Hammer

3 - How could he?

Willow

I’d been there for days when Crack walked in with Baker, his VP, and half of their club members, around six or seven of them. The camera was rolling, and Crack told me that my daddy could see and hear everything and that he was going to watch me die right then and there.

I was past the point of fear.

They’d hurt me in so many ways that I let go of all fear a while before. I knew from the first moment they threw me in that place that I was going to die. I was terrified at first.

Who the hell wouldn’t be?

I may have grown up around bikers, but that didn’t mean all bikers were like the Snakes. In fact, Satan’s Barbers were the opposite. They were vile pigs who didn’t care what they did to whom.

Crack screamed orders into the camera, telling Shepard this was his last chance. I had no idea what was going on with my dad and the guys back there, but no one came for me. I heard not one thing from any of them. But I knew if he came, they’d kill him. I screamed as loud as I could, telling Shepard not to give in to those monsters. That they were going to kill me regardless. I only hoped he’d hear me.

It wasn’t, but a few seconds before, Crack smacked me across the face so hard it knocked me out.

When I came around, I was disorientated. I couldn’t focus on anything, but I could hear Shepard’s voice. It sounded like his voice was coming through some kind of speaker, but like he was near at the same time. I heard him telling those assholes that if they laid one more hand on me, he’d tear them and their club limb from limb. I couldn’t make sense of anything inside my head. It all seemed like a dream.

Then Crack grabbed the front of my hair and pulled my head back. Gave Shepard one more chance to do as he was told before they killed me. Crack whispered in my ear, ‘Looks like Daddy doesn’t care what happens to your sorry ass after all, bitc.h.’ He then cut the ropes that bound me to the chair, and then I felt it, his knife against my throat, as he dragged me from my seat.

Everything happened so fast. There was a blasting sound, wood and brick falling, dust kicking up, people running, shouting, and guns firing. Yet still, the only thing I really remember is the feeling of that cold, hard blade against the soft skin of my throat.

My eyes locked with Hammer’s. He was right there with the rest of his crew. How they’d found me, I have no clue. But I watched in slow motion as he ran toward me. I remember the way his face contorted in anger, the sheer determination in his eyes to get to me before Crack pulled that blade across my throat, ending my life for good.

I remember how Hammer’s body moved as he ran and how his cut moved slightly with his body. I remember suddenly feeling very calm. I blinked and smiled slowly at Hammer. His mouth moved to speak, but I could hear nothing. Not even the noise of all those men fighting to the death for their clubs and the Brothers within them.

I saw the very second the bullet left Hammer’s gun. I saw it whizzing through the air in slow motion, twisting and curving. Then it hit Crack right between the eyes.

I'm safe now, I thought.

Little did I know, at that moment, on his way down, Crack’s knife cut me right across the throat as his hand slipped away from me. His knife was beyond sharp, and I felt everything.

Then everything sped up, and my hearing came back into focus as Hammer’s hand was wrapped around my throat, holding tightly, while his other hand clasped the back of my head as I fell to the ground choking.

“Keep your eyes on me, baby. Don’t you dare fuckin’ close them.”

There was urgency in his voice, a fear I’d never known. The way he looked at me, it was more than just a scared friend, more than a brother.

“Jesus fuckin.g Christ! Jett!” Hammer screamed for my brother, his VP.

I was losing consciousness. No matter how hard I fought the darkness, it enveloped me, taking me under.

Hammer wouldn’t allow me to close my eyes. Even when Jett came rushing over, yelling about how they needed to get me to their doctor – a man who patches them up after battle – Hammer never let go of my throat, even though I knew my blood must have been gushing between his fingers. He was trying to slow the bleeding enough to give me a slim chance at living.

“Stay awake, baby. Don’t you dare give up! Hold on, Will. Please, baby.” He kissed my head, but I couldn't breathe; I was choking on my own blood.

“Let. Me. Go.” I gasped out.

I just wanted to go to sleep. I needed to sleep. My eyes were so heavy. I was growing colder and couldn’t hang on as much as I tried. I hoped Crack hadn’t torn my jugular when he cut my throat; if he had, I imagined I would have died instantly the way Cindy did. But he must have done something that caused me enough damage to kill me slowly, even if I was bleeding fast. I could feel it seeping through the gap in my neck and from my mouth, and I was so afraid.

“I will never let go.” Hammer hissed with conviction. “I won’t lose you as well!”

In my mind, right then, I took that as he needed me to survive. He didn’t want to watch me die the way Cindy had died two years previous after having her throat cut.

Ironic huh?

Although, she died instantly. Which I guess was lucky for her. That she died instantly, not that she had her throat cut.

I could feel the tears falling around my temples, tears of pain, sadness, and fear. I didn’t want to die, but I didn’t see how I could live.

“I can’t lose you too, Will. Fight, baby. Please fight.” Hammer’s words faded. I couldn’t stay awake as much as I tried.

Three days later, I woke up in bed with machines all around me, tubes in my chest, and stitches in my neck. I was told I was extremely lucky that I hadn’t needed a tracheostomy. I was even luckier to be alive.

My mom was there when I woke up, of course, and Shepard. I couldn’t speak; I was advised not to even try for at least a week for fear of damaging my throat, but I listened as my dad told me how proud he was of me. How proud everybody was of me.

But I couldn’t understand how I was alive. I tried to speak to ask them how, but my mother told me not to, that I’d been warned it could damage my throat. But I was frustrated.

That’s when I noticed Jett standing at the bottom of my bed. He told me how Crack had slit my throat, but because he was dead before he hit the ground, there wasn’t enough pressure in his hand to cut deep enough to kill me instantly, he’d torn a couple nerves, veins, and muscles in my throat, but he'd missed the jugular. The doctor had told them I would heal with therapy and in time.

Jett also told me that if it wasn’t for Hammer and the way he held my throat to stem the flow of blood, I would most definitely have bled out slowly and died. And he didn’t let go of my throat until they got me to their safe house infirmary, where Dr. Davis managed to save my life.

I don’t know what God has planned for me, but there must be a reason he saved me that day. A reason he gave Hammer the strength to keep me alive.

I will forever bear the scars of that day, both inside and out. I will forever love the man who saved me from death. I just wish he would stop blaming himself for what happened. He took the shot and killed the man who would have no doubt killed me. Yes, I got hurt, but I survived, thanks to him.

He’s spoken to me once since that day seven months ago. He came to my house, where I was taken right after the doctor fixed my throat and told me how sorry he was for what happened. I still couldn’t speak at the time, so I just listened. Then Hammer told me he’d never let anything happen to me ever again, but he wouldn’t come anywhere near me either.

He thought I was asleep when he told me that part, that he wouldn’t come near me again. I wasn’t. My eyes might have been closed, but I could hear every word. I just didn’t have the strength to even try to make him stay with me.

And he hasn’t come near me since that day. Not once. With his brother and my sister’s wedding coming up soon, Hammer avoiding me is making things quite awkward.

I said he was a friend to me; I didn’t say he wanted anything to do with me.

Take right now, for instance. We’re all at the clubhouse. Bikers, Old Ladies, and whore.s alike. All here on Shepard’s orders. He’s throwing a massive party for his daughter and her soon-to-be husband, an early celebration for their up-and-coming wedding.

The party is crazy as always. People are getting drunk, dancing, and having fun. No fighting is allowed among friends and family, not tonight. This is Nova and Tank’s night; no one is to ruin it.

A lot of the guys without Old Ladies are groping the club whore.s as usual, grinding against them like randy teenagers. Not that any of them mind. Half of them would do anything to be someone’s Old Lady.

Crazy women. They’ll never be anyone’s Old Lady; these men don’t take whore.s and claim them. It’s up to the girls if they want to sleep around with all of these men. No one judges them; no one really has the right. But if they had a brain, they’d realize that upon sleeping with almost every man here, all they will ever be is a whor.e.

Nova has been trying to get Shepard to ban them from the club indefinitely. She hates that they’re around when some of the guys have kids. She believes that the men without women should go to the strip club the Snakes own and get their rocks off there. I agree. Especially now the club is growing and the new generation is building.

Shepard won’t do that, though, but he has sworn that no club whore.s will be allowed to family functions from now on, this one not included. He said he couldn’t get the unattached men to agree to it, and why should they? Yes, he’s President, but that doesn’t mean he can change the way things have been where women are concerned without causing an uproar with the men.

I personally don’t care either way anymore. I don’t really care about anything these men do. They can fuc.k themselves to death for all I give a shi.t.

I’m angry. You’ll find out why in a minute.

Hammer is here, of course. But he’s ignored me all evening, not that I expected anything less.

My boyfriend, Jordan, or Trace, as the Brothers have taken to calling him, is here. He’s a prospect with the club, soon to be patched in. I’m his Old Lady, although not branded with his mark yet. Nor will I ever brand myself as his.

Unlike my sister, she branded herself with Tank’s mark just days into their relationship.

What has stopped me from doing the same?

I’m not sure Trace is my forever; that’s what. We’re friends, good friends, but I don’t think we should ever have been lovers.

Friends to lovers, since when did that actually work for anyone?

He hasn’t spent much time with me this evening. And now I know why.

I’ve been watching him for the past couple of minutes. He’s in one of the bedrooms that doesn’t belong to him, balls deep inside of one of the club whore.s.

Twinkle.

I don’t want to watch them fuckin.g, but I can’t seem to tear my eyes away from the scene in front of me. He’s never taken me the way he is her. He’s never kissed me with such passion. Never touched me like he’d die if he didn’t.

Am I below a club whor.e now?

How could he do this to me?

Am I so hideous that he needs to fuc.k another woman?

Okay, I haven’t been the best girlfriend these past few months. We haven’t slept together since a few days before I was kidnapped and tortured.

But did that make me a bad person?

Did it make me so wrong because I was too ill to sleep with my fiancé?

Why couldn’t he have been more considerate toward me?

Why didn’t he love me enough to be there for me like he promised?

Why didn’t he just end things with me months ago?

It was heading that way; we both knew it. But now I know he only stayed with me because of what happened. He pitied me and felt like he couldn’t leave me.

Pathetic!

Watching him fuckin.g her hard against the wall, it finally hits me that he’s been pulling away from me for a long time. Long before I was kidnapped. Longer than I first realized. We’ve been pulling away from each other. I should have seen this coming long ago. The cheating, I mean. He’s done it before when we first got together. Once a cheat, always a cheat, so my mother once told me.

And I can’t be sure Trace hasn’t done this kind of thing more than once before now. Club whore.s. I bet he’s been having his fill with them all these months I haven’t been with him. He must have a death wish to be fuckin.g a club whor.e with my father and brother in the next room, though.

Piece of shi.t!

“Oh God, Trace.” The whor.e calls out his road name as he bucks into her. Vile pig didn’t even pull his jeans all the way down.

When did my best friend turn into this man?

Jordan was always so kind and considerate when we first got together. Sure, he slept with someone else right away, but I was the one who chose to forgive him, so that’s on me. But I honestly thought he loved me.

I guess he loves me as a friend and not a girlfriend.

I wish he could have told me long ago that he didn’t want this. Want me. Before he asked me to marry him and I said yes.

But then I could have told him the same thing.

“That’s it, baby, take it all.”

Baby?

Jesus Christ, I can’t watch this anymore. I turn and run as fast as I can. I push past people on my way to the balcony out back. I need some air. I need to scream and cry and beat something!

I hate you right now, Jordan Raina!