I hadn’t moved an inch during their entire encounter, and I wasn’t sure if my legs could even carry me—but, nonetheless, I stepped away from the wall I’d been pinned to only minutes earlier and inched my way toward the bloody mess of men.
“You see this?” Sam asked, gazing up at me, then looking down at Pigpen’s left shoulder. I looked in the direction Sam’s gaze indicated and saw a poorly done tattoo of what appeared to be a wing of some sort.
“This is a Seraph stamp,” Sam explained. “Anyone affiliated with their gang has one somewhere on their chest or back—and the way it points indicates whether they’re a biker or a lackey… This little pipsqueak’s stamp points to his left, which means he ain’t nothin’.”
“You don’t even have a bike, do you?” Sam asked Pigpen, inappropriately laughing.
Pigpen didn’t answer, and he tried to squirm free of Sam again—to no avail.
“I’m not done with you yet, fucker,” Sam told him, grabbing his arm and pushing back the sleeve.
“And you see these?” Sam asked me, displaying Pigpen’s arm like a visual aid. I looked and saw several scabbed, pimple-like protrusions with inflamed red lines around them.
“These are track marks,” Sam explained. “They mean that our little Pigpen here is a junkie… But we should have known that already, huh Pigpen?”
Sam focused his attention on the Pigpen again and continued, “That’s why you were at Tony Ink’s last night, isn’t it? You went there to score some smack, didn’t ya? Is that why you wanted to rob Rachel? You wanted drug money, enough to keep you and your buddies high for a couple years? Or wait—maybe you wanted the money to buy a bike? You were gonna use it to become a real Seraph, weren’t ya?”
Pigpen was still crying, from both the physical pain and the way Sam was taunting him.
“You are a kid,” Sam said. “And that’s why I’m gonna let you go… But before I do, you gotta promise me something.”
“Anything,” Pigpen replied instantly in a muffled voice.
“Stay the fuck away from Rachel,” Sam hissed. “And stay the fuck away from the Wolves… And tell all your punk-ass buddies who wanna cause trouble the same thing. If anything happens to her, or to any one of my brothers, I’ll even the score. I’ll come after whoever did it—and I’ll come after you.”
Pigpen shook his head in affirmation. “Okay,” he moaned.
“Do you know who I am?” Sam asked, finally getting up off of Pigpen.
“No,” Pigpen replied, rising as well.
“They call me ‘The Hammer,’” Sam informed him.
“Shit!” Pigpen shouted, as his blackened eyes widened. “You’re Sam Hammond?”
“The one and only,” Sam answered. “Now get the fuck out of here.”
Pigpen shook in his boots, turned, and ran in the opposite direction. He ran faster than I’d ever seen anyone run in my entire life, which was an amazing feat, given the beat-down he’d just received.
As soon as Pigpen was out of sight, Sam turned and walked over to the dumpster, then crouched down on the ground and started collecting the things that Pigpen had emptied out of my purse.
“You know,” he said, placing my lipstick in my bag, then my wallet, “for as smart as you think you are, you have absolutely no idea how the real world works.”
Chapter 13
~ Sam ~
“That don’t look right,” Gator said from the backseat of the Chrysler. We’d just gotten back from the cemetery and were in the parking lot at Bradley’s, trying to figure out our game plan. A bunch of us were gonna meet at Pinky’s for an off-the-cuff wake, since Rachel decided not to throw one, but Hannah didn’t want to go—so we were discussing the best way to get her home, ditch the car, and get our bikes out of the lot.
“What doesn’t look right?” I asked.
“That,” Gator replied, tilting his head towards the entrance to the funeral home. “Who’s that dirty little junkie talking to Terry’s sister?”
I looked where Gator was looking and saw Rachel standing there talking to some little punk I’d never seen before. He didn’t look like a big threat—for me—but I could sense he was trouble.
“I don’t know who he is,” I told Gator, “but I’m gonna find out.”
Whatever game plan we were trying to make didn’t matter anymore—and as much as Rachel had pissed me off earlier when she insisted on canceling the run, that didn’t matter anymore either. Some things were just more important than parties and pride.
“Crete organized the drop,” I went on. “It’s gonna happen when she goes in there, and she’s gonna walk outta there with a lot of money. I gotta stick around here to make sure it all goes down smoothly.”
“I hear ya, brother,” Gator said. “What do you want me to do?”
“Drive Hannah home in the car,” I said, coming up with a spur-of-the-moment plan of my own. “Have Tall Boy follow you out there on his bike, then have him drive you back here to get yours… Don’t tell him what’s going on though. Don’t say anything to anybody. I wanna take care of this myself, if I can, and I don’t want anyone else’s hands to get dirty.”
“And, you, Hannah,” I said, turning to my sister, “go home, get some rest, and forget that you saw or heard any of this.”
Gator and Hannah both agreed to what I’d said, in turn, and the three of us sat and patiently waited in the Chrysler until Rachel finished her conversation with the dirty little junkie. As soon as she stepped into the funeral home, Gator and I stepped out of the car and put our plan into action.
Gator went over and made his arrangements, while I went over to my bike. No sooner had I done so than I realized that my spur-of-the-moment had some major holes in it—but when I saw Gator get back into the Chrysler and Tall Boy hop on his hog, I knew that it was too late to change it. I’d have to figure something out.
There I was, with my bike—but my bike was useless. If I had to follow Rachel anywhere, I couldn’t do it on my Harley. That’d be too obvious. I needed the car, but it was already gone. So I carefully looked out over the parking lot, at vehicles and people that still remained. And then, thank God, I saw it… my ratty, beat-up old blue and green flannel shirt.
Thing was standing beside a beige Dodge Grand Caravan with another girl. She’d put on some makeup and teased out her hair, but she was still wearing her skimpy off-the-rack black dress beneath my flannel, and she was probably still wearing my cum on her face.
I hadn’t planned on ever “seeing” Thing again, but desperate times called for desperate measures, and I had no other choice.
I walked over to the van, and Thing saw me coming as I did.
“Hey, baby,” she said in a sweet voice that nearly made me sick.
“Hey,” I replied. “Is this your van?”
“It’s Ashley’s,” she said, glancing over at her smoking hot friend. I’d never met the girl before, but I immediately put her on my “to-do” list.
“Can you guys do me a favor?” I asked.
Thing smiled at me with her expert mouth. “Wasn’t my favor this morning good enough?” she asked in a wannabe-sexy voice.
“It was great,” I admitted. “But I need a different kind of favor now. I need a ride somewhere, but I have to take care of things first and hang out here for a little while… Think you guys can help me out?”
“Sure,” Ashley said. “I don’t have to be anywhere for a couple hours, not until it’s time to pick the kids up from school.”
Thing looked pretty peeved that Ashley answered my question instead of letting her, and I couldn’t get over the fact that that smoking hot babe was a mom.
“Great,” I said. “Hang out here for a couple minutes, and I’ll be right back.”
The two girls whispered and giggled as I walked away, and I’m pretty sure I heard Thing say something about my cock. In any event, I already had my next move in mind, and I went over to my brother, Butcher, to see it out.
“Butcher,” I said interruptin
g him as was tapping his fingers on his phone. “I need you to do something.”
“Sure thing, Hammer,” he said, looking up from whatever had him preoccupied. “Whassup?”
“I need you to block that car with your bike,” I said, pointing toward the blue Chevy Rachel drove. “No matter what, keep it blocked ‘til I get back here.”
“Alrighty,” Butcher replied, shoving his phone into the breast pocket of his vest. “Will do.”
Time wasn’t on my side, so I ran over to my bike as fast as I could, jumped on it, and sped out of the lot. I only drove a few blocks down the street and parked outside of a bar I’d been to many, many times, then I hightailed it back to the funeral home on foot.
When Butcher saw me coming, I nodded at him, and he pulled his out away from behind Rachel’s car. “Thanks, man,” I yelled at him as he drove past, and he threw his thumb up in the air.
I went back over to Ashley’s van. She and Thing were already inside of it, listening to the radio, and they barely heard me as I slid open the back door.
“Oh,” Thing said, startled, when I entered and sat down. “You ready to go?”
“Not yet,” I said. “Just wait here for a minute… I’ll let you know when to leave.”
I pulled my cellphone out of my jacket pocket and pretended to text something, while the girls continued to jam out to their tunes. In reality, however, my eyes weren’t on my phone at all. They were shifting back and forth between Rachel’s car and the door of the funeral home.
Two or three minutes passed, then Ashley turned down the radio and turned to me. “What are we waiting for?” she asked.
“You’re waiting for me to tell you to leave,” I answered. Being “The Hammer” and having the reputation I have means that I occasionally get to say fun things like that.
“Oooo-kay,” Ashley replied in a voice that made her sound like a dork. It must have been the mom in her, mimicking the way her kids surely talked to her.
Several seconds later, Rachel walked out of Bradley’s and made a beeline straight to her car. She looked rushed, flustered, and determined, and she quickly shoved something into her trunk before hurrying to get behind the wheel. From the way she was acting, I could tell she was up to something, and she was probably headed somewhere she wasn’t supposed to go.
But wherever she was going to go, I was gonna have Ashley follow her. If she ended up going home, that would be that, and I’d have the hot mama drive me back to get my bike. But if she ended up going anywhere else…I’d deal with that when, and if, I had to.
“Alright, girls,” I said. I knew Ashley’s name, but still couldn’t think of Things. “See that blue car? I need you to follow it.”
“What?” Ashley asked curiously, as Rachel backed out of her spot. “Why are we—?”
“No time for questions, honey,” I said resolutely. “Just follow that car!”
“Okay, okay,” Ashley said. “But this better not be something bad. This is my ex-husband’s van, and if I—”
Now it was Thing who interrupted. “Hammer wouldn’t put us in danger, Ashley. Don’t worry,” she said. “Right, baby?” she asked, turning to me.
“Right,” I replied. I wanted to tell her to stop calling me “baby,” but she deserved some type of reward for what she and her friend were doing for me—and for the Wolves.
“Isn’t that Terry’s sister though?” Thing asked, as Ashley pulled out and started trailing the blue Chevy.
“Yeah,” I replied.
“Why are we following her?” Thing asked, sounding very, very concerned. “You’re not into her or something are you?”
“Fuck no,” I replied without thought. “I just have to take care of some Wolves business with her—nothing major. I just gotta talk to her and see if she needs anything. Shit like that. And since she isn’t going to Pinky’s, I gotta go where she’s going if I wanna get that done.”
Thing bought my lie without another question and moved on to the type of thing that Thing’s focus on in situations like this. “So, we’re helping you on official Wolves business?” she asked. “Does that mean we’re now a part of the pack?”
I wanted to say “Fuck no” again, but this time I thought more and was more thoughtful, in my reply. “Not yet, honey,” I said. “You gotta do more than give a brother a ride to earn a spot in our ranks.”
“Even more than I did this morning?” Thing asked. “And last night?”
“A lot more,” I answered with a fake grin. “But hot sex and carpooling is a great start.”
The first part of what I said, I said sincerely—and the second part was a flat-out lie, which Thing eagerly accepted as the truth.
Ashley had only followed Rachel for a couple miles, but in those couple miles, she’d just crossed a line that we Wolves seldom crossed.
“What the hell’s she doing here?” Ashley asked, as Rachel pulled over and parked her car near Kent Town, one of the shittiest dive bars in L.A. “Isn’t this is junkie land?”
“Yep,” I said, shaking my head. “This sure is junkie land… Drop me off at the next corner. Then get the hell out of here and go to Pinky’s. I’ll be there later.”
“Alright, baby,” Thing said, as Ashley slowed down and pulled over at the corner. “Be safe.”
“Uh-huh,” I replied as I got out of the van. I would have told them not to say anything about following Rachel, or where they dropped me to the other Wolves, but I knew it would be pointless. I was a hundred percent confident that they’d go back and brag about it to anyone who would listen—and I was kinda banking on that fact.
You see, Ashley, Thing, and Rachel might not have known it at the time, but we hadn’t merely crossed over into junkie land. We’d just entered the heart of Seraph Country. And I wanted my brothers to know where Rachel and I were, just in case neither one of us made it back alive.
Chapter 14
~ Sam ~
“Mm, mm, mm, look at you, sweet thang. I normally charge fifty bucks for a piece of my pussy, but I’ll knock it down to twenty if you take it nice and slow and treat me like a lady.”
“No, thanks,” I said. For a hooker, the girl didn’t look half that bad, but I wasn’t in this part of town for sex so I had to decline her strange, yet generous offer. Plus, the Hammer never pays for pussy—not fifty bucks, not twenty, not even the cost of a drink or bus fare.
“I’ll be here if you change your mind,” she shouted at me as I kept walking past her.
I passed another hooker and a handful of junkies on my way down the street. Before I got out of Ashley’s van, I’d seen Rachel walking toward the alley behind Kent Town, and that’s where I, too, was headed.
I figured she was probably going there to meet that dirty little junkie she’d been talking to outside of Bradley’s, and I couldn’t believe that she was stupid enough to actually do something like that. She shouldn’t have even made plans to meet up with someone who looked like him to begin with, let alone agree to meet him in an alley—and when she saw where that alley was located, she should have kept on driving. She should’ve known that a girl like her was a big ole bullseye in an area like this, and she shouldn’t have so willingly walked into the firing range.
That dirty little junkie was probably looking to rob her or extort money, and there was a high likelihood that he’d rough her up in the process, if not worse. Hell, if he didn’t rough her up, maybe I would—maybe I could slap some common sense into her and stop her from doing something this stupid ever again.
Okay. Wait. Let me explain something. What I just said was an example of “hyperbole,” or in other words, it was an “overstatement.” I had no plans on slapping Rachel, roughing her up, or harming her in way. I didn’t have it in me to hit a woman, and nothing could compel me to do so.
Just as the Hammer never pays for pussy, the Hammer never hits someone who has a pussy. I only “Hammer” guys with my fists, and I only “Hammer” the ladies with my… well, you get the picture.
Sadly,
even though I would never hit a woman, there are still plenty of men who would, and for all I know, that dirty little junkie was already letting loose on Rachel. I was infuriated by the thought of it, so I picked up my pace and tried to catch up with Rachel before anything devastating happened.
As soon as I made it back to the alley, I saw Rachel. She was only about a hundred fifty feet away from me or so, standing near a dumpster talking to someone. I slowed down my pace again, walked softly, and clung near the wall as I proceeded to move closer.
Rachel stepped forward from the alley and moved nearer to the dumpster. It was another stupid move on her part—she boxed herself in and removed herself from the only openly visible space she had in the alley, which meant that she was no longer a bullseye in the firing range. Now she was like a fish in a barrel.
I was close enough to hear Rachel talking, and I could tell that she was talking to a man—or rather, a pipsqueak. I couldn’t make out exactly what either one of them was saying, but I definitely heard the pipsqueak say something about money—and that was all I needed to hear. I knew for sure that the pipsqueak was the dirty little junkie from outside of Bradley’s, and I knew for sure that he was after Rachel for a payout of some sort—and as soon as I heard shouting, followed by a bit of commotion, I knew that he was roughing her up to get it.
I quickly ran around to the other side of the dumpster and saw that the dirty little junkie had Rachel pinned up against the wall. He’d dumped her purse out on the ground and was pressing into her hard, pawing at her body like a ravenous animal. I pulled him off of her, wrestled him to the ground, got on top of him, and started pounding his face with my fists. If he was gonna treat a woman like that, he deserved to get Hammered.
“Stop!” Rachel screamed. “You’re gonna kill him… He’s just a kid!”
What the fuck, I thought to myself. I’d just saved Rachel from her attacker, and she was more concerned about him than she was about herself—or me. And, I guess I wasn’t concerned enough about him, or myself, because, in the time it took me to scold Rachel for interrupting the beat-down, the dirty little junkie managed to get a punch in on me—and much to my surprise, it hurt like a motherfucker.
HAMMER: Wolves MC (Riding With Wolves Book 1) Page 8
