Hammer (9 page)

Refusing to throw myself anymore of a pity party, I unlock my chair’s wheels and start rolling myself toward my condo’s front door. Next comes the shiny elevator doors I never really appreciated before. They are fucking death traps, going up and down on the whim of mechanics I can’t control, and now I have to depend on one.

Once we make it up to my floor, we turn the corner slowly, and I lay eyes on my front door for the first time in months. As much as I want to get inside familiar territory, seeing the front door makes me pause.

Can I really do this? I know I fought tooth and nail to get out of the hospital and go home, but the realities are starting to pile on top of me so fast I am sure to be buried under the weight of it all.

“For fuck’s sake, bro! Open the damn door and go inside already. I wanna get us settled and turn on the TV to catch the football game. You staring at the door is holding up progress.”

I flip him the bird over my shoulder then reach my hand out to the door knob. Turning it slowly, almost as if I were listening for a click of a booby-trap, I feel the door’s lock give way. Then, as if in a fog, I push it and watch the door swing open to reveal my living room. It all feels so surreal.

Rolling myself forward, I take it all in. Hardwood floors, white walls, black leather couches, and a huge, flat screen TV sit there in my living room perfectly fine, just like the day I left them behind to go on our mission. They aren’t damaged or broken. They don’t have scars to tell me they have been through hell and back.

Is it possible to be jealous of some furniture?

Here I sit, damaged, broken and scarred, and there is my home, sitting as if nothing has happened. How the hell is that fair?

Irrationally, I expected my home to be as changed as I am.

It isn’t.

Turning my gaze toward the small dining area that flows to an open kitchen, I keep taking it all in. I can’t even find a speck of dust to show me the place has been neglected in my absence. Clean floors, a tidy dining room table, and a variety of food and drinks are out on the counter. Even the glass on the windows is sparkling. What kind of shit is that?

Maybe I am supposed to be appreciative of the fact that the biker bunnies, or maybe my brothers, have cleaned the place up for me, but I’m not. A man needs to feel essential in life. I realized in the hospital that, unless I get the use of my legs back, I’m no longer essential to the Regulators. Now I come home to see that even my fucking home doesn’t need me.

Is there anyone who needs me now?

Unable to handle all the facets of how my life has possibly changed forever, I angrily roll my chair forward. Snagging the unopened bottle of whiskey sitting on the breakfast bar, I ignore Evan’s protests and keep rolling my chair until I reach my bedroom.

I slam the door shut, sending a direct message that I just want to be left the fuck alone, before rolling my chair over to the large window that has a view of the highway connected to our development and the ocean beyond that. Here, I sit in my new prison, and out there is all the freedom that I may never have again.

Opening the bottle, I throw my head back, taking a hefty swig of the strong liquor. After taking a few swallows, I hold the bottle in my lap, keeping my gaze on the view before me.

It’s a sick sort of self-punishment, but sitting here in the dark, trapped in my rolling cage with the alcohol I’m not supposed to be drinking, is the only thing in the world I feel like I have left at the moment.

There was a time after I went in the Army that my mother started to ask me when I was going to find a nice girl and settle down. My answer to her was always the same: I would settle down when they laid me in the ground. I guess I can call her now and tell her I’m halfway settled down now, whether I like it or not … and my girlfriend has wheels.

Taking a few more hard swallows of whiskey, I let the alcohol start to soak into my system. This is my new reality. And I thought war was hell. How wrong I was.

~Desirae~

(One Month Later)

“How’s it going, Tank?” I ask before he begins his workout.

“We’ve got nothing, Des.” He drops his head. “Whatever she was in on, they’ve covered their tracks. Other than Nino being her man for a few months, there’s no trail.”

“Oh,” is all I can manage. I don’t know how to accept that there is no way to sort out what happened to Suzie. I need to know why. I need closure.

He begins to move into the gym area where we normally train. Only, I don’t follow.

He turns back to me.

“Tank, I know y’all are working hard to sort out the mess my sister got herself into. I know staying here is to keep me safe.”

“Park your car, Des. Land your plane. Woman, just tell me what you need to say for fuck’s sake. Obviously, you’ve got something on your mind.”

“I’m going stir crazy.”

He makes his way back over to me. “It’s not safe out there for you anymore.”

“What about, like, witness protection?”

“The cops didn’t even offer you that. The Hellions will keep you safe.”

“I can’t live my life held up here on the compound. I appreciate the safety precaution, but I need somewhere to go. I need to start over. I can’t go to the grocery store. I can’t pick up my mail. And staring at the same walls everyday just reminds me
why
I can’t live my life out in the open. I’m living in a never-ending nightmare of my sister being murdered and not understanding why. I don’t know how much more I can take.”

He doesn’t reply, just watches me, simply staring, taking me in.

“I have a workout to get to. Come on. I’ll let you bust my balls for the next hour. Then we’ll see what we can do.”

An hour later, he is pouring sweat, and I feel like I’m just getting started.

“More!” I yell.

Tank pushes harder then drops from the pull-up bar.

“Damn, Des, what the hell? You’re a hardass, but you’ve never been this hard.”

I look at him, wide-eyed. It’s the truth. I have never pushed him this hard.

“The walls are closing in,” I whisper.

Sympathy shows in his eyes. “I know that feeling all too well.”

He does. Rehab almost killed him mentally. For a man who has never known what it is to be still, to slow down … For a man who lives his life on the go, being held back by his own body, his own limitations, was mentally exhausting.

“Let me make a call,” he says as he wipes his face on a hand towel. “I can’t make any promises. We’ve gotta talk to Roundman.”

I nod my understanding. “Tank—”

“I get it, but you’ve gotta get it. You mean something to the club, to me. Not just because you train me. You’re like the ball-busting little sister I never wanted.” We both laugh. “All the guys look out for you. You’re part of our dysfunctional but functional family. We’ve gotta make sure you’re kept safe no matter where you go.”

Tears fill my eyes. The Haywood’s Landing Hellions care more about me than anyone in my life except my baby sister … who is gone. They have my back. Now, if only they could find a way to keep me safe yet give me back some sort of life outside of this compound.

Two days later, I am packing my meager belongings into a bag with the destination unknown. Tank and Roundman called a sermon to discuss my options. I don’t know what that means other than, when sermon is called, the Hellions gather, and no ol’ ladies or outsiders are welcome. They go into what they call the cave and don’t come out until business is addressed.

Tank came out with Boomer, and I was told to sit tight.

This morning, I was told to pack up. Boomer is on his way over to talk to me. I don’t know much about Boomer. He is quiet. I do know he came here from the Catawba Hellions chapter. He is former military and has the body to show for it.

The knock doesn’t surprise me. I move to the door, opening it to find Tank and Boomer on the other side with Sass behind them. I step back and let them come inside.

Sass rushes past the two bikers and hugs me tightly. “You saved my man when I failed him. You fought side by side to get Tank strong again. Forever, me, this club, and my man have your back. You don’t have to leave, but I get it,” she whispers, squeezing me. “Love you, girl. Always.”

I fight back the tears as I look at the man who is built like a tank and is just as powerful in mind and spirit.

“I’ve got an Army buddy who was in an accident,” Boomer begins. “He needs someone trained in physical therapy who can handle the lifestyle we live. He’s part of the Regulators MC down in South Florida.”

I nod my understanding as Sass pulls away but holds my hand.

“The Regulators own and operate two strip clubs, Alibi and After Midnight. You’ve gotta know going in that anything you see, you hear—”

“I didn’t see, and I didn’t hear,” I interject. “Been there, Boomer. I am blind, deaf, and a mute if anyone ever tries to talk to me, whether patched in or not. I know nothing more than how to make a man cry over a six-inch leg lift.” I know the deal.

Tank and Boomer laugh, and Sass squeezes my hand proudly.

Boomer pulls a folder from under his cut “Medical information so you can make a care plan. You’re gonna ride down in the back of a truck, hidden as part of a transport. We don’t know if we’re being watched and don’t wanna risk you being found. Once you get to Florida, you will be taken to Hammer’s where you will stay until we can clear up this situation—”

“Or you wanna come home,” Tank interrupts. “If you wanna come back, we’ll get you home, anytime, day or night. You have my word.”

I can’t stop the tears from falling. I finally found my place, in an extended family of sorts, yet I am walking away for my sanity. I can’t stay hidden forever. I don’t know what Suzie got into, but I just can’t hide out forever with the Hellions and put them in danger in the process. All I see is the negative here. At least helping Boomer’s friend will put some positive back in my life.

I learn my drivers will be Talon ‘Tripp’ Crews, Catawba Hellions prez and owner of Crews Transports, along with Tank. Since they want to make sure anyone following won’t question it, I have to hide inside a crate. There is a chance we could get searched at a weight station, or if we were to get pulled over by a trooper, the crate wouldn’t raise suspicion.

Tank tells me to grab my bag and get ready to roll. They are going to back one of their transportation trucks up to the doorway, and I’m to jump in as soon as they open the doors. Moving a crate with me already inside it would be dangerous, and that is a risk we aren’t going to take.

A few minutes later, I hear the heavy rumble of a diesel engine and watch through a crack in the living room window’s blinds as they back the truck up. As soon as I see the truck’s brake lights light up, I grab my bag and run to the front door. Boomer opens it and motions for me to go. The truck door slides up, and I run out and jump up into the back.

Tank is there with a LED lantern and a stern face.

“You’ve got a pillow, blanket, and your file on Ethan ‘Hammer’ McCoy. We’re stoppin’ only when we have to, so if the need it, you’ve got a bucket to pee in.” Shoving a small, disposable cell phone into my hand, he orders, “If there’s a reason you need to get ahold of me, you text me ‘911’ and nothing else. My number is the only one programmed in here. I see that, and Tripp and I will find a place to pull over and sort you out. But that’s for emergencies only. It’s gonna be a rough ride, babe, but you hang on, and we’re gonna get you there, okay?”

I nod.

He points to the crate and my pad of blankets.

Settling down, I huddle in the blankets with my head on the pillow and secure the lantern so it won’t slide around in the truck. I feel the truck move forward and say a prayer that we get wherever we are going safely. I hate the idea that I might have put Tripp, Tank, or any of the other Hellions in danger, but I’m so grateful they are willing to help me. I have no idea what I would have done without them.

The truck makes a few slow turns, and eventually, I feel it accelerating in such a manner that I assume we are on the highway now.

Opening the file I was given, I start reading its contents. The personal information is incredibly sparse, almost as if someone was purposely hiding information, but that’s none of my business, anyway. All I have to do is help a disabled man with his physical therapy without asking too many questions, and that’s the least I can do for everything the Hellions have done for me.

Turning the pages, I take in his medical history and prognosis. Injuries due to being hit by a car. Surgery, metal plates and pins to fix an intertrochanteric fracture, but an excessive amount of swelling and scar tissue is noted. It’s possibly causing complications on whether or not the patient will regain mobility in his legs.

It looks like it is going to be a tough case for me, but I have treated injuries much worse than this with success, so I’m optimistic. With any luck, I will have Hammer out of his chair and back on his feet with time, hard work, and a regular training schedule.

I turn to the last page and see a blank page that was tucked in at the bottom of the file with a messy scrawl across it.

Fair warning:

HE’S AN ASSHOLE.

Ice

Rolling my eyes, I wonder why all men become giant babies after they experience some pain. Well, this Hammer guy can be an asshole all he wants. He is about to meet the one person who won’t put up with his shit: me. Or as Tank likes to call me, Drill Sergeant Bust My Balls.

Chapter

7

~Hammer~

“Dammit to hell!” I scream, launching my coffee mug across the kitchen. “Fucking crippled ass can’t even make coffee.”

This is what life has become: a prisoner in my own body. Sure, I can feel. I’m not paralyzed, so everyone says how this could be worse.

Fuck everyone and their opinions. I’m only human. I crash. I hurt. I burn. I fall apart.

Yes, I feel every bit of pain. The metal holding my hip in place is just as cold on the inside as it would be on the outside.

It takes time they say.

Fuck that, and fuck them.

I’m trying to keep my eyes on the prize, my mind on my new mission: build up my tolerance then be free of my chair. I’m a motherfucking soldier, a green beret, not an invalid. Yet I’m dying inside. Slowly, this is killing me.