Piston (Iron Reapers MC #2)

Chapter 7

SEVEN

JENNY

The Harley's engine rumbles between my legs as I rocket down the highway, wind whipping my hair into a frenzy. My heart beats in rhythm with the bike, a chaotic pulse of anticipation and nerves. After that night with Piston, I can't stop thinking about him. The way his rough hands moved over my skin, surprisingly gentle. The hunger in his eyes when he looked at me. I need to know if it was real, if he felt that connection too.

Perdition's neon sign glows up ahead, a beacon in the night. I pull into the lot, gravel crunching under my tires. The heavy bass of the music thrums through the walls. Home sweet home.

I cut the engine and swing my leg over the seat. Tugging my jacket straight, I take a deep breath, trying to calm the anxious swirl in my gut. Time to see what the night brings.

The smell of stale beer, sweat, and smoke envelops me as I push through the doors. Raucous laughter and clinking bottles mingle with the jukebox belting out Skynyrd. I scan the bar, nodding to a few familiar faces. But something's off - a weird tension hangs in the air.

I shrug it off and elbow my way to the bar. Just need a shot of liquid courage. Maybe two. Then I'll go find Piston and get some answers, one way or another. I'm done playing games. Tonight, I'll find out if this thing between us is the real deal or just another damn dead end.

My eyes dart around the room, searching for that familiar leather cut with the VP patch. The one I've traced with my fingers, felt the heat of his skin through. But there's no sign of Piston.

Disappointment sinks like a stone in my stomach. Where the hell is he? A dozen possibilities race through my mind, each worse than the last. Maybe he's out on a run. Maybe he's with another woman, already forgotten about our night together. Or maybe I just imagined the whole damn thing.

I'm so caught up in my spiraling thoughts, I almost don't notice Mason until he's right in front of me.

"Hey, darlin'." His smile doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Haven't seen you 'round much lately."

"Been busy," I mutter, trying to read his expression. "Hey, you seen Piston tonight?"

Mason's jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. "Nah, not tonight."

He turns to greet a hang-around, effectively ending the conversation. I frown, watching him walk away. Mason's usually the life of the party, always ready with a dirty joke or a flirty wink. But tonight, he seems...distant.

I spot Dagger and Tank by the pool table, nursing beers and talking in low voices. They glance my way, then quickly look away. What the hell?

I make my way over, determined to get some answers. "Boys," I greet them, trying to keep my tone light. "Y'all are shit at pool, you know that?"

Tank snorts. "Like you could do better, J."

But there's no real heat behind the jab. They shift uncomfortably, eyes darting anywhere but my face. The tension is so thick, I could cut it with my knife.

"Alright, what's going on?" I demand, hands on my hips. "Y'all are acting squirrelly as fuck. And where's Piston?"

Dagger and Tank exchange a loaded glance. "Dunno," Dagger says with a shrug. "Haven't seen him."

But I can tell he's lying. They both are. Anger flares hot in my chest. Something's going down, and they're shutting me out. Again.

I'm about to press harder when Carlie waddles over, one hand on her massive baby bump. "There you are, bitch!" she crows. "Get your ass over here, I'm starving and I need someone to make fun of my weird cravings."

I hesitate, torn between the desire to grill the guys and the pleading look on my best friend's face. Shit. Piston will have to wait.

I plaster on a grin and let Carlie drag me away, but my mind is still racing. What the fuck is going on? And why do I have a sinking feeling that it's all about to blow up in my face?

Carlie plops down on the beat-up leather couch, patting the spot beside her. "Park it, bitch. I've got a whole spread here and I need your expert opinion."

I settle in next to her, eyeing the bizarre array of food on the coffee table. Pickles, peanut butter, hot sauce, and... is that a fucking anchovy pizza?

"Damn, girl," I laugh, momentarily distracted from my Piston-related spiral. "You planning on feeding an army with all this?"

"Shut up," Carlie grumbles, reaching for a pickle and dunking it straight into the peanut butter jar. "I'm eating for two now, remember?"

I watch, equal parts fascinated and horrified, as she takes a massive bite. "Yeah, but I'm pretty sure the baby doesn't want anchovy pizza with hot sauce."

"Don't knock it till you've tried it," she mumbles around a mouthful of pickle.

I can't help but smile at her antics. This right here? This is the Carlie I know and love, the one who's been my ride-or-die since we were just a couple of bratty teenagers raising hell.

For a minute, I let myself forget about the weirdness with the guys, about Piston's conspicuous absence. I snag a slice of pizza, yelping when Carlie smacks my hand away from the hot sauce.

"Nuh-uh, bitch," she warns. "That's all mine."

We dissolve into laughter, the kind that makes my ribs ache and tears stream down my face. But even as I lose myself in the moment, I can't shake the nagging sense that something's off.

My eyes keep darting to the door, half-expecting Piston to come swaggering in with that cocky grin of his. But as the minutes tick by and he still doesn't show, a new fear takes root in my gut.

What if he's out there right now with some club whore, letting her put her hands all over him? What if that night we shared, the one that felt so fucking real, didn't actually mean shit to him?

The thought makes me see red. I've been down this road before, and I swore I'd never let myself get played again. Not by Piston, not by anybody.

Carlie must sense the shift in my mood, because she sets down her slice of pizza and levels me with a look. "Alright, spill. What's going on in that head of yours?"

I open my mouth to brush her off, to insist that everything's fine. But the words won't come. Because really, who am I kidding? Carlie knows me better than anyone.

So instead, I take a deep breath and let the truth spill out.

"I just thought..." I start, my voice catching in my throat. "I thought maybe Piston and I had something, you know? After the other night, when we went out for dinner and actually talked. Like, really talked."

Carlie's eyes widen. "Wait, hold up. You went on a date with Piston?"

"Not a date, exactly. But it felt... different. Like maybe there was more to him than just the tough biker act." I shrug, picking at the label on my beer bottle. "Guess I read too much into it."

"Oh, honey." Carlie reaches over and squeezes my hand. "You can't think like that. From what I've seen, Piston's not the type to play games. If he's not here tonight, there's gotta be a reason."

I nod, trying to let her words sink in. But the doubt is still there, gnawing at the edges of my mind.

Carlie must see it on my face, because she suddenly pushes herself up off the couch. "Alright, that's it. We need shots. Stat."

I can't help but crack a smile as she waddles over to the bar, her pregnant belly leading the way. Leave it to Carlie to know exactly what I need.

A few minutes later, she's back with a tray full of shot glasses. "Bottoms up, bitch," she says, handing me one. "Time to stop moping and start having some fucking fun."

I raise my glass in a mock salute. "Yes, ma'am."

The tequila burns going down, but it's a welcome distraction from the thoughts swirling in my head. Carlie and I trade shots and stories, laughing until our sides hurt.

For a little while, at least, I let myself forget about Piston and whatever the hell is going on with him. I focus on the here and now, on the friend by my side and the family I've found in this club.

But even as the night wears on and the alcohol blurs the edges of my mind, I can't quite shake the feeling that something's about to give. Like a storm's brewing on the horizon, and we're all just waiting for it to break.

My eyes flick to the door for what feels like the hundredth time tonight, half hoping to see Piston's familiar figure striding through. But it's just some prospect, his cut so new it practically gleams under the neon lights.

I swallow back the bitter taste of disappointment, forcing a smile as Carlie launches into another story about the joys of pregnancy gas. But even as I laugh along, I can feel the anger starting to simmer in my gut.

Where the fuck is he? If he's off with some club whore after everything that happened between us...

I shake my head, trying to dislodge the thought. I'm being paranoid. Piston's not that kind of guy. At least, I don't think he is.

But then again, what do I really know about him? A few shared meals and one incredible night together doesn't exactly make us soulmates.

Carlie must see something in my expression, because she stops mid-sentence and fixes me with a look. "Okay, spill. What's going on with you and Piston?"

I open my mouth to deny it, but the words won't come. Maybe it's the tequila loosening my tongue, or maybe I'm just tired of keeping it all bottled up inside.

"I don't know," I admit, my fingers tracing the rim of my empty shot glass. "I thought... I thought there might be something there. Between us."

I tell her about the haircut, the dinner, the way Piston opened up to me in a way I'd never seen before. How for one brief, shining moment, it felt like anything was possible.

Carlie listens, her brow furrowed in thought. "I haven't seen him around the past few days," she says slowly. "But there's been some weird shit going on with the club. Hush hush stuff, you know?"

I nod, my stomach clenching. I know all too well the kind of "hush hush" business the MC gets into. The kind that can get a person killed if they ask too many questions.

"You think that's where he is?" I ask, hating the way my voice wavers. "Off on some club thing?"

Carlie shrugs. "Maybe. Or maybe he's just being a typical man and getting cold feet." She reaches over and squeezes my hand. "Either way, don't let it get to you, okay? You're a total catch, and if Piston can't see that, it's his loss."

I force a smile, wishing I could believe her. But the truth is, I'm not sure of anything anymore. Not Piston, not the club, not even myself.

All I know is that I can't sit around pining like some lovesick teenager. I came to Perdition tonight to have a good time, and that's exactly what I'm going to do.

I push to my feet, wobbling only slightly in my heels. "Come on," I say, holding out a hand to Carlie. "Let's dance."

She grins, hauling herself up off the couch with a groan. "Fuck yes. Let's show these boys how it's done."

Together, we make our way to the dance floor, the bass thumping through the soles of my boots. And as I lose myself in the music and the sway of bodies around me, I let everything else fall away.