Piston (Iron Reapers MC #2)

Epilogue

EPILOGUE

JENNY

"Breathe, baby, breathe," Piston urges as another contraction ripped through me. His calloused hand grips mine.

I pant, trying to remember the breathing techniques from our half-assed Lamaze class we took a month ago. "Easy for you to say, asshole. You're not the one pushing a goddamn watermelon out of your-"

My words cut off with a groan as the next wave hit. The antiseptic hospital smell burned my nose. Fluorescent lights glared down, too bright. I squeezed my eyes shut, riding it out.

"You got this, Jen. You're the toughest bitch I know."

Despite everything, I barked a strained laugh. Leave it to Piston to keep it real, even now. I drew strength from his gruff encouragement, from the solid warmth of his presence. He'd been my rock these past nine months, stepping up in ways I never imagined.

The contraction eased and I sagged back against the pillows, sweat plastering my hair to my face. Piston brushed it back, his touch surprisingly gentle. "You're doing great, baby. Almost there."

Nurses bustled around, checking monitors, murmuring to each other. I tuned them out, my world narrowing to the man beside me and the life we'd created, eager to enter the world.

"Alright, Jenny, it's time," the doctor announced from between my legs. "On the next contraction, I need you to push."

Tendrils of fear snaked through me, but I shoved them down. I was a biker's old lady, damn it. I could handle this. Piston's hand tightened on mine and I met his gaze, drawing courage from those icy blue eyes.

"Let's do this," I gritted out as the next contraction built. "Let's meet our kid."

The pressure intensified and I bore down, a guttural cry ripping from my throat. Piston leaned in close, his voice fierce with pride and love. "That's it, baby. Push! You're fucking incredible."

I lost myself in a haze of pain and determination, Piston's steady stream of encouragement my lifeline. The doctor barked orders, nurses scurried. Minutes, hours, days could've passed. All I knew was the primal need to push, to bring our child into the world.

"The head is out!" the doctor called. "One more big push, Jenny. You can do this."

Piston's lips brushed my sweaty temple. "You got this, baby. Bring our kid home."

With a final roar of effort, I bore down, every muscle straining. Then, sudden release. A cry pierced the air, strong and indignant.

"It's a girl!"

The doctor lays the tiny bundle on my chest, and the world falls away. She was perfect, from her wrinkled little face to her tiny grasping fingers. Tears streamed freely down my face as I cradled her close.

Piston's hand shook as he reached out to stroke our daughter's downy head. "Christ, Jenny," he rasped, voice thick with emotion. "Look what we made."

I tore my gaze from our baby to meet his eyes, seeing my own joy and wonder reflected back at me. "We did good, Piston. She's... she's everything."

He leaned down, pressing a reverent kiss to the baby's forehead, then captured my lips in a searing kiss that spoke of love, pride, and a fierce, unshakable bond.

A nurse approached, smiling. "Dad, would you like to cut the cord?"

Piston accepted the scissors with uncharacteristic hesitance, his tough exterior melting away as he severed the physical link between me and our child. The nurse whisked the baby away to be weighed and measured, and I ached at the separation.

"Alright, mom, let's get you cleaned up," the doctor said. "You did great."

In a haze of fatigue and elation, I barely registered the rest of the delivery process. All I wanted was my baby back in my arms.

Piston's gruff voice cut through the fog. "Look alive, beautiful. Got someone for you to meet properly."

My head cleared instantly. The room was empty, save for Piston and I. And our daughter. He transferred her carefully into my waiting arms, then perched on the edge of the bed, one arm around me, the other hand cupping the baby's head.

I drank in every detail of her precious face - the rosebud lips, the dusting of dark lashes, the button nose. She blinked open hazy blue eyes and seemed to focus on my face.

"Hey there, little one," I murmured softly. "I'm your mama. And this big guy here? That's your daddy. We love you so damn much already."

Piston's arm tightened around me, and I felt a feather-light kiss on my hair. Gone was the hardened biker, the gruff club enforcer. In his place was a man humbled and awed by the tiny life we'd created.

Together, we sat in comfortable silence, fully absorbing the magnitude of this moment. Our family, forged in love and strengthened by the unbreakable bonds of the Iron Reapers MC, was complete.

I tore my gaze from our daughter to look at Piston. A single tear tracked down his cheek. I reached up to brush it away, my heart so full it felt fit to burst. "You ready for this wild ride, dad?"

He turned to meet my eyes, his own shining with fierce love and determination. "With you two by my side? I'm ready for anything, baby. Anything at all."

"Time to blow this joint," Piston announced, carefully lifting the baby carrier. His eyes darted around, ensuring the coast was clear as we made our way out of the hospital room.

I shuffled alongside him, my body still sore from the delivery. But the discomfort was nothing compared to the overwhelming love and protectiveness I felt for our little girl.

Piston navigated the hallways with the same precision he used when riding his bike. His free hand rested on the small of my back, guiding me forward. "Easy now, Jenn. One step at a time."

I leaned into his touch, drawing strength from his unwavering support. "I'm good, Piston. Let's get our baby girl home."

The ride back was a blur of gentle bumps and hushed whispers as Piston drove with extra care. I sat in the back, my eyes glued to the baby carrier, making sure our daughter was secure.

As we pulled up to the house, Piston killed the engine and turned to face me. "Wait here. Gonna do a quick sweep."

I nodded, understanding his need to ensure our safety. He disappeared inside, and I took a moment to breathe in the familiar scent of home.

Minutes later, Piston emerged, a satisfied look on his face. "All clear. Let's get you two settled."

He helped me out of the car, then reached for the baby carrier. Together, we walked up the path, our steps perfectly in sync.

Once inside, I made a beeline for the couch, sinking into the cushions with a grateful sigh. Piston gently placed the carrier on the coffee table, his eyes never leaving our sleeping daughter.

"I can't believe she's really here," I whispered, my voice thick with emotion.

Piston sat down beside me, his arm draping over my shoulders. "Believe it, baby. We made this perfect little human."

I nestled into his side, my head resting on his chest. The steady thrum of his heartbeat lulled me into a sense of peace and contentment.

"Thank you, Piston. For everything. For being my rock, my partner, my love."

He pressed a kiss to my forehead, his whiskers tickling my skin. "Ain't nothing I wouldn't do for my girls. You two are my whole world."

As we sat there, cocooned in the warmth of our love, I knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, we'd face them together. Our little family, born of the Iron Reapers MC, was ready to take on the world, one ride at a time.

The smell of stale beer and cigarette smoke hit me like a freight train as I step into Perdition. It’s just another night at the clubhouse, but something felt different. The weight of responsibility settled on my shoulders like a heavy cut.

I make my way to the bar, nodding at the familiar faces scattered around the room. Brothers, all of them, bound by the iron in our blood and the patches on our backs.

"Hey, Tank!" Dagger calls out from behind the bar, his gravelly voice cutting through the low hum of conversation. "Glad you're here, man. We got some shit to sort out."

I slid onto a barstool, my elbows resting on the scarred wood. "Lay it on me, brother. What's the situation?"

Dagger leans in, his eyes serious. "We got a couple of prospects causing trouble down at the docks. Stirring up shit with the locals. Gotta nip that in the bud before it blows back on the club."

I nodded, my jaw clenching. "I'll handle it. Have 'em meet me here tomorrow morning. We'll straighten 'em out, Reaper style."

Dagger cracks a smile, his gold tooth glinting in the dim light. "That's what I like to hear, Tank. You're a born leader, man. The club's lucky to have you."

I shrugged off the compliment, but a part of me swelled with pride. This was my family, my purpose. I'd do whatever it took to keep the Iron Reapers strong.

As the night wore on, the clubhouse filled up with more brothers, the air thick with camaraderie and whiskey-fueled laughter. I made my rounds, clapping backs and trading stories, the weight of leadership easing with each interaction.

At one point, I found myself at a table with Cass, the club enforcer. His cold eyes met mine, a silent understanding passing between us. We'd been through hell and back together, our loyalty forged in blood and bullets.

"You're doing good, Tank," Cass said, his voice low and rough. "The club's in good hands with you at the helm."

I clinked my glass against his, the amber liquid sloshing. "We're all in this together, Cass. One family, one fight."

As the hours ticked by and the bottles emptied, I couldn't shake the feeling that something big was on the horizon. A storm brewing, ready to test the mettle of the Iron Reapers.

But whatever came our way, I knew we'd face it head-on, engines roaring and colors flying. Because that's what brothers do. That's the Reaper way.

The door slammed open, the sound cutting through the rumble of conversation like a gunshot. I spun around, instincts on high alert, as a woman stumbled into the clubhouse.

She was a mess, blonde hair tangled and matted, clothes torn and dirty. But it was the wild, desperate look in her eyes that sent a chill down my spine. This wasn't just some drunk party girl who'd wandered in off the streets.

"Help me," she croaked, her voice raw and strained. "Please..."

Before anyone else could react, I was moving, closing the distance between us in a few long strides. I reached her just as her legs gave out, catching her in my arms before she could hit the floor.

She clung to me, fingers digging into my cut, her whole body shaking like a leaf. Up close, I could see the bruises on her face, the dried blood caked around her split lip. Rage boiled up inside me, hot and fierce. Someone had done this to her, and every fiber of my being screamed for retribution.

"I've got you," I murmured, shifting her weight so I could support her better. "You're safe now."

Her head lolled against my chest, eyes fluttering closed. I could feel the eyes of every brother in the room on us, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife.

"Tank?" Cass's voice cut through the silence, a question and a warning all in one.

I met his gaze, my jaw clenched tight. "Get Doc," I said, my tone brooking no argument. "Now."

Cass nodded, already reaching for his phone. I knew he understood the gravity of the situation, the unspoken code that bound us all. When someone came to the Iron Reapers for help, we didn't turn them away.

As I scooped the woman up in my arms, her head resting against my shoulder, I couldn't shake the feeling that this was just the beginning. That somehow, this broken, battered stranger was about to change everything.

But at that moment, none of that mattered. All that mattered was keeping her safe, getting her the help she needed. Because that's what I did. That's who I was.

I was Tank, the Iron Reaper. And I never backed down from a fight, no matter where it led me.

The stairs creaked beneath my boots as I carried her up to my room, her weight barely registering in my arms. She was so damn light, like she hadn't eaten a proper meal in weeks. The thought made my stomach twist, anger simmering just beneath the surface.

I shouldered open the door, careful not to jostle her too much. The room was sparse, just a bed and a dresser, but it would have to do. I laid her down on the mattress, my eyes scanning her body for any sign of serious injury.

"What the hell happened to you?" I muttered, more to myself than to her.

She didn't answer, of course. Just lay there, her chest rising and falling with each shallow breath. I brushed a strand of hair away from her face, my fingers lingering on her cheek for just a moment too long.

A knock at the door jolted me back to reality. I turned to see Doc standing in the doorway, his medical bag in hand.

"Cass filled me in," he said, his voice gruff but not unkind. "Let's take a look at her."

I stepped back, watching as Doc set to work. He checked her pulse, her breathing, his brow furrowed in concentration. I paced the room, my mind racing with questions I had no answers to.

Who was she? What had happened to her? And why the hell did I care so much?

I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts. It didn't matter who she was or where she'd come from. All that mattered was making sure she pulled through.

"She's stable," Doc said finally, straightening up. "But she's going to need rest and fluids. I'll set up an IV."

I nodded, relief washing over me like a wave. "Thanks, Doc. I owe you one."

He waved off my gratitude, already packing up his bag. "Just doing my job," he said. "You know where to find me if anything changes."

And then he was gone, leaving me alone with her once more. I sank down into the chair beside the bed, my eyes never leaving her face.

"Who are you?" I whispered, my voice barely audible over the hum of the air conditioner. "What happened to you out there?"

But she just lay there, lost in a world of her own. And as the minutes ticked by, I found myself making a silent promise.

I would keep her safe. I would find out what had happened to her. And I would make damn sure that whoever had hurt her paid the price.

Because that's what I did. That's who I was.

I was Tank, the Iron Reaper. And I never let anyone down, no matter what it cost me.

The hours ticked by as I sat there, keeping watch over the mysterious woman who'd stumbled into my life. The steady beep of the heart monitor filled the room, a constant reminder that she was still with us, still fighting.

I couldn't explain it, but something about her called to me on a level I'd never experienced before. It was like a pull, a connection that I couldn't shake off. And the longer I sat there, the stronger it grew.

My mind raced with questions, trying to piece together the puzzle of who she was and what had brought her to Perdition. But for now, all I could do was wait and hope that she'd wake up soon.

As the first rays of sunlight started to peek through the blinds, I heard a soft groan from the bed. I leaned forward, my heart pounding in my chest as her eyelids fluttered open.

"Hey," I said softly, not wanting to startle her. "You're safe now. You're at Perdition, the Iron Reapers' clubhouse."

She blinked up at me, confusion and fear clouding her eyes. "Who... who are you?" she croaked, her voice hoarse from disuse.

"I'm Tank," I replied, offering her a reassuring smile. "I'm the one who found you last night. You collapsed in the bar, and I brought you up here to get some help."

She nodded slowly, seeming to process my words. "Thank you," she whispered, her gaze dropping to the IV line in her arm.

"Don't mention it," I said, shrugging off her gratitude. "I'm just glad you're okay."

But even as I spoke the words, I knew that this was just the beginning. Whatever had happened to her, whatever demons she was running from, I was determined to help her face them head-on.

Because that's what I did. That's who I was.