Piston (Iron Reapers MC #2)

Chapter 17

SEVENTEEN

JENNY

My head's pounding fiercely as I come to, a rough fabric sack scratching my face. I blink a few times but it's no use, I can't see a damn thing through this thick black cloth. The air is hot, making it hard to breathe.

Muffled voices reach my ears as the fog in my brain starts to clear. Men's voices, angry and gruff. I strain to listen, a pit forming in my gut.

"- goddamn biker scum! I knew we couldn't trust that piece of shit Piston!" one of them snarls in a thick Russian accent.

"Boss said to get the girl, make him pay. We have her now, он за это заплатит!" another voice chimes in menacingly.

Shit. This ain't good. Piston...what the hell did you get yourself into this time? Fear grips my chest as I realize just how much danger we're both in. Tears prick my eyes behind the suffocating hood but I blink them back. Can't let these bastards see me cry.

The men continue arguing in Russian, their tones growing more heated by the second. I don't need to understand the words to know they're out for blood. Piston's blood. Because of me.

God, how did I end up here? Tied up God knows where while my old man's enemies plot to hurt him, hurt everyone he cares about. Including me. I want to scream, kick, fight my way out of this mess, but I'm trussed up tighter than a turkey at Thanksgiving. The helplessness crushes down on me, stealing my breath.

All I can do is sit here in the dark, praying to whoever's listening that Piston finds me before it's too late. For both our sakes.

A choked sob escapes my throat, muffled by the duct tape. I can't stop shaking, my body trembling like a damn leaf as the reality of the situation sinks in. I'm completely at their mercy and there's not a fucking thing I can do about it.

Hot tears slip down my cheeks, soaking into the rough fabric of the hood. I try to hold them back, but it's no use. They flow faster, my chest heaving with silent cries.

"Заткнись!" one of them barks, followed by the sharp sting of a hand across my face. My head snaps to the side, cheek throbbing. "Shut up or I'll give you something to really cry about."

I bite down hard on the inside of my cheek, tasting blood. Anything to keep from making another sound. Can't show weakness, not now. Gotta stay strong. For Piston. For myself.

But God, it's so hard when all I want is to curl up in his arms and pretend none of this is happening. I've never felt so alone, so completely fucking terrified in my entire life.

The tears keep coming, no matter how much I will them to stop. Each one feels like a betrayal, proof of just how weak and pathetic I am. Some old lady I'm turning out to be.

I just pray Piston gets here soon, before these sick bastards decide to do more than just smack me around. The thought makes my stomach turn, bile rising in my throat.

Please hurry, baby. I don't know how much more of this I can take.

Suddenly, my world tilts as one of them grabs me by the back of my shirt, yanking me to my feet. The hood falls away from my head, and I blink against the harsh light.

"She's a fucking mess," one of them sneers, and I see him, the leader. His eyes are cold, devoid of any empathy. My heart pounds in my chad, and I know, I know, I'm in so much trouble.

This is bad. Really fucking bad.

Jenny's heart threatened to pound its way out of her chest as she sobbed into her hands, shoulders quaking with each racked breath. The conversation she'd just overheard replaying in her mind: Piston's betrayal of the Russians, the lives at stake. Fear gripped her like icy talons, digging in deep with every beat of her frantic heart.

She knew too much now, she realized with dawning dread. And Piston, sweet, oblivious Piston, was in more danger than he could ever know. And here she was, useless and tied up in the darkness, unable to do a damn thing to help either of them.

The weight of helplessness pressed down on her, suffocating her cries as she wept. Wiping her nose on her sleeve, she tried to collect herself, but it was no use. Tears spilled over again, hot and unrelenting. She'd never felt more vulnerable in her life, more at the mercy of forces beyond her control.

Jenny's sobs were the only sounds in the musty room until the door flew open, startling her into a breathless silence. Harsh light flooded the space, blinding her tear-filled eyes. The captors' shadows loomed menacingly against the wall, their curses like whips on her already frayed nerves.

One of them grabbed her by the back of her shirt, yanking her to her feet so roughly that her sneakers skidded across the filthy floor. As the hood fell away from her head, revealing her puffy, tear-stained face, she stared into the impassive eyes of the one who'd grabbed her. The coldness in his gaze, the lack of any shred of humanity, chilled her to her core.

"She's a fucking mess," he sneered, and in that moment , Jenny realized her worst fears had come true.

One of the thugs grabs a fistful of my hair, yanking my head back so hard I swear he's gonna rip it clean off. I let out a yelp, the sound muffled by the duct tape.

"Looks like this старая сука could use a real man to show her a good time," he sneers, rank breath hot against my ear. The others laugh, a chorus of cruel snickers that sends ice through my veins.

No. No no no. This can't be happening. I thrash against my bonds, kicking out blindly. My foot connects with something solid and there's a grunt of pain. A fleeting moment of satisfaction before a blow to my stomach knocks the wind right out of me.

I wheeze, gasping for air that won't come. Thick fingers paw at my chest, groping and squeezing. Tears leak from the corners of my eyes, mixing with snot and saliva. The humiliation burns almost as much as the lack of oxygen.

"Оторвись от нее!" one of them barks. "Boss said not to damage the goods."

"Да пошел ты," the thug snarls back. "I'm just having a little fun."

His weight presses down on top of me, smothering, suffocating. Panic claws at my throat as his hands roam lower, tugging at the waistband of my jeans. I buck and twist, but it's useless. He's too strong, too heavy.

This is it. This is how it ends. Me, violated and discarded like a piece of trash. Piston will never know how much I...

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Gunshots. Loud and close. The thug on top of me goes rigid, eyes bulging. Blood sprays across my face, warm and sticky. He slumps forward, dead weight crushing me.

I scream, raw and primal. The tape muffles it into a strangled wheeze. Oh God. Oh fuck. I can't breathe. Can't think. This isn't real. Wake up, Jenny. Wake up!

The body slides sideways and thumps to the floor beside me. I suck in a desperate breath, chest heaving. My ears ring from the gunfire. Blinking rapidly, I thrash against my restraints, not caring how the plastic bites into my wrists. Gotta get free. Gotta run.

Heavy boots pound across the concrete, charging straight toward me. A large shape looms out of the darkness. Panic surges through my veins. I shriek behind the gag and flinch away, eyes slamming shut. This is the end. They're going to kill me too.

"Jenny! Baby, it's me!"

That voice. I know that growling rasp.

My eyes fly open. Piston drops to his knees and hauls the dead man off of me, flinging him aside like a ragdoll. Even in the dim light, I can see the pure rage contorting his face. He's splattered with blood, chest rising and falling rapidly.

"I got you," he says gruffly, yanking a knife from his belt. "You're safe now."

The blade flashes as he slices through the zip ties. I watch, not quite processing, as he tosses them away and reaches for the tape on my mouth. His hands tremble slightly as he peels it off as gently as possible. The next thing I see is Piston using the bottom of his tshirt to wipe the blood from my face.

"Piston," I rasp, finding my voice. "You came. You really came."

Fresh tears spill down my face. I don't try to hold them back. The relief is too intense, mingling with the residual terror still coursing through me. Piston carefully helps me sit up and pulls me into his arms. I bury my face against his leather cut, breathing in the familiar scent of whiskey, smoke, and motor oil.

"'Course I came," he mumbles into my hair. "Ain't nothing that could keep me away. Not when you needed me."

His strong arms wrap around me, one hand cupping the back of my head. I fist my hands in his shirt and let the sobs overtake me. Great, heaving things that shake my whole body. Piston just holds me tighter, rocking us slowly.

"I got you," he repeats softly, over and over. "I got you, darlin'. You're okay. I'm here now. I'm so damn sorry, Jenny. This is all my fault."

The anguish in his voice cuts straight to my heart. I pull back enough to meet his eyes, vision blurred with tears. He looks wrecked, face drawn and eyes haunted. I've never seen him so vulnerable.

"Piston, no," I manage to choke out. "You saved me."

He shakes his head, jaw clenched tight. "I put you in danger in the first place. If anything happened to you, I'd never forgive myself. I love you too fucking much to let anyone hurt you."

The words hang in the air between us. He said it. He finally said it. A small, broken sound escapes me. I reach up to cradle his face in my hands.

"I love you too," I whisper fiercely. "So much. Please, just get me out of here."

Piston nods and presses a kiss to my forehead. Then he stands, scooping me up into his arms like I weigh nothing. I loop my arms around his neck and tuck my face into his shoulder.

"I got you," he says one more time. "Let's go home."

As he carries me out of that hellhole, I let his strength seep into me. The danger isn't over. We both know that. But wrapped in Piston's embrace, I finally let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, everything will be alright.

Piston carries me out of the dark, damp room and into the harsh light of day. I squint against the sudden brightness, burying my face further into his neck. His scent, leather and smoke and something uniquely him, fills my nose. It's the smell of safety, of home.

He doesn't stop moving until we reach his bike. Only then does he set me down, keeping one arm wrapped securely around my waist. I lean into him, legs shaky and weak.

"Let's get you on the bike, baby," he murmurs, his free hand coming up to brush the hair out of my face. "I'll take you back to the clubhouse. You'll be safe there."

I nod, not trusting my voice. He helps me onto the back of the bike before swinging his leg over and settling in front of me. I wrap my arms around his middle and press myself against his back, molding my body to his.

The engine roars to life beneath us, and then we're flying. The wind whips my hair back as we race down the open road. Piston drives fast, like he's trying to outrun the demons chasing us. I don't mind. The speed, the adrenaline, it makes me feel alive. Like I can finally breathe again.

We don't talk on the ride back. There's too much to say, and not enough words to say it. But the silence isn't heavy. It's comforting, like a warm blanket on a cold night.

When we finally pull up to the clubhouse, Piston kills the engine and twists around to look at me. His eyes search my face, like he's trying to memorize every detail.

"Jenny, I..." he starts, then stops. Swallows hard. "I meant what I said back there. I love you. I know I'm not good enough for you, but I promise I'll spend every day trying to be the man you deserve."

Tears prick at my eyes again. I lean forward, pressing my forehead against his. "You already are," I whisper. "I don't want anyone else. Just you."

He kisses me then, soft and sweet and full of promise. And for a moment, the rest of the world falls away. It's just us, two broken souls finding solace in each other.

When we finally break apart, Piston helps me off the bike and leads me into the clubhouse. The other members of the MC are there, their faces drawn with worry. But when they see us, the tension breaks. They swarm around us, clapping Piston on the back and pulling me into fierce hugs.

"We've got you now, little sister," one of them says gruffly. "Ain't nobody gonna hurt you again."

And looking around at these rough, tough men, I believe it. They're my family now. My protectors. With them, and with Piston by my side, I know I can face anything.

Even the long road to healing that stretches out before me.