Page 1 of Hammer’s Fall

Chapter One

Hammer paced up and down the hallway that led from the common room to his office, or as the guys called it, his command center. He was itching to get on the road, but Bulldog had ordered him to stand down. Not permanently, or Hammer wouldn’t still be here. Instead, the Sons of Sin, Phoenix chapter president had told him to sit tight for an hour, maybe two. He was getting a few other men lined up to go with Hammer.

Bulldog had tried to talk him out of going. He’d tried telling Hammer that Dwyer had sold Brittney before he’d taken Miranda, more than six months before. What were the chances that Brittney was still there? Or even still alive? But Hammer wouldn’t hear of it. He was going to see if she was still there and if he could get her out. Even if he had to go in alone.

“Have you figured out how you’re going to get across the border? I’m assuming you’re not going to be using the port of entry.” Forge’s voice made Hammer turn and look at the doorway to the command center. Forge was his apprentice, for lack of a better term. He wasn’t as fast as Hammer at getting into some of the so-called secure sites, but he was better at manipulating video and hiding things, or making someone see something that hadn’t been there.

Normally, when any of the Sons were out on a mission, Hammer handled the tech, whether from here at the clubhouse or from the sidelines, but today he was going in. He was going to lead this charge since no one else seemed to feel it was as important as he did. Sure, they wanted to capture the fuckers who were trafficking in women, but they didn’t think this lead was worth the time.

He knew different.

He knew there was something there. He couldn’t have said how he knew, but he did. Hammer followed the other man into their command center, where Forge sat in the chair in front of his desk, while Hammer continued to pace. He wished, not for the first time, that the room was larger. As it was, the six and a half steps across the room, only to turn around and do it again, was even more frustrating than waiting for his president to sit on his hands.

“I’ve got a man on the inside. He’s an old buddy. He’ll make sure we’ve got a window to get in and another to get out. I’ve got a phone I use just for him, so it won’t be tracked to us. I have another for you and the rest of the club, and I’ll put a third in my gear just in case. I’ve memorized the map of the compound and the floorplan if the house, assuming it hasn’t changed in the last year.”

“What about men? Any idea what he’s got in the way of men?”

Hammer tilted his head back and forth. “That’s harder. I have a couple of contacts in Nogales Sonora. One tells me he doesn’t keep many men there—only his most trusted are allowed on the compound. The other hasn’t responded yet.”

Forge nodded. “And you’re packed and ready?” He twisted back and forth in his chair, watching Hammer.

Hammer stopped pacing and glared at his apprentice. “No. I’ll do that now, so I’m ready when he decides I can leave.” Hammer waved one hand toward Bulldog’s office. “Or until I decide I’m done taking orders and go on my own.” He walked out the door and headed upstairs to his room. There were a couple of pistols there he wanted and a few other things he thought they might need.

Chapter Two

Camila stared out the window and wondered when her father would leave again. He only spent a couple of days at a time here with her in Nogales, but they were always the worst days of her week.

Papá was a busy man, and he had definite ideas about how a girl should behave. Despite having been raised with his strict rules, she frequently found herself on the wrong side of them. Almost never deliberately. It was almost as if Papá was making up new rules or new nuances to them to find reason to punish her.

Last night had been another of those. She’d been gathering her dishes to carry back into the kitchen, like she always did, or at least when it was just her and Maria in the house. But something had happened to her hand, she still wasn’t sure what, and she’d dropped the stack, shattering a plate and leaving a mess all over the floor.

From the way Papá had acted, she’d committed a heinous crime. Before she’d had a chance to clean up the mess, much less apologize or say anything, he’d grabbed her by the hair and dragged her into his office where he’d forced her to bend over the back of one of the chairs while he’d taken a belt to her.

This morning, she could barely sit. But as long as Papá was home, she was expected to show up for every meal, and if she showed any sign that the beating he’d given her last night still hurt, he’d do it again, this time expanding his blows to her lower back as well as her thighs.

She forced herself out of bed and to dress in one of the day dresses Papá insisted she wear. Taking time to make sure her make-up was perfect and she didn’t have a single hair out of place, she went downstairs.

“Good morning, Mija,” Papá said when she entered the dining room.

“Good morning, Papá,” Camila said as she sat gingerly in her chair, careful to keep her face from showing how badly it hurt. She sat primly and let Maria serve her, mostly because every time she got up to do something for herself was another time she’d have to sit down, another chance to not keep her face perfect for Papá.

“I’m glad to see you’ve learned your lesson,” he nodded to her plate where Maria was setting it in front of her now. Papá insisted she speak English to him, despite their being in Mexico. Yes, they both spoke Spanish, and she did most of the time, especially when it was just her and Maria. But Papá got angry when she spoke to him in anything but English. It kept her fluent, if nothing else.

Camila kept her mouth shut because what she wanted to say would only get her in more trouble. Instead, she nodded and kept her gaze on her plate. Papá preferred it when she was demure and submissive, and she tried to play that for him when he was here, if only to stay out of trouble. Most of the time she managed it, but sometimes her mouth got ahead of her and things tumbled out before she had a chance to stop them. That didn’t happen nearly as often as it once did. She’d learned the hard way.

“I’m leaving after breakfast. I have some business in Juarez tomorrow. I’ll be gone at least a week, maybe longer. I will let you know.”

Camila nodded but didn’t respond. He didn’t expect her to, and it was one less thing to say and possibly get in trouble over. But the prospect of at least a full week without Papá? And that he would call to let her know when he would be back? That was the best thing she’d heard since he’d arrived three days before.

Before he left, he gave her a list of things to do. Nothing out of the ordinary but she knew if every item on the list wasn’t done, or if he thought they hadn’t been before he got back, then she would be in for punishment again. She would make sure everything was done just to ensure she didn’t have to endure the beating.

After breakfast, Camila told Papá goodbye, then retreated to her rooms. She told him she was going to study, and she would, but she was going to do it stretched out on her belly on her bed so her rear could have a break from sitting. Maybe after Papá left she would change into her swimsuit and make use of the hot tub in the courtyard. The heat of the water would help ease some of her aches.

In her bedroom she picked up the book her father had given her, a history of one of the most prominent families in Mexico, and stretched out across the bed. Papá wanted her to know the family in the book as well as she knew her own family history, or better. She suspected he was planning to use her to make an alliance with them, but she hadn’t yet reached the current generation or even her father’s generation, so she didn’t know who he was looking at for her.

Before opening the book, she looked out the window, taking in the gentle rolling hills and wishing, not for the first time, she could get away. She fantasized about getting out of this house and into the US. It wasn’t far.

The estate where she’d spent most of her life was less than five miles from the border. If she could get away from here and into the US, she could have a normal life, or at least what she thought was normal. Where she didn’t have to watch every word she said for fear of someone’s temper. That was her dream. It might be a fantasy for the rest of her life, but she would harbor the dream for as long as she could.