Hammer Read Free Page A

himself up on the bar.
    I continue my own chin-ups as the sweat rolls down his face. “Drive over it!”
    His workout is almost done. Cool down is just around the corner. Three more reps and I will ease up. Until then, charge on.
    “They call you Tank! Show me!”
    Boom. Boom. Boom. He pumps out his final reps then drops from the bar as he lets out a war cry of success.
    “Damn, Des, I thought physical therapy was torture enough,” Frank ‘Tank’ Oleander states as he wipes his face with a hand towel.
    I smile over at him as he begins his stretches for cool down. “PT was for healing. Exercise now is for well-being.”
    “My being is well, babe. No need to bust my ass.”
    “Nah, I don’t wanna bust your ass. I do remember you calling me Drill Sergeant Bust Your Balls, so I wanna bust your balls, buddy.”
    We both laugh at the memory as his ol’ lady comes in, carrying ‘Red,’ their son.
    “Don’t bust the jewels too much, Des. I might wanna play with them later, girlie.” She winks at her man, and the beast of a biker immediately smiles at her.
    I met Tank when he was a patient at the rehabilitation facility I used to work at. After getting shot six times and pulling out of a coma, his road to recovery was a long process. When he was released to come home, the Hellions Motorcycle Club hired me full-time as his personal physical therapist. Now that he is back to one hundred percent, I work as a personal trainer for all the boys who want it.
    Life is good for me here with the Haywood’s Landing charter of the Hellions. I never imagined becoming a personal physical therapist turned trainer for a group of broody bikers. However, life has this way of throwing curve balls at you when you least expect it. Not to mention, the perk that I was now paid more with the Hellions as my only clients than at my last few jobs. As Roundman, the Hellions’ president, bluntly informed me in a meeting, “You have to deal with a bunch of knuckleheads, and I’m afraid you’ll quit if the pay isn’t good enough.”
    Snorting at the memory, I can’t help thinking that “knuckleheads” isn’t exactly how I would refer to the rowdy men who work hard and play harder.
    After Tank’s session, I have a quick workout with two other club members before going home for the day. With plans to go out, I head straight to the shower to wash off the ick of gym life.
    “Let’s go, hooker!” my sister Suzie calls out as soon as I shut the shower off.
    “Hold your horses, woman.” Damn, impatient, little thing. Then again, she always has been.
    My baby sister is visiting for a week. We don’t see each other often, so having her here means the world to me. I wish she would have told me she was coming, though. Oh, well, count my blessings and don’t question.
    She showed up late last night. After sleeping in this morning while I trained with the boys, she is now rip-roaring ready to go out on the town. I, on the other hand, am more than willing to snuggle in my bed with a good book. Baby girl gets what baby girl wants, though, so we are going out.
    The joke’s on her. Coastal North Carolina doesn’t have much for a night life. Definitely not what she’s used to in Chicago.
    We grew up in the Sandhill region of central North Carolina. I went off to East Carolina University in Greenville where I managed to earn a degree in physical therapy. After passing my state boards and getting licensed, I locked in a job at a rehabilitation facility where I met Tank and the Hellions MC. This all worked to land me where I am today.
    Suzie has done well for herself. She got a full scholarship to Duke University. After years of studying and dedication, she achieved her PhD. Then, leaving the small town life of Carolina in the rearview, she took a job with a pharmaceutical company in Chicago.
    I couldn’t be prouder of her. Given our parental figures aren’t shining examples or upstanding citizens, we both have overcome tremendous obstacles to be