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Hammer – Heartlands Motorcycle Club
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When I headed west knowing the only way to survive was to start over, I never imagined I’d end up fighting for my life again.
What I didn’t count on was finding something…no, someone, I’d fight for harder than I would for myself. She’s wandered into Seneca with a law degree and a vision for a future that sure doesn’t include a road worn brute like me.
She can take care of herself, but I want to do it for her. When the threats come my way, and she becomes a pawn used against me? All bets are off and I’m in for the fight of my life.
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“Jesus, it’s a hundred and twelve fucking degrees.” I shake my head. “Tell me again why we live in this state?”
Chain is pulling a shopping cart from the long line of chrome baskets as I glance up at the digital clock on the wall that is flashing between 2:22 PM and the temperature outside today.
“I don’t mind it. It’s a dry heat.” He smiles and pulls out a white sheet of paper from the front pocket of his jeans, looking at the grocery list his woman, Meadow, wrote for him. “Besides, if it wasn’t for the heat, you wouldn’t be here.”
I nod. “True. You were about to cook on the asphalt the day I saved your ass.”
He narrows his eyes on a shake of his head. “I’d of figured it out.”
It was five years ago this week that we met, and I was on the run, not even sure how far west I would have to ride before I’d run far enough to feel safe. Turned out, Seneca, Arizona, was that place.
That’s not completely true, it was the Heartlands MC that turned this place into home for me. I was on day five of a ride, unsure what life had in store for me, when I saw a bike on the side of the road and a leathered, patched guy kneeling down next to it.
Not sure why I stopped. I was half crazed with lack of sleep, and looking over my shoulder every hour to be sure my former life hadn’t caught up to me. But, I pulled off to the side of the road when I saw him. Chain’s bike had seized up and it was so fucking hot, his cell phone had shut down. He was sitting there on the long stretch of highway, baking in the heat.
He looked at me with skepticism, but when I asked what was going on with his bike, and he explained the sound it was making and then it just locked up, I was pretty sure I knew what to do.
I’d grabbed a few tools I had in my saddle bag and tweaked his carburetor, then blew into the orifice a few times. His bike started back up. I offered to follow him until he got to the next town and he took me up on the offer.
Seneca was where we landed, at the Heartlands Garage, which was next door to the Ride or Die, the headquarters of the Heartlands MC. Chain offered to buy me a beer in thanks before I went on my way.
When we walked into the bar, Peaches and Stella were pitching a fit because the air conditioning units had frozen up and since it was Sunday night they couldn’t find anyone to come look at them. It was hot as fuck and the beer was warming up fast.
My father owned his own heating and cooling repair company and also owned bikes so I learned to fix lots of shit growing up. So, when I walked in with Chain, the place was already pushing 90 degrees, and after listening to the girls and a few members of the club yell at each other about the situation, I offered to take a look.
They weren’t too trusting, but eventually they let me do my thing and with some tools from the garage next door and with Chain as my assistant, I not only saved his ass on the side of the road, but I saved the beer.
Both earned me some respect. I think saving the beer more than saving Chain.
Anyway, that all led to me staying around. Eventually I worked my way into the club and it’s been home ever since.
“Here…” Chain lets go of the cart and brings both hands to the white sheet of paper and tears it in half. “Let’s divide and conquer. You get the produce and I’ll get started on the rest.”
I look down at the sheet of paper, and the perfect printing in purple ink. “She’s sort of organized, huh?”
Chain shrugs. “Sort of? Dude, I’m lucky she didn’t give me an interactive spreadsheet. Just get the fucking produce and let’s get back to the club. They want to start cooking as soon as we get back.”
“Sounds good.” We part ways and I head toward the produce section, but my mind is not completely on task.
It’s been a couple months since I first saw the source of my near constant distraction. Robin Greene. I was at the courthouse with Wrath for a meeting with the D.A. about an arson investigation, and there she fucking was, standing her ground, looking bored, while an entitled-looking woman was berating her for something.
She was wearing a black skirt and tucked in white shirt and fucking red patent leather heels. She is the perfect kind of curvy. Like pin-up girl curvy with a little extra padding in her ass which makes my fucking mouth water.