Breaking Hammer Read online

  yelling about "fucking assholes" as she pushed her way through the crowd toward the other hookers.

  Blaze walked up beside me. "You okay, man? I didn't know about that."

  I could still feel my heart pounding in my chest, the adrenaline coursing through my body. I was ready to lose it on someone. Fuck no, I was not okay. What I needed was to get the hell out of this clubhouse and away from all this shit. The reminders of what was everything to me at once was too much. I couldn't take this.

  "I need to get the fuck out of - " I didn't even finish the sentence. I turned to leave, get the hell away from this place, and right in front of me stood that fucking prospect, the mouthy one from earlier who made the comment about me driving up here in a cage. Except he wasn't wearing his cut, he was dressed in athletic gear, prepping for a practice fight. His cocky smirk just sent me over the edge.

  I took one look at him, and rage took over. He saw it too and tried to dodge, but I punched him square in the jaw. He went straight to a knee, but stood up on wobbly legs, full of fight. "Cheap shot," he said, and in a blur, he was coming at me, swinging wildly, not controlling his delivery, and full of rage.

  I stepped back, clear of his swings, and then went forward with a jab to his nose and upper lip that resulted in a gush of blood. He was stunned momentarily, then turned back at me with a roar and lunged into me. We hit the floor hard and he got in a few good shots on me, but all he was doing was keying me up even more. It felt like child's play, brought me back to my high school days, all the brawling I did. Part of me was enjoying beating on this little punk. It was only when he hit my with an elbow to the side of the head that I started to lose control.

  Everything went blurry, and the only thing I was aware of was that feeling of all-consuming rage again, the same thing I'd felt before when I beat Tink. I didn't give a shit about anything, except what was happening right now. I didn't give a shit if I lived or died.

  I felt hands on my back, pulling me off of the prospect. "Hammer!" someone yelled. More hands.

  "Hammer!"

  I could see Blaze from the corner of my eye, his expression grim. "No more," he said. "You're going to kill him. I don't need a dead prospect to deal with."

  Kill him? I was confused. We'd barely been fighting for a few minutes, and he was talking about killing him. This prospect had to be a real sack of shit if he couldn't take a couple of punches. Shit, I was more torn up than he was, my knuckles raw. I could feel blood dripping from my nose, and my face throbbed.

  Then I looked down at the prospect lying on the floor, barely moving, his face a bloody mess. One of the brothers squatted down to pull him off the floor, and I watched, not quite understanding.

  I hadn't done that, had I?

  I looked at Blaze. "Shit," I said. "I didn't think I was going at him that hard."

  He nodded, and shrugged "It's all right," he said. "He's a shit stain of a prospect anyway. So fucked up he has a hard time doing wrong right. Was good for fighting, though. Maybe you need to get in the ring sometime."

  Fuck, I thought. That was the last thing I needed. On the other hand, a feeling of calm began to descend over me, and I hadn't felt calm like this in a long time. It was a relief to finally feel peace, even if it was temporary.

  "Mama?" Ben asked, his voice timid, hesitant.

  My heart nearly broke when I heard him speak, the way it always did when I was allowed to talk to him. The phone calls were dependent on Aston's moods, and sometimes I went a month without hearing Ben's voice. He was changing so much, I knew. Aston gave me photos of him - the first time, I couldn't help but be reminded of the photos a kidnapper provided for a ransom demand as proof of life. It was a bleak thing to think about, the fact that I needed ongoing proof of life for my son.

  In each picture, he was bigger, taller than the previous.

  He turned five last month.

  He would have spent the last two years in...I didn't know where he was, exactly. Hidden in southeast Asia. The photos were nondescript, but Ben was well-groomed, and well-cared for by a family hired for that purpose- a Thai family. So I assumed he was being held in Thailand, although I wouldn’t put it past Aston to be keeping him someplace else. I'd insisted on knowing that there was a family taking care of Ben- in some kind of delusional notion that I could bargain with my captor. But Aston had granted it, I suppose understanding that there was no way I'd comply without knowing my son was being cared for by a family.

  In that way, at least, he wasn't a monster. Just pragmatic.

  It didn't make it any less heartbreaking.

  Each time I spoke with Ben, I tried to listen for anything in his surroundings, to pay attention to anything he said that might give me some kind of indication of where Aston was keeping him. I knew better than to ask any questions that might lead him to give me any information. Aston would kill him in a heartbeat. I knew he killed without compunction.

  And if he grew tired of me...Ben's life would be extinguished.

  I was forced to stay in Aston's good graces, whatever it took.

  "How are you, baby?" I asked. "Are you being good?"

  "Yes, mama," he said. "I'm practicing my counting and my letters."

  I felt tears begin to well up in my eyes, thinking about the time I was missing with my son. I was supposed to be the one to sit with him, practicing counting and teaching him to read. I was the one who was supposed to be there when he fell off his bicycle for the first time, the one who would bandage his knee, who would kiss his forehead and tell him everything would be okay. I was the one who was supposed to read him stories, to hold him when he couldn't sleep.

  I wanted to ask if someone was doing those things for him now, if they hugged him. I wouldn't let my mind wander to the other possibilities, that he might not be well-treated, or even worse. I couldn't think about it. I knew it would destroy me if I thought that way.

  "That's great, baby," I said. "Keep practicing. I miss you so much."

  "Will you come for me soon?" he asked. I willed myself to finish the conversation, grateful for any time I had to talk to him, when I wanted to run sobbing from the room, to find Aston, the man who had taken Ben and destroyed me. I wanted to claw Aston's eyes out. I wanted to obliterate him.

  More than anything, I wanted my son back.

  I swallowed the lump in my throat, blinked back the tears in my eyes. "I'll see you soon, baby," I said. "You just keep being good, and I'll see you soon."

  I sat at the table in the bar, looking her up and down. She was gorgeous, model gorgeous, with green eyes and red hair that cascaded down her shoulders, tendrils curling at the ends. Shirt tight across her breasts, long legs. She looked like she had stepped off the pages of a porn magazine. She was every man's fantasy.

  In other words, she would be perfect for Aston.

  This was my job today. This was what Aston had me doing - screening potential lovers for him. It amused him.

  I felt a flash of guilt, a feeling of shame that burned through me, at the thought of recruiting her, of bringing her into Aston's bed. I should be telling her to run, far away. I should be telling her that she didn't want to be involved with a man like this, no matter how much money it meant, no matter how lavish the gifts and how free-flowing the alcohol. None of it was relevant. He would corrupt her. His darkness would settle into her. It would permeate her. He would eat her alive.

  My conscience overwhelmed me for a moment, and I leaned forward, my voice low. I should warn her about him, even if I knew he probably had me followed here. I didn't know who was in earshot. But I should say something. It was the right thing to do. "Are you absolutely sure you want to do this?" I asked.

  She leaned back in her chair, crossed her arms under her breasts, obvious fakes, and tossed her red hair over her shoulder. She smirked, then smiled at me with pity in her eyes. "What's the matter? Jealous that he's tired of you already?"

  She thought I was his wife. Or at least his mistress. Aston had probably told her I was. He though