Breaking Hammer Read online

  Where's your bike?”

  Skunk tossed him a dirty look.

  I shrugged. “The bike’s in the shop,” I said. I wasn’t sure why I just lied. It’s not like they didn’t know what had happened. Everyone knew. It’s not like I didn’t have a good goddamned excuse not to be riding anymore.

  “Long time no see, man.” Tater greeted us, a red plastic cup of beer in his hand. His long beard trailed down to his stomach. “How’s that kid of yours doing?”

  “Oh, she’s good,” I said. “Getting real big now.” I reached into my wallet for MacKenzie’s photos, passed them around.

  “She’s practically all grown up. Looks so much like April,” Tater said. Then he paused, gave me a sheepish look. “What happened to April, man, that was some fucked up shit. Just wanted you to know we had nothing to do with that shit, either. We all thought April was one of the best.”

  I nodded. “I know,” I said. “Fucked me up pretty good.” The air felt tense, charged with the undercurrent of all the unspoken resentment about the club. Or maybe it was just me that felt that way.

  Pipes interrupted, cutting the tension. “You know Rachel and I just had another one.”

  “Congrats, man,” I said, glad for the interruption. “That’s great.” I looked at the photos of his wife and newborn, and swallowed hard as I handed his wallet back to him.

  I couldn't look at it for too long.

  Skunk turned as a prospect walked by. "Prospect," he yelled.

  "Yes, sir," the prospect said.

  "Get this man a fucking beer."

  Skunk slapped my back. "Let's introduce you to some of the new blood. It's been a while since you've been here."

  I looked around at the group of people gathered in the parking lot of the club building. It was an open event, so hang-arounds were welcome, people the club was friendly with, people who might be interested in patching eventually.

  Of course, that's basically what I was now, right? A fucking hang-around. A nobody.

  I felt a pang of nostalgia, standing there, surrounded by the type of people I used to know. I wasn't sure if I liked the feeling.

  "Fucking A, man," Ants yelled from across the lot when he saw me. "I never thought I'd see you again."

  I couldn't help but grin. Ants used to be one of my favorite people, back in the days when we'd do runs down here. He was a fucking trip- always made me laugh. Couldn't sit still for a fucking second, hence the nickname- short for "ants in the pants." The only time he stopped was when he was dead drunk and passed out. Did the stupidest fucking things in the world, with no sense for self-preservation. So he was always good for a laugh.

  "Ants," I said. "Good to see you, man."

  "You out of retirement?" he asked, bringing a cup of something to his lips. His cheeks were ruddy, red, and I could tell he was already hosed.

  I shook my head. "Just came for the entertainment."

  "Fuck yeah, you did," he said. "We got some fucking entertainment tonight too. This goddamn stripper, an Asian girl."

  I laughed. "What's so goddamn special about a stripper?" We were in Vegas. Seeing tits wasn't exactly an unusual occurrence.

  "Shit. Hammer," he said, gulping from his cup. "That's what they call you now, you know."

  Skunk interrupted. "Ants, shut the fuck up."

  "No disrespect, man," Ants said.

  "It's fine," I said. "Hammer is good. Better than Meat Pipes."

  Pipes grinned. "Just got to be careful with you and the sledgehammers."

  "Don't fucking piss me off," I said, grinning, the tension gone now. "So anyway," I said. "What's so special about this goddamn stripper?"

  Skunk groaned. "This is all I've been hearing about from this shithead all week," he said. "This stripper is legendary before she even fucking gets here. She's going to show up and be ugly and old, man, tits sagging down to her fucking belly. I keep telling you."

  "The prospect has an in with this," Ants said. "This isn't a regular strip show."

  “Okay,” I said, looking at the others, who all seemed to be in on some kind of inside joke I wasn’t getting.

  “This chick shoots stuff out of her twat,” Tater said.

  “Fuck.” I grimaced. “What the fuck is she shooting out of there? Crabs?”

  “Ping pong balls and stuff,” Ants said. “They fucking do that shit in Asia somewhere.”

  “In Thailand,” Pipes said.

  “How the hell do you know about that?”

  “I’m fucking cultured, man,” Pipes said. “Shit, I’ve seen it on the internet. What the hell do you think?”

  “Wherever the fuck,” Ants said. “Ping pong balls. Out of her twat.”

  “That’s...awesome,” I said. I looked at Skunk and he grinned. Okay, so there was a part of me that missed this life.

  Ping pong balls and all.

  Skunk slapped my back. "Hammer didn't come for the fucking stripper, you shitheads," he said. "He came because he wants to fight. Got him a fucking fight next weekend. So which one of you assholes is going to practice with him, make sure he's ready?"

  ONE WEEK LATER

  "What is this place?" Aston and I walked toward a warehouse of some sort. Cars lined the parking lot, many foreign and expensive, the kinds of cars you'd see in Beverly Hills, not in a dirt lot in the middle of the desert.

  I didn't know where the hell we were, or what the hell we were doing here, and those things made me nervous. Aston taking me out into the desert made me nervous. The only thing that consoled me was that he had so many opportunities already to kill me. If he really wanted to, he would have done so by now.

  "It's a little side venture I've got going on," Aston said. "You'll see. You'll be impressed."

  I forced a smile. "I have no doubt, Aston," I said. "I'm always impressed with your business acumen."

  He laughed, the sound mirthless. "For a whore, you use a lot of big words."

  He'd taken something earlier, I could tell. He was unpredictable normally, but when he was high, it was much worse. It seemed to bring out the wild part of him, the sadistic part.

  He was right, of course. I was a whore, bought with my son's life.

  I hadn't seen him since last week, when I'd been walking through the casino and that man had run into me, the man who put his hands on me, who held me for a moment too long. Aston had seen it, and swore he was someone I knew. Someone I had to be sleeping with.

  He’d dragged me up to the penthouse at the hotel, paced back and forth, a frenzy of meaningless activity, his movements erratic. He grabbed me by both arms, slammed my back up against the wall, the back of my head throbbing immediately where I made impact.

  Afterward, he'd whispered into my ear, stroked my neck where he'd gripped me with his fingers, so tightly it had left imprints, welts on my skin that matched the fading bruises on my arms. "Forgive me, Meia," he said. "It was more than I intended."

  I didn't respond, and he’d laughed. Said he didn't mean it. "I'll do anything I want with you. You're mine. I give, and I take away. I'm like fucking God to you, do you understand?"

  "I understand," I said, my voice sounding smaller than I'd ever heard it sound before. "Like God."

  More like the Devil.

  I vowed that I would kill him with my bare hands.

  It was only a matter of time.

  I would figure out how to get Ben back, and I would kill him.

  It was the only thing that kept me hanging on.

  Aston's voice broke me out of my thoughts. "Meia," he said. He gestured toward the large man at the door, apparently a bouncer, dressed in jeans, boots, and a black leather jacket - or vest, I wasn't sure what they were called- with patches sewn onto it. On one side of it, it had a one percent patch. Underneath, it read Inferno Motorcycle Club.

  He looked down at me, a permanent scowl seemingly etched on his face. “You’re with him?” he asked, obviously recognizing Aston.

  “She’s with me,” Aston said.

  Even from outside