Piston (Iron Reapers MC #2)

Chapter 5

FIVE

JENNY

I snip the last lock of blonde hair and step back to survey my work. Not bad considering my mind was nowhere near this damn salon.

"Alright Carol, you're all set," I said flatly. "Same time next month?"

Carol squinted at her reflection in the mirror, lips pursing. "Maybe a little more off the back next time." She shrugged. "But it'll do. Thanks, Jenny."

I cleaned up quickly, sweeping hair clippings and tossing towels in the hamper with more force than necessary. Closing time couldn't come soon enough. All I wanted was to go home, crack open a beer, and stop thinking about him. Stop picturing the leggy brunette draped all over Piston at Perdition last week.

Fuck, even her name pissed me off. Candy. Who the hell names their kid Candy? Probably the same idiots who unleash a wild animal like Piston on the female population.

I jabbed the broom into the dustpan with a scowl. It wasn't like we were together. Hell, we'd barely exchanged more than grunts and glares at the clubhouse. But that night, the way he looked at me across the bar...I thought maybe there was something more between us.

Stupid. Men like Piston didn't go for girls like me. They went for bimbos named after sugary treats apparently. So why couldn't I stop replaying that scene in my head? The flash of heat in his eyes, followed by the knife-twist of watching him leave with her.

I tossed the broom aside with a clatter. Screw him. Screw the whole lot of them at Perdition. I didn't need their bullshit complicating my life. I had enough problems without mixing it up with bikers who only knew how to bring trouble.

Easier said than done though. Every rev of a motorcycle engine made my pulse jump, wondering if it was him. Wondering why I even cared. I couldn't avoid the club forever. Dagger would start asking questions soon. But maybe a few more days...

The chime of bells snapped me out of my spiraling thoughts. I looked up to tell whoever it was that we were closed, but the words evaporated on my tongue.

Piston filled the doorway, all hard muscles and dark ink. His icy blue gaze locked on mine and I felt that familiar clench low in my belly. Shit.

I forced my expression into careful neutrality, even as my heart hammered against my ribs. What the hell was he doing here?

"We're closed," I said, my voice flat.

Piston stepped inside anyway, letting the door swing shut behind him. "Need a trim. Figured you could squeeze me in."

I raised an eyebrow. "And I figure you've got some nerve showing up here unannounced."

A ghost of a smile flickered across his face. "Never been known for my manners, darlin'."

I bristled at the endearment, crossing my arms over my chest. "Fifteen minutes. That's all you get."

He shrugged off his cut and settled into the chair, his broad shoulders nearly swallowing the leather. I draped the cape around him with stiff movements, trying to ignore the heat radiating off his body.

As I picked up the scissors, Piston caught my gaze in the mirror. "Been a minute since I saw you 'round the clubhouse."

I focused on the first snip of hair, keeping my expression blank. "Been busy."

"Too busy for your friends?"

I could feel the weight of his stare, but I refused to meet it. "Dagger ain't my keeper. I got my own life."

Piston was quiet for a moment. Then, "This about the other night?"

My fingers tensed around the scissors. I didn't want to have this conversation. Didn't want to pick at the scab of my bruised ego.

"Ancient history," I bit out. "Like I said, been busy."

Piston's jaw ticked. He opened his mouth to say something else, but I cut him off.

"You want this haircut or not? Cause we can keep talking and I can take a hell of a lot more off the top."

His lips twitched. "Shutting up now."

"Good choice." I resumed my work, the snick of the shears the only sound in the empty salon.

But even in the silence, I could feel the unspoken questions hanging between us. The tension that had been simmering for weeks, ready to boil over.

I needed to get him out of here before I did something stupid. Before I let myself believe that night had meant anything to him.

Before I admitted how much I wanted it to.

The haircut was over too soon and not soon enough. I brushed the stray clippings from Piston's broad shoulders, ignoring the heat of his skin through the thin fabric of his shirt.

"All done," I announced, my voice too loud in the charged silence.

Piston stood, his boots heavy on the linoleum floor. He turned to face me, his expression unreadable. "Jenny—"

I held up a hand. "Don't. Just...don't."

His brow furrowed. "You don't even know what I was gonna say."

"I can guess." I crossed my arms, a flimsy shield against the intensity of his gaze. "And I'm not interested."

Piston took a step closer, invading my space. The scent of him—leather and smoke and something uniquely him—filled my lungs, making my head spin.

"Even if I was gonna apologize for being an ass?"

I blinked, thrown off balance. "What?"

"I'm sorry, Jenny. For the other night. For..." He scrubbed a hand over his freshly shorn hair. "For a lot of things."

I stared at him, searching for any hint of deception. But all I saw was raw sincerity and something that looked a hell of a lot like regret.

Damn him for making this hard.

"Okay," I said slowly. "You're sorry. Is that supposed to fix everything?"

"No. But it's a start." He took another step, close enough now that I could feel the heat radiating off his body. "Let me make it up to you. Dinner, tonight. Anywhere you want."

I laughed, the sound harsh and brittle. "You seriously think dinner is gonna magically erase what happened?"

"No. But it's a chance for us to talk. To figure this"—he gestured between us—"out."

I wanted to tell him there was nothing to figure out. That whatever "this" was, it was a mistake. A moment of weakness I couldn't afford to repeat.

But looking at him now, seeing the hope and the hunger in his eyes, I felt my resolve crumbling.

God help me, I wanted to believe him. Wanted to believe that this could be more than just a fleeting, adrenaline-fueled fling.

Even if my head knew better, my traitorous heart couldn't seem to resist the lure of Piston Brooks.

"Fine," I heard myself say. "Dinner. But that's it. Don't go getting any ideas."

A slow, devastating smile spread across his face. "Wouldn't dream of it, darlin'."

"Just friends, huh? You two looked pretty cozy at the bar the other night."

I snipped at Piston's hair a little harder than necessary. "Not that it's any of your business, but yeah. Dagger and I are just friends. Period."

My words came out sharp as razors. I was in no mood for Piston's possessive bullshit, not after the stunt he pulled with that blonde bimbo. Who the hell did he think he was, anyway? First he tries to get in my pants, then acts like he owns me. Men.

Piston's eyes met mine in the mirror. "Look, I know I've been an ass. A grade-A jackass."

I raised an eyebrow. "Go on."

He sighed. "I'm sorry, alright? I acted like a fool and I want to make it up to you. Let me take you to dinner tonight. Somewhere nice, not the usual dive bar grub."

My hands stilled, scissors poised in midair. Dinner? With Piston? My mind reeled. Part of me wanted to tell him to go to hell, that I was done with his games. But another part, the part that still got revved up when he walked in the room, hesitated.

"I don't know, Piston. Last time we went out, things got...complicated." Messy was more like it.

"No complications, I swear. Just dinner and a chance for me to show you I'm not a total jerk. What do you say?"

I finished the last snip of Piston's hair, buying myself a moment to think. My gut told me this was a bad idea, that I should keep my distance. But I couldn't deny the pull between us, the curiosity that made me want to see where this could go.

"Fine," I said, setting down the scissors. "Dinner. But that's it. No funny business."

Piston grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Scout's honor."

I rolled my eyes. "Somehow I doubt you were ever a Boy Scout."

He chuckled as he stood, shaking loose hairs from his shoulders. "7 o'clock? I'll swing by your place."

I nodded, my stomach doing a little flip. What was I getting myself into?

We left the salon together, the evening air cool on my skin. I locked up, aware of Piston's presence behind me, solid and magnetic.

"I'll follow you," he said, straddling his bike. "Need to make a quick stop on the way."

"Alright. See you in a few." I hopped in my car, watching Piston's taillights disappear around the corner.

The drive home was a blur, my mind buzzing with thoughts of the night ahead. Dinner with Piston. Just dinner. But as I pulled into my driveway and saw him waiting, all leather and danger, I knew it was more than that.

I climbed off my car, grabbing my stuff from the back seat. Piston watched me, his gaze intense.

"Ready?" he asked, voice low.

I swallowed, my mouth suddenly dry. "Yeah. Just let me drop this inside."

He followed me to the door, close enough that I could feel the heat of him. I fumbled with my keys, my hands shaking slightly. Get it together, I told myself. It's just dinner.

But as I stepped inside, Piston's eyes on my back, I knew I was lying to myself. This wasn't just dinner. This was the start of something, something I wasn't sure I was ready for. But damn if I didn't want to find out.

The rumble of Piston's bike filled my ears as we sped down the highway, wind whipping through my hair. I clung to his waist, my cheek pressed against the smooth leather of his cut. The vibrations of the engine coursed through my body, a thrill I couldn't ignore.

"Hold on tight, darlin'," Piston called over the roar. "We're just getting' started."

My heart raced, adrenaline pumping through my veins. I couldn't remember the last time I felt this alive, this free. With every mile, the tension between us seemed to melt away, replaced by a raw, electric energy.

Piston took a sharp turn, leaning into the curve. I followed his lead, pressing closer, my thighs gripping his hips. A rush of heat flooded through me, desire mingling with the exhilaration of the ride.

All too soon, we pulled into the parking lot of a small, hole-in-the-wall joint. Piston killed the engine, the sudden silence deafening. He helped me off the bike, his hands lingering on my waist a moment longer than necessary.

"Welcome to The Greasy Spoon," he said with a grin. "Best damn burgers in town."

I looked at the quirky restaurant, its neon sign flickering in the twilight. The place had character, that was for sure. Mismatched chairs, graffiti-covered walls, and a jukebox that looked like it had seen better days.

"I like it," I said, smiling up at Piston. "Definitely not what I was expecting."

"I'm full of surprises, darlin'." He draped an arm over my shoulders, guiding me inside.

The interior was just as eclectic as the outside, with old license plates and vintage posters covering every inch of wall space. The air smelled of grease and spices, making my mouth water.

We slid into a booth, the cracked vinyl cushions squeaking beneath us. A waitress with pink hair and a nose ring sauntered over, smacking her gum.

"Well, well, if it isn't Piston," she drawled. "Who's your friend?"

"This is Jenny," Piston said, his hand finding mine under the table. "She's new to the Spoon."

The waitress eyed me up and down, a smirk playing at the corners of her mouth. "Fresh meat, huh? Better watch out, sugar. Piston's a heartbreaker."

I felt my cheeks flush, but Piston just laughed. "Don't worry, Rox. I'm on my best behavior tonight."

Rox snorted. "I'll believe that when I see it. What'll you have?"

We placed our orders - a bacon cheeseburger for Piston, a veggie burger for me. As Rox walked away, I turned to Piston, eyebrow raised.

"Heartbreaker, huh?"

Piston shrugged, a mischievous glint in his eye. "What can I say? I've got a reputation."

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn't help the flutter in my chest. There was something about Piston that drew me in, despite my better judgment. He was a walking contradiction - rough edges and soft smiles, danger and tenderness all wrapped up in one.

As we waited for our food, the tension between us eased, replaced by a comfortable familiarity. Piston cracked jokes, making me laugh until my sides hurt. I found myself opening up, sharing stories from the salon, my dreams for the future.

And through it all, Piston listened, his eyes never leaving mine. He made me feel seen, heard, in a way I hadn't experienced before. Like I was the only person in the room, the only one that mattered.

By the time our burgers arrived, the earlier awkwardness had disappeared completely. We dug in, moaning appreciatively at the first bite.

"Oh my god," I said around a mouthful of veggie burger. "This is incredible."

Piston grinned, ketchup smeared on his chin. "Told ya. Best damn burgers in town."

I laughed, reaching over to wipe the ketchup away with my thumb. Piston caught my hand, pressing a kiss to my palm. The gesture was simple, sweet, but it sent a shiver down my spine.

"Jenny," he said, his voice low and rough. "I'm really glad you're here."

I swallowed hard, my heart hammering in my chest. "Me too, Piston. Me too."

As the evening wore on, the conversation turned to heavier topics. Piston's eyes took on a faraway look as he talked about his past, his words coming out in fits and starts.

"I ain't always been the man I am now," he said, picking at the label on his beer bottle. "Done things I ain't proud of, things that still haunt me."

I leaned forward, my elbows on the table. "Like what?"

Piston shook his head, a wry smile on his lips. "Not sure you wanna know, darlin'. Might change the way you look at me."

"Try me," I said, holding his gaze. "I'm tougher than I look."

He let out a long breath, his shoulders slumping. "Alright, but don't say I didn't warn you."

And so he began to talk, painting a picture of a life I could barely imagine. A childhood marked by poverty and neglect, a father who drank too much and a mother who couldn't cope. Running with the wrong crowd, getting into fights, doing drugs.

But through it all, there was a thread of hope, of resilience. Piston spoke of the moment he realized he wanted more, the day he walked into Perdition and found a family, a purpose.

As he talked, I found myself drawn to him in a way I couldn't quite explain. There was a vulnerability in his eyes, a rawness that made me want to reach out and touch him, to offer comfort and understanding.

"I ain't perfect, Jenny," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I'm trying' to be better. To make something of myself."

I reached across the table, taking his hand in mine. "I know you are, Piston. And for what it's worth, I think you're doing a damn good job."

He looked up at me, surprise and gratitude mingling in his expression. "You mean that?"

I nodded, squeezing his hand. "I do. We've all got our demons, our mistakes. What matters is what we do with them, how we learn and grow."

Piston smiled then, a real smile that lit up his whole face. "Damn, girl. You're something else, you know that?"

I laughed, feeling a warmth spread through my chest. "So I've been told."

As the night drew to a close, I found myself reluctant to leave, to let go of the connection we'd forged. Piston walked me to my car, his hand resting lightly on the small of my back.

"Thank you for tonight," I said, turning to face him. "For trusting me with your story."

Piston shrugged, a hint of shyness in his eyes. "Ain't nothin'. Just felt right, telling you."

I smiled, reaching up to touch his cheek. "Well, I'm glad you did."

And then, before I could second-guess myself, I leaned in and kissed him, softly, sweetly. Piston stiffened for a moment, then relaxed into the kiss, his arms coming up to wrap around me.

When we finally pulled apart, I was breathless, my heart racing. Piston rested his forehead against mine, his eyes closed.

"Jenny," he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. "I..."

But I silenced him with another kiss, not wanting to break the spell. "Shh. No need for words. Let's just enjoy this moment."

And so we did, standing there in the parking lot, wrapped in each other's arms, the rest of the world fading away until it was just the two of us, lost in a moment that felt like the beginning of something new, something real.

As I drove home, my mind buzzed with the events of the evening. The way Piston had opened up, the vulnerability in his eyes, the tenderness of our kiss—it all swirled together, leaving me both exhilarated and terrified.

What was I getting myself into? Piston was a member of the Iron Reapers MC, a world I was only starting to learn about. And yet, there was something about him, something that drew me in like a moth to a flame.

I couldn't deny the chemistry between us, the way my body responded to his touch. But was that enough? Could I really see myself with someone like him, someone with such a different life?

And then there were the secrets he still kept, the parts of his past he wasn't ready to share. Could I trust him, really trust him, if he couldn't be fully honest with me?

These questions plagued me as I pulled into my driveway, my heart still racing. I sat in the car for a moment, trying to calm my nerves, to make sense of the whirlwind of emotions.

But even as the doubts crept in, I couldn't shake the feeling that this was the start of something special. The way Piston made me feel, the way he looked at me like I was the only woman in the world—it was intoxicating.

I knew I was taking a risk, opening myself up to someone so different from anyone I'd ever been with before. But somehow, it felt right. Like all the paths of my life had been leading me to this moment, to him.

With a deep breath, I got out of the car and headed inside, a small smile playing on my lips. I didn't know what the future held, but for the first time in a long time, I was excited to find out.