Sarah stared at the sketch, her breath catching in her throat. She looked up at Hammer, her anger dissolving into confusion. "What... what did you tell my daughter?"
Hammer’s voice was a low, gravelly rumble, deep and steady like a distant V-twin idling in the night. "Nothing she didn't design herself, ma'am."
Three weeks ago, Chloe had rolled her squeaky wheelchair across the diner parking lot while Sarah was working. Instead of running away from the loud bikes parked out front, Chloe had rolled straight up to Hammer while he was tuning a carburetor, handed him her notebook, and asked how much it would cost to build a chair that didn't make people pity her. Hammer hadn't taken a dime. He had taken the notebook.
Hammer reached down to the heavy brass latches on the trunk. With a crisp click, he popped the locks and swung open the lid.
The entire room gasped in unison. One of the uncles in the back dropped his phone in disbelief.
Rising out of the velvet-lined interior was a masterpiece of mechanical engineering. It was a custom, ultra-lightweight titanium wheelchair painted in a dazzling metallic royal purple. The spokes of the oversized rear wheels were fitted with waterproof neon purple LED illumination, the handrails were wrapped in hand-stitched saddle leather, and two polished chrome shock absorbers flanked the backrest. It looked less like medical equipment and more like a miniature luxury chopper designed specifically for a young warrior.