Piston (Iron Reapers MC #2)

Chapter 9

NINE

JENNY

I grip the steering wheel hard, knuckles whitening, as I drive like a madwoman towards Perdition. My mind races faster than the speedometer climbing higher and higher.

Where the hell is Piston? What happened to him? Is he hurt? Is he...

No. I shake my head, refusing to finish that thought. He has to be okay. He just has to be.

Carlie's words echo in my head on repeat. "Jenny, something's happened with Piston. The club is being real hush-hush about it but it sounds serious. You need to get down to Perdition, pronto."

I swing into the dusty lot and screech to a halt, not even bothering to properly park. I'm out of the car in a flash, boots pounding up the steps and bursting through the front doors.

The main room of the clubhouse is dimly lit as always, thick with the haze of smoke and the cloying scent of stale beer and whiskey. My eyes frantically scan the space, searching for a familiar face, anyone who can give me some damn answers.

There. In the back corner. I spot Mason and Dagger, heads bowed close together, locked in serious conversation. A few other Hellfire boys are clustered around the table too, their expressions grim.

I march over, fists clenched at my sides. Mason glances up as I approach, his obsidian eyes unreadable. Dagger shoots me a look I can't quite decipher. Pity? Concern? I don't have time to figure it out.

"Where is he?" I demand, my voice slicing through the tense quiet. "Someone better tell me what the hell is going on with Piston, right now."

The men exchange heavy glances. No one says a word. The silence stretches, pulling taut like a rubber band about to snap. Seconds tick by, each one ratcheting up my frustration to a boiling point.

Finally, Mason clears his throat. He rises to his feet, towering over me. For a moment I think he's going to tell me to get lost, that this is club business.

But then he tips his chin towards the back hallway and gruffly says, "Come on. I'll take you to him."

I suck in a sharp breath and nod. Fear and determination war inside my chest as I fall into step behind Mason, the thud of his heavy boots against the floor mirroring the erratic pounding of my heart.

Please let him be okay, I pray silently as we walk down that dim corridor, dread knotting in my gut with every step. Please, please just let Piston be alive.

The hallway seems to stretch on forever, the soft thud of our footsteps echoing off the dingy walls. My heart races, blood pounding in my ears as a million scenarios run through my head - each one worse than the last.

Mason stops abruptly in front of a closed door. He turns to face me, his expression grim. "Listen, Jenny... Piston's in real bad shape. But he's alive, okay? Just... brace yourself before you go in there."

I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly bone dry. "How bad?"

He shakes his head, jaw clenched tight. "Bad enough."

With that, he unlocks the door and steps aside. I take a deep breath, steeling myself for whatever awaits me on the other side. The room is dimly lit, a single lamp casting shadows across the walls.

And there, lying motionless on the bed, is Piston.

My breath catches in my throat as I take in the sight of him. Bandages cover most of his exposed skin, stark white against the purple-black bruises that mottle his face and arms. His eyes are closed, one swollen shut completely.

"Oh god..." I whisper, my voice cracking. A tear slips down my cheek as I move to his bedside on shaky legs. Gently, I take his hand in mine, careful not to disturb the IV line snaking from his arm.

He looks so broken, so vulnerable lying there. It physically hurts to see him this way - the man I've come to care for, to admire for his strength and resilience, reduced to this.

I brush a strand of hair from his forehead with a trembling hand, my vision blurring with unshed tears. "I'm here," I murmur, though I doubt he can hear me. "I'm right here, Piston. And I swear to god, I'm going to help you through this. Whatever it takes."

In that moment, as the machines beep steadily in the background, I make a silent vow - to Piston, and to myself. I'll be his strength, his rock, for as long as he needs me.

No matter what.

The walk feels endless, each echoing footstep ratcheting up my anxiety another notch. What the hell am I about to see? My mind races, conjuring up worst-case scenarios despite my attempts to stay calm.

Mason's hulking frame leads the way, his broad shoulders taut with tension. He hasn't said a word since we left the main room, but his grim expression spoke volumes.

Abruptly, he stops in front of a nondescript door, turning to face me. His obsidian eyes bore into mine, glinting with an emotion I can't quite place.

"Listen, Jenny." His gravelly voice is low, urgent. "Before we go in, you need to brace yourself. Piston... he's in bad shape. Real bad."

My heart seizes, fear clawing at my throat. "How bad?" I manage to choke out.

Mason's jaw clenches. "He's alive. That's what matters. But he took one hell of a beating. Broken bones, head trauma..." He trails off, shaking his head. "It ain't pretty."

I swallow hard, steeling myself. "I need to see him, Mason."

He searches my face for a long moment, as if gauging my resolve. Finally, he nods. "Alright. Just... prepare yourself, yeah? It's gonna be a shock."

With that, he turns back to the door, his hand on the knob. I take a deep, shuddering breath, my heart pounding against my ribs. This is it. The moment of truth.

As Mason pushes the door open, I send up a silent prayer to whatever god might be listening. Please, let him be okay. Let me be strong enough to handle this.

Then I step into the room, my eyes immediately seeking out the figure on the bed. The sight that greets me knocks the air from my lungs, my knees nearly buckling beneath me.

Oh god, Piston...

The soft glow of the bedside lamp can't hide the brutal reality before me. Piston lies motionless, his body a patchwork of bandages and mottled bruises. One eye is swollen shut, his lip split and crusted with dried blood. His chest rises and falls in shallow, labored breaths, each one seeming to cost him.

I'm frozen, my mind struggling to reconcile this broken man with the strong, vital Piston I know. A choked sob escapes me, tears blurring my vision. This can't be happening. It can't be real.

But it is. The proof is right there, in the stark white of the bandages, the angry red of his wounds. In the stillness of his form, so at odds with his usual coiled energy.

Mason's hand on my shoulder startles me, his touch uncharacteristically gentle. "Take your time," he murmurs. "I'll be right outside if you need me."

I nod, not trusting my voice. I'm dimly aware of him leaving, the door clicking softly shut behind him. But my focus is solely on Piston, on the man I've come to care for more than I ever thought possible.

I move to his side on shaky legs, sinking into the chair beside his bed. Up close, the damage is even more horrific, each wound a silent testament to the hell he's endured. Tears slip down my cheeks unchecked as I reach out, my hand hovering over his.

I'm afraid to touch him, afraid of causing him more pain. But I need to feel him, to reassure myself that he's still here, still fighting.

Gently, so gently, I take his hand in mine. His skin is warm, his calluses familiar against my palm. I stroke my thumb over his knuckles, mindful of the scrapes and bruises.

"I'm here, Piston," I whisper, my voice cracking. "I'm right here. And I'm not going anywhere. We're gonna get you through this, you hear me? You're going to be okay."

I don't know if he can hear me, if he's even aware of my presence. But I keep talking, murmuring words of comfort and encouragement. I tell him how strong he is, how brave. How much he means to me, to all of us.

And as I sit there, clinging to his hand like a lifeline, I make a silent vow. I will do whatever it takes to help him heal, to bring him back from this. I will be his strength, his rock, his reason to keep fighting.

Because he's not just a brother, not just a friend. He's so much more. And I'll be damned if I let him slip away.

So I settle in, preparing for the long haul. For the sleepless nights and the painful days ahead. For the tears and the frustration and the small victories.

I'm in this for the long run. For Piston. For us.

With a deep breath, I reluctantly release Piston's hand and stand up, my legs stiff from sitting for so long. I lean down and press a gentle kiss to his forehead, careful not to disturb the bandages.

"I'll be back soon," I promise him, my voice barely above a whisper. "You rest now, okay? I've got some things to take care of."

I force myself to turn away, to walk out of the room and leave him behind. It feels wrong, like I'm abandoning him. But I know I can't stay here forever. There's work to be done.

As I step out into the hallway, I nearly collide with Mason. He's leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his broad chest. He looks tired, the lines around his eyes more pronounced than usual.

"How is he?" he asks, his voice gruff.

I shake my head, feeling the tears threatening to spill over again. "Not good. He's... he's really hurt, Mason. Why the hell is he here and not in a hospital?"

Mason sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. "It's complicated, Jenny. The club, the cops... it's a mess. We thought it'd be safer to keep him here, where we can protect him."

"Protect him?" I scoff, anger flaring in my chest. "He needs more than protection right now. He needs proper medical care, not some makeshift setup in the back of a biker bar."

Mason pushes off the wall, his expression hardening. "You think we don't know that? You think we wouldn't do anything to make sure he gets the best care possible? This is the only way, Jenny. The only way to keep him safe."

I open my mouth to argue, to demand more answers. But something in Mason's eyes stops me. A flicker of pain, of desperation. And I realize that he's just as scared as I am, just as worried about Piston.

"Fine," I say, my shoulders slumping in defeat. "But I'm not leaving him here. He needs to be in his own bed, in his own home. With people who love him."

Mason nods, a flicker of understanding crossing his face. "We'll make it happen. Whatever he needs, we'll get it for him. I give you my word."

I search his eyes, looking for any hint of deception. But all I see is sincerity, a fierce determination to do right by his brother.

"Okay," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. "Okay. Let's get him home."

Mason turns, his heavy boots echoing down the hallway as he leads me back to the main room of Perdition. My mind races, already making a mental list of everything I'll need to take care of Piston. Bandages, pain meds, maybe even a private nurse if I can swing it.

As we enter the smoky haze of the bar, the conversations around us fall silent. All eyes turn to me, curious and wary. I lift my chin, meeting their gazes head-on. These men might be Piston's brothers, but I'm not about to back down. Not when it comes to his well-being.

Dagger steps forward, his brows furrowed. "What's the verdict, Razor? She taking him home or what?"

Mason nods, his jaw tight. "Yeah, she is. We're gonna make it happen. Get the van ready and round up some supplies. We move out in ten."

A ripple of surprise goes through the room, followed by a buzz of activity as the men spring into action. I stand there, watching them work, a lump forming in my throat. These rough, tough bikers, dropping everything to help one of their own. It's a side of them I've never seen before, a glimpse behind the leather and tattoos.

Mason turns to me, his dark eyes searching mine. "You sure about this, Jenny? It ain't gonna be easy, taking care of him on your own."

I swallow hard, my fingers curling into fists at my sides. "I'm sure. He needs me, Mason. And I'm not about to let him down."

He holds my gaze for a long moment, something like respect flickering in his eyes. Then he nods, a ghost of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Alright then. Let's get our boy home."

I feel a rush of gratitude as Mason turns away, barking orders at his men. They move like a well-oiled machine, gathering supplies and preparing for the move. I take a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves. This is really happening. I'm about to take on the responsibility of caring for Piston, the man I've grown to care for more than I ever thought possible.

As I watch the bikers work, my mind races with the tasks ahead. I'll need to make sure Piston's place is ready for him, that he has everything he needs to recover. It won't be easy, but I'm determined to see it through.

I pull out my phone, my fingers shaking slightly as I dial the number for the salon. When my boss picks up, I take a deep breath and launch into my prepared speech.

"Hey, it's Jenny. Listen, I hate to do this, but I need to take a couple of weeks off. Family emergency." I wince at the half-truth, but I know I can't give her the full story.

There's a pause on the other end of the line, and for a moment I'm afraid she'll say no. But then I hear her sigh, her voice tinged with concern. "Of course, Jenny. Take all the time you need. We'll manage here, don't you worry."

I feel a rush of relief as I thank her and hang up. One down, one to go. I dial the number for the sports bar, steeling myself for the conversation ahead.

It goes much the same as the first. My boss is understanding, telling me to take care of what I need to. I thank him, feeling a weight lift off my shoulders.

I slip my phone back into my pocket just as Mason approaches, his expression serious. "We're ready to move out. You good to go?"

I nod, my heart hammering in my chest. "I'm ready."

He studies me for a moment, his dark eyes unreadable. Then he nods, jerking his head towards the door. "Let's ride."

I follow him out of the clubhouse, my mind whirling with thoughts of the road ahead. I know it won't be easy, taking care of Piston. But as I climb into the van beside him, watching as the bikers secure him for the journey, I feel a sense of purpose settle over me.

I'm ready for this. Ready to face whatever challenges come our way. Because that's what you do when you care about someone. You stand by them, no matter what.

As the van rumbles to life and pulls out onto the road, I take Piston's hand in mine, feeling the warmth of his skin against my palm. And I know, deep down in my bones, that I'm exactly where I'm meant to be.