“Jesus Christ, girl.”

“That’s not an answer either,” she said, grinning now. “Your ears are turning red.”

I drained the last of my beer to buy myself some time.

At my age, I thought I’d be past this kind of adolescent bullshit.

The woman was in her thirties -- younger than my son, for fuck’s sake.

The thought alone should have been enough to kill any inappropriate interest. Not to mention, I hadn’t exactly been father of the year, and Amelia had two boys.

I’d pushed Sam away, tried to keep him from this way of life.

Instead, he’d ended up being a Reaper anyway.

There were times we still butted heads, but for the most part, we’d made our peace.

Hadn’t had much choice when my granddaughter had shown up with a heap of trouble on her heels.

She’d needed us to be united, not snapping and snarling at each other over old wounds.

“I’m too old for those kinds of thoughts,” I grumbled, setting the empty bottle down with a hollow thunk .

Aura laughed, the sound filling our small kitchen. “Dad, you’re not dead yet. Last I checked, if you’re alive and have working eyes, you can still tell when someone’s attractive.”

I rolled my eyes and shook my head, though the gesture felt painfully transparent even to me. “You’ve been hanging around the club too long. Starting to sound like Sticks with all his dirty talk.”

“Don’t change the subject.” She reached across the table to collect my empty plate, stacking it on hers. The ceramic clinked together as she stood. “Besides, I’ve seen the way some of those club groupies look at you. The whole silver fox thing works for some women.”

“Christ almighty,” I muttered, dragging a hand down my face, feeling the coarse hair of my beard against my palm. “We are not having this conversation.”

But as Aura turned to place our dishes in the sink, I allowed myself a moment of honesty in the privacy of my own thoughts.

The woman -- Amelia, though I hadn’t let on to Aura that I knew her name -- was quite possibly the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.

Not in the polished, artificial way of the club women who hung around the compound, but in a way that seemed to radiate from somewhere deeper.

Her eyes had caught me first -- wary but determined, the eyes of someone who’d seen too much but refused to be broken by it.

Then there was the gentle curve of her mouth when she’d thanked us for helping her, a genuine smile that had reached those guarded eyes for just a moment.

Her hair had been pulled back in a simple ponytail, dark strands escaping to frame her face, and I’d had to fight the absurd urge to brush them back.

“You know,” Aura said, returning to the table with a dish towel in hand, “there’s nothing wrong with being interested in someone.”

I scoffed, the sound harsh in the quiet kitchen. “She’s got enough problems without adding a worn-out old biker to the mix.”

“You’re not that old,” she argued, but I waved her off.