Piston (Iron Reapers MC #2)

Chapter 6

SIX

PISTON

I stepped into Mason's office, a familiar weight settling in my gut. Dagger was already there, sprawled in a chair. I gave him a nod and took a seat across from Mason. Whatever was coming, I was ready for it.

Mason leaned forward, elbows on his desk. "We got a situation with the Russians. And it looks like someone in the club is a fuckin' rat." His voice was hard as steel. "This mission is critical. We screw it up, the whole MC pays the price."

Dagger and I exchanged a glance. Shit was serious. My mind started racing, running through suspects and scenarios.

"You got any leads on who the traitor might be?" I asked.

Mason shook his head. "Not yet. But we gotta move fast. Can't risk them getting wind of our plans."

I nodded, already shifting into mission mode. "What's the target?"

Mason slid a photo across the desk. "Dmitry Sokolov. Russian arms dealer. He's the key to unraveling this whole mess." He fixed me with a hard stare. "You're the best we got for this, Piston. But it ain't gonna be a cakewalk. Could be weeks off the grid."

A muscle ticked in my jaw. Weeks away from the club, from Jenny... But there was no choice. Brothers always come first. "I'm in. Just give me the details."

As Mason laid out the plan, I tried to focus, shoving down thoughts of missed dinners and broken promises. The club needed me. And I sure as hell wasn't gonna let them down. Not now, not ever.

Dagger leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "I've been digging into Sokolov's operation. Bastard's got his fingers in all sorts of pies - weapons, drugs, human trafficking." He shook his head in disgust. "But he's got a weak spot. His younger brother, Alexei. Kid's a junkie, in deep with the wrong crowd."

I raised an eyebrow. "You thinking we can use Alexei to get to Dmitry?"

"Exactly." Dagger's eyes glinted. "Kid's desperate. A little pressure in the right places, he'll crack like an egg."

Mason grunted in approval. "Alexei could be our ticket inside. But we gotta play this smart. One wrong move, and Sokolov will smell a rat."

I drummed my fingers on the armrest, gears turning. Getting close to Alexei wouldn't be easy, but it was our best shot. And if it meant protecting the club, I'd do whatever it took.

"I'll need a solid cover story," I mused. "Something that'll get me in tight with Alexei's crowd without raising suspicions."

Dagger nodded. "I've got a few ideas. Some of my contacts might be able to help set you up. It won't be a cakewalk, but we'll make it work."

The weight of the mission settled on my shoulders. Infiltrating the Russians, finding the traitor, keeping the club safe - it was a tall order. But this was what I signed up for when I joined the Iron Reapers. We looked out for our own, no matter the cost.

"Alright." I straightened, meeting Mason's gaze. "I'm ready. Just point me in the right direction."

Mason leaned forward, his expression grave. "Here's the deal, Piston. You're going in deep. This mission...it could take weeks. Maybe longer. We can't risk any contact that might blow your cover."

A heavy silence filled the room. I knew what that meant. No contact with the club. No contact with Jenny. The thought twisted like a knife in my gut.

"Burner phone only," Mason continued, sliding a cheap flip phone across the desk. "Emergencies only. Otherwise, you're on your own out there."

I picked up the phone, turning it over in my hands. My lifeline. My only connection to the world I was leaving behind.

Dagger cleared his throat. "You gotta leave tonight. The sooner you establish your cover, the better. We can't afford to waste any time."

Tonight. The word hit like a punch to the jaw. I thought of Jenny, of the dinner we had planned. The future we were just starting to build.

"I understand," I managed, my voice rough. "I'll do whatever it takes. The club comes first."

Mason's expression softened a fraction. "I know it's a lot to ask, Piston. But you're the only one who can pull this off. We're counting on you."

I nodded, swallowing past the lump in my throat. The club was my family. My brothers. I'd walk through fire for them. Even if it meant sacrificing everything else.

"I won't let you down," I vowed. "I'll find the traitor. I'll keep us safe."

Dagger clapped me on the shoulder, his grip fierce. "Give 'em hell, brother. We'll be here, holding down the fort."

I stood, the burner phone heavy in my pocket. The weight of the mission crashed down on me, but I squared my shoulders, ready to carry the load.

My mind flashed to Jenny, her smile, her laugh. The way she made me believe in something more. I shoved the thoughts aside, locking them away. There was no room for distractions. Not now. Not when everything was on the line.

Focused and determined, I turned towards the door, ready to become someone else. Ready to do whatever it took to protect my club, my family.

No matter the cost.

I left Mason's office with a heavy sense of purpose, my boots echoing on the scuffed wooden floor. The familiar sounds and smells of the clubhouse wrapped around me—the low rumble of conversation, the tang of cigarette smoke and whiskey.

Normally, those sensations meant home. Comfort. But now, they only reminded me of what I was about to leave behind.

I made my way through the main room, nodding to a few of my brothers as I passed. They could tell something was up, could see it in the set of my jaw, the tension in my shoulders. But they didn't ask. In the club, you learned quick when to mind your own business.

Grabbing my helmet off the hook by the door, I stepped out into the night. The air was cool against my skin, the moon a pale sliver overhead. I straddled my bike, the worn leather of the seat molding to my body like a second skin.

The engine roared to life, vibrating through my bones. For a moment, I let myself get lost in the sensation, in the raw power thrumming beneath me. This was what I knew. What I was good at. Out here, on the open road, I was in control.

But as I pulled out of the lot, the burner phone seemed to pulse against my thigh, a constant reminder of the mission ahead. The unknown dangers. The sacrifices I'd have to make.

I gritted my teeth, pushing the throttle harder. There was no turning back now. The club was counting on me. My brothers were counting on me.

Failure wasn't an option.

As the miles disappeared beneath my wheels, I forced myself to focus. To plan. I'd need to go deep undercover, to become someone else entirely. Leave Piston behind and embrace a new identity, a new life.

It was a lonely path, but one I'd walked before. One I'd walk again, as many times as it took to keep the club safe. To protect the only family I'd ever known.

The road stretched out before me, an endless ribbon of asphalt. I chased it, pushing harder, faster, until the world blurred at the edges. Until there was nothing but the wind and the growl of the engine and the mission ahead.

I rode, and I didn't look back.

The clubhouse disappeared behind me as I rode, fading into the night until it was nothing more than a memory. The weight of what I was leaving behind settled heavy in my gut, but I pushed it aside. There was no room for sentimentality in this line of work.

I rode for hours, putting as much distance between myself and the city as I could. The burner phone stayed silent, but I knew it was only a matter of time before it would ring with new orders, new intel.

Finally, as the first hints of dawn began to creep over the horizon, I pulled into a nondescript motel on the outskirts of town. The kind of place where no one asked questions and cash was king.

I parked the bike around back, out of sight, and grabbed my bag from the saddlebag. The room was small, dingy, but it would do for a few hours of shut-eye before I had to move on.

I tossed the bag on the bed and dug out the burner phone, checking for missed calls or messages. Nothing yet, but I knew Mason and Dagger would be in touch soon with my next steps.

I set the phone on the nightstand and stretched out on the bed, still fully dressed. Sleep wouldn't come easy, not with the adrenaline still coursing through my veins and the weight of the mission hanging over me.

But I forced myself to close my eyes, to steady my breathing. I needed to be sharp, focused. Ready for whatever came next.

As I drifted off, my thoughts turned to Jenny. To the future I hoped we could have together, if I could just make it through this one last job.

I saw her smile, heard her laugh. Felt the warmth of her skin against mine. And for a moment, just a moment, I let myself believe that everything would work out. That I'd come back to her, whole and unscathed.

It was a fantasy, I knew. But it was all I had to hold onto as I slipped into a restless sleep, the burner phone close at hand, waiting for the call that would set everything in motion.

The call that would change my life forever, one way or another.

I stood in the middle of the room, my eyes closed, jaw clenched. Deep breath in through the nose, out through the mouth. Once, twice, three times. Focus, Piston. You got this.

The mission loomed ahead, a big fucking question mark. No idea how long I'd be gone, what I'd be walking into. All I knew was I had to keep the club safe, no matter the cost.

My mind drifted to Jenny, her smile, her touch. I shook my head, pushing the thoughts away. Can't afford distractions. Not now.

I grabbed my cut from the back of the chair, shrugging it on. The weight of the leather settled on my shoulders, a reminder of who I was, what I stood for. Piston, enforcer for the Iron Reapers. A brother, a fighter, a man with a job to do.

One last glance around the room, committing it to memory. No telling when I'd see it again. Then I stepped out, closing the door behind me with a definitive click.

The clubhouse was quiet as I made my way through the halls, my boots echoing on the hardwood. A few nods from the brothers I passed, a silent understanding in their eyes. They knew the score, knew the sacrifices we made for the patch.

Outside, the night air hit me like a slap in the face, cold and crisp. My bike waited, gleaming under the streetlights. I swung a leg over, settling into the familiar leather seat.

The engine roared to life, the vibrations thrumming through my body, grounding me in the moment. This, right here, was what I knew, what I could count on. The open road, the power between my legs, the brotherhood at my back.

I revved the engine once, twice, the sound cutting through the stillness. A final salute to the club, to the life I was leaving behind.

Then I kicked off, the tires spinning on the asphalt as I tore out of the lot. The road stretched ahead, a black ribbon disappearing into the darkness.

No looking back now. The mission was all that mattered. Find the traitor, protect the club. Everything else would have to wait.

I cranked the throttle, the wind whipping past, the night swallowing me whole. Time to disappear, to become a ghost.

The Iron Reapers were counting on me. And I sure as hell wasn't going to let them down.

My thoughts drifted to Jenny as the miles flew by, the roar of the engine filling my ears. That dinner, the way she looked at me, the softness of her skin under my fingers... it was something special, something real.

But the timing couldn't be worse. Here I was, riding off into the night, chasing down a lead that could blow up in my face. No telling when, or if, I'd make it back.

I shook my head, trying to clear the image of her face from my mind. I couldn't afford distractions, not now. This mission, it was bigger than me, bigger than whatever future I might want with Jenny.

The only way to make sure we even had a chance was to focus, to put all my energy into hunting down this traitor and putting an end to the Russian threat. I had to believe that if I could just get this done, if I could keep the club safe, then maybe, just maybe, I'd have a shot at something more.

The road stretched on, empty and endless, the headlight of my bike cutting through the darkness like a blade. I leaned into the curves, the familiar rush of adrenaline sharpening my senses, pushing back the fatigue, the doubts, the what-ifs.

This was what I was trained for, what I was built for. The hunt, the chase, the knowledge that I was the last line of defense between the club and those who would destroy it.

I accelerated, the engine screaming as I pushed harder, faster, the wind battering against my helmet, my leather jacket. The burner phone was a solid weight in my pocket, a lifeline to the club, to the mission.

Everything else fell away, the past, the future, the could-bes and might-have-beens. All that mattered was the road ahead, the mission, the knowledge that failure was not an option.

I was a lone wolf, a ghost in the night, a brother of the Iron Reapers. And I would not rest until the job was done, until my family was safe.

The darkness swallowed me whole, and I disappeared into the night, ready for whatever lay ahead.

The club was counting on me, and by the founders, I would not let them down.

Yes, there was a girl waiting for me, but now wasn't the time to think about her. Now was the time to ride, to fight, to bleed if necessary.

For the Reapers, I'd do anything. For the club, my brothers, and maybe, just maybe, for a chance at something more.

I gripped the handlebars tighter, my knuckles white, and rode on into the night, a lone figure on a mission that could change everything.