Piston (Iron Reapers MC #2)

Chapter 10

TEN

PISTON

The Russian's fist slams into my jaw, snapping my head back. Pain explodes through my skull as I stumble, trying to keep my footing on the blood-slicked concrete. He comes at me again, a mountain of a man, all bulging muscles and cold fury. I barely get my hands up in time to block his next punch.

"Ty ne vyzhivesh', svin'ya!" he snarls. You will not survive, pig.

Fear and rage course through my veins, fueling my counter-attack. I drive my knee into his gut, doubling him over. Following up with an elbow to the back of his head. He grunts in pain but doesn't go down. Straightening up, he grins at me through broken teeth.

"You hit like girl, suka."

With an animalistic roar, I launch myself at him, tackling him to the ground. We grapple savagely, exchanging blows, grunting and cursing. His hands wrap around my throat, iron-hard fingers digging in, cutting off my air. Panic swells in my chest as blackness creeps in at the edges of my vision. I'm going to die here, my blood mixing with the filth on this grimy floor...

I jerk awake with a strangled gasp, my heart jackhammering against my ribs. Disoriented, I blink rapidly, trying to make sense of my surroundings. Dim light filters in through the gaps in the heavy curtains, illuminating the familiar contours of my bedroom. The sheets are tangled around my legs, soaked with sweat.

Shit. Just a dream. Another goddamn nightmare.

As the adrenaline fades, pain slams into me like a freight train. A groan escapes my lips as I take stock of my injuries. Ribs - probably cracked. Head - feels like it's been used as a punching bag. Which, I realize with a bitter chuckle, isn't far from the truth. Last night's brawl at the biker bar comes back to me in vivid flashes. Fists flying, bottles smashing, chaos erupting as the Hellfire Riders clashed with Cassidy's crew.

I need to get up, assess the damage. Gritting my teeth, I struggle to sit up, every movement sending fresh jolts of agony through my battered body.

I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, ignoring the wave of dizziness that washes over me. The floor seems to tilt beneath my feet as I stand, and I stumble, my hand shooting out to grab the nightstand for support. A lamp crashes to the floor, the sound like a gunshot in the quiet room. "Fuck," I mutter, kicking aside the shattered remains.

Each step is a battle as I make my way towards the bathroom, my movements slow and labored. Pain lances through my side with every breath, a stark reminder of the cracked ribs. I bump into the dresser, sending a stack of magazines and an empty beer can clattering to the ground. Frustration boils up inside me, mixed with a hefty dose of vulnerability. I hate feeling weak, hate the way my body betrays me.

A soft knock at the door makes me freeze. "Piston? You okay in there?" Jenny's voice, laced with concern.

Damn it. I don't want her seeing me like this. "Fine," I growl, but the word comes out strained.

The door opens, and Jenny steps inside, her pretty face etched with worry. She takes in the scene - the broken lamp, the scattered magazines, my hunched form - and her eyes widen. "Jesus, Piston. Let me help you."

She reaches for my arm, but I jerk away, anger flaring in my chest. "I don't need your help," I snap, my pride rearing its ugly head. "I can manage on my own."

Jenny flinches at my harsh tone, but she doesn't back down. "Don't be an idiot," she says, her voice firm. "You're hurt, and there's no shame in accepting a little support."

I clench my jaw, torn between the desire to push her away and the longing for comfort. My instincts scream at me to keep her at a distance, to protect her from the darkness that clings to me like a second skin. But there's something about the determination in her eyes, the gentle strength in her presence, that makes me hesitate.

"Why are you even here, Jenny?" I demand, my voice rising. The frustration and pain swirl inside me, threatening to spill over. "You shouldn't be caught up in this mess."

Jenny takes a step closer, unfazed by my outburst. "I'm here because I care about you, you stubborn ass," she says, her words a mix of exasperation and affection. "Whether you like it or not, I'm not going anywhere."

I stare at her, my chest heaving with each labored breath. The sincerity in her gaze chips away at my defenses, and I feel the walls I've so carefully constructed start to crumble. But the fear, the fear of dragging her into the chaos of my world, it's too much to bear.

With a grunt, I push past her, limping towards the bathroom. "Just leave, Jenny," I mutter, my voice low and strained. "You don't belong here."

I slam the bathroom door shut behind me, the sound echoing in the small space. Gripping the edges of the sink, I force myself to look in the mirror. The face staring back at me is a mess - bruised, battered, and broken. The cuts and scrapes mar my skin, a physical reminder of the battles I've fought, both on the outside and within.

But it's the turmoil in my eyes that strikes me the most. The swirling mix of anger, fear, and something else, something I can't quite name. It's the look of a man on the edge, teetering between the light and the darkness, unsure of which way to fall.

I hang my head, my knuckles turning white as I tighten my grip on the sink. The weight of my choices, my actions, it all comes crashing down on me in that moment. The guilt, the regret, the longing for something more, something better.

But I know I don't deserve it. Not after everything I've done, everything I've been through. The life I lead, it's not one that allows for happy endings or fairy tale romances. It's a life of blood and grit, of survival and sacrifice.

And yet, even as I try to convince myself of that, my thoughts drift back to Jenny. To the warmth in her smile, the fire in her eyes. She's a beacon of light in the darkness, a reminder of the goodness that still exists in this fucked-up world.

But I can't let her in. I can't let her see the demons that haunt me, the scars that run deeper than the ones on my skin. She deserves better than that, better than me.

With a shaky breath, I straighten up, ignoring the pain that shoots through my body. I turn on the faucet, splashing cold water on my face, trying to wash away the doubts and the fears.

But even as the water drips down my chin, I know it's a futile effort. The past, the memories, they cling to me like a second skin, refusing to let go.

The bathroom door creaks as I push it open, the sound echoing through the silent apartment. Jenny stands in the bedroom, her arms crossed, a bottle of water and a handful of pills in her grasp. Her eyes meet mine, a mix of determination and concern swirling in their depths.

"Here," she says, holding out the offerings. "You need to take these."

I want to refuse, to push her away like I did before. But the throbbing in my head and the ache in my muscles won't let me. Wordlessly, I take the water and the pills, swallowing them down in one gulp.

Jenny watches me, her lips pressed together in a thin line. I can feel the tension radiating off her, the unspoken words hanging in the air between us.

I lower myself onto the bed, the springs creaking beneath my weight. The sheets are tangled, a reminder of the restless night I've had.

Jenny lingers by the bed, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. I can tell she wants to say something, but she's holding back. Probably afraid of setting me off again.

The silence stretches on, the only sound the ticking of the clock on the wall. I stare at the ceiling, trying to ignore the weight of Jenny's gaze on me.

Finally, she speaks. "Piston, I know you're hurting. I know you're going through some shit. But pushing me away, shutting me out... it's not going to make it any better."

I clench my jaw, my fingers curling into fists at my sides. She's right, damn it. But admitting that means facing the truth, means confronting the demons that haunt me.

"I don't need your pity," I growl, the words coming out harsher than I intended.

Jenny flinches, but she doesn't back down. "It's not pity, you idiot. It's called caring. It's called being there for someone you..."

She trails off, biting her lip. I can see the frustration in her eyes, the hurt that my words have caused.

"Someone you what?" I prompt, my heart hammering in my chest.

But Jenny just shakes her head, a sad smile on her face. "Forget it. Just... just get some rest, okay? I'll be in the living room if you need anything."

She turns to go, her footsteps soft on the carpet. I watch her retreating back, a lump forming in my throat.

I want to call out to her, to tell her to stay. But the words stick in my throat, choking me.

The door closes behind her with a soft click, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I sink back against the pillows, my eyes drifting shut.

But even as exhaustion tugs at me, pulling me towards sleep, I can't shake the feeling that I've just made a terrible mistake. That by pushing Jenny away, I've lost something I can never get back.

Jenny's hand rests on the doorknob, her shoulders tense. I can see the hurt in the way she holds herself, the way her fingers tremble slightly. She sighs, a sound that cuts through the silence like a knife.

"I can't keep doing this, Piston," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. "I can't keep watching you destroy yourself."

I clench my jaw, my pride warring with the part of me that knows she's right. "I'm not asking you to stay."

She turns then, her eyes flashing with anger. "You're not asking me to do anything. That's the problem. You never let anyone in, never let anyone help you."

I look away, unable to hold her gaze. The truth in her words stings, but I can't bring myself to admit it.

"Just go," I mutter, my voice gruff.

Jenny's hand tightens on the doorknob, her knuckles turning white. For a moment, I think she's going to argue, to fight back. But then her shoulders slump, defeat etched in every line of her body.

"Fine," she says, her voice flat. "If that's what you want, I'll go. But don't expect me to come running back the next time you need someone to pick up the pieces."

The words hang in the air between us, heavy with finality. I watch as she opens the door, as she steps out into the hallway.

"Jenny..." Her name escapes my lips before I can stop it, a plea and a prayer all in one.

She pauses, her back to me. For a heartbeat, I think she might turn around, might come back. But then she's gone, the door closing behind her with a soft click.

I stare at the closed door, my chest tight. The room feels colder without her in it, emptier. I know I should go after her, should apologize, should beg her to stay.

But I don't. I can't. Because as much as I want her here, as much as I need her, I know that I'm not good for her. That my life, my world, will only drag her down.

So I let her go, even as every fiber of my being screams at me to chase after her. I let her walk out of my life, knowing that it's the only way to keep her safe.

Even if it means tearing my own heart out in the process.

I sink back onto the bed, my body aching with every movement. The pain in my ribs is nothing compared to the ache in my chest, the hollow feeling that Jenny's absence has left behind.

I close my eyes, but all I can see is the hurt in her eyes, the way her lips trembled as she tried to hold back her tears. I did that. I put that pain there.

And for what? To protect her? To keep her safe from the dangers of my world?

I let out a bitter laugh, the sound harsh in the empty room. Who am I kidding? I pushed her away because I'm a coward. Because I'm too damn scared to let her in, to let her see the broken pieces of my soul.

I've spent so long building up these walls, these defenses. I've convinced myself that I'm better off alone, that I don't need anyone. But the truth is, I do need her. I need her like I need air to breathe.

But I can't have her. I can't let her into this life, can't let her become a target. I've seen what happens to the people I care about, the danger they're put in just by being close to me.

I won't let that happen to Jenny. I won't let my enemies use her to get to me. I won't let her become collateral damage in my war.

So I'll let her hate me. I'll let her think I'm a heartless bastard who doesn't give a damn about her. It's better that way. Better for her to be angry than to be dead.

I roll onto my side, wincing at the pain that shoots through my body. The bed feels too big without her, too empty. I reach out, my fingers brushing against the pillow where her head should be.

I'm doing the right thing, I tell myself. I'm protecting her. But the words ring hollow in my ears, a flimsy justification for my own cowardice.

I close my eyes, willing sleep to come, to take me away from this pain, this guilt. But sleep is a long time coming, and when it finally does, it's filled with nightmares of Jenny walking away, of me watching her go, powerless to stop her.

The nightmare shifts, and suddenly I'm not watching Jenny walk away anymore. I'm watching her run, her eyes wide with terror as she looks back over her shoulder.

She's in an alley, dark and narrow, the kind of place you don't want to be alone at night. But she is alone, and she's running from something, someone.

I try to call out to her, to tell her to run to me, that I'll keep her safe. But my voice is stuck in my throat, and all I can do is watch as a shadowy figure gains on her, reaching out with grasping hands.

She stumbles, falls, and the figure is on her in an instant, pinning her to the ground. I can hear her screams, see the fear in her eyes as she struggles against her attacker.

I'm running now, my feet pounding against the pavement as I try to reach her. But no matter how fast I run, I can't seem to get any closer. It's like I'm running in place, helpless to do anything but watch.

The attacker's face comes into view, and I feel my blood run cold. It's the Russian, the one from my earlier dream, his eyes glinting with malice as he looks up at me.

"You can't save her," he sneers, his accent thick and heavy. "You can't save anyone."

I lunge forward, my fist drawn back to strike. But before I can make contact, the scene dissolves, and I'm back in my bed, my heart racing and my skin slick with sweat.

I sit up, my head in my hands as I try to catch my breath. It was just a dream, I tell myself. Jenny's safe, she's not in danger.

But the fear won't leave me, the image of her terrified face burned into my mind. I can't shake the feeling that something bad is going to happen, that by pushing her away, I've put her in even more danger.

I reach for my phone, my fingers hovering over her number. I want to call her, to tell her I'm sorry, that I didn't mean what I said. But I hesitate, the words of the Russian echoing in my head.

You can't save her. You can't save anyone.

I put the phone down, my hand shaking. I'm not sure what to do, how to keep her safe. All I know is that the thought of losing her is worse than any physical pain I've ever endured.

I lie back down, my eyes fixed on the ceiling as I try to come up with a plan. But my mind is a mess, my thoughts jumbled and incoherent.

As I drift off into a restless sleep, one thing becomes clear: I can't let anything happen to Jenny. No matter what it takes, no matter what I have to do, I'll keep her safe.

Even if it means losing her forever.