Page 18 of Piston

As Mason laid out the plan, I tried to focus, shoving down thoughts of missed dinners and broken promises. The club needed me. And I sure as hell wasn't gonna let them down. Not now, not ever.

Dagger leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "I've been digging into Sokolov's operation. Bastard's got his fingers in all sorts of pies - weapons, drugs, human trafficking." He shook his head in disgust. "But he's got a weak spot. His younger brother, Alexei. Kid's a junkie, in deep with the wrong crowd."

I raised an eyebrow. "You thinking we can use Alexei to get to Dmitry?"

"Exactly." Dagger's eyes glinted. "Kid's desperate. A little pressure in the right places, he'll crack like an egg."

Mason grunted in approval. "Alexei could be our ticket inside. But we gotta play this smart. One wrong move, and Sokolov will smell a rat."

I drummed my fingers on the armrest, gears turning. Getting close to Alexei wouldn't be easy, but it was our best shot. And if it meant protecting the club, I'd do whatever it took.

"I'll need a solid cover story," I mused. "Something that'll get me in tight with Alexei's crowd without raising suspicions."

Dagger nodded. "I've got a few ideas. Some of my contacts might be able to help set you up. It won't be a cakewalk, but we'll make it work."

The weight of the mission settled on my shoulders. Infiltrating the Russians, finding the traitor, keeping the club safe - it was a tall order. But this was what I signed up for when I joined the Iron Reapers. We looked out for our own, no matter the cost.

"Alright." I straightened, meeting Mason's gaze. "I'm ready. Just point me in the right direction."

Mason leaned forward, his expression grave. "Here's the deal, Piston. You're going in deep. This mission...it could take weeks. Maybe longer. We can't risk any contact that might blow your cover."

A heavy silence filled the room. I knew what that meant. No contact with the club. No contact with Jenny. The thought twisted like a knife in my gut.

"Burner phone only," Mason continued, sliding a cheap flip phone across the desk. "Emergencies only. Otherwise, you're on your own out there."

I picked up the phone, turning it over in my hands. My lifeline. My only connection to the world I was leaving behind.

Dagger cleared his throat. "You gotta leave tonight. The sooner you establish your cover, the better. We can't afford to waste any time."

Tonight. The word hit like a punch to the jaw. I thought of Jenny, of the dinner we had planned. The future we were just starting to build.

"I understand," I managed, my voice rough. "I'll do whatever it takes. The club comes first."

Mason's expression softened a fraction. "I know it's a lot to ask, Piston. But you're the only one who can pull this off. We're counting on you."

I nodded, swallowing past the lump in my throat. The club was my family. My brothers. I'd walk through fire for them. Even if it meant sacrificing everything else.

"I won't let you down," I vowed. "I'll find the traitor. I'll keep us safe."

Dagger clapped me on the shoulder, his grip fierce. "Give 'em hell, brother. We'll be here, holding down the fort."

I stood, the burner phone heavy in my pocket. The weight of the mission crashed down on me, but I squared my shoulders, ready to carry the load.

My mind flashed to Jenny, her smile, her laugh. The way she made me believe in something more. I shoved the thoughts aside, locking them away. There was no room for distractions. Not now. Not when everything was on the line.

Focused and determined, I turned towards the door, ready to become someone else. Ready to do whatever it took to protect my club, my family.

No matter the cost.

I left Mason's office with a heavy sense of purpose, my boots echoing on the scuffed wooden floor. The familiar sounds and smells of the clubhouse wrapped around me—the low rumble of conversation, the tang of cigarette smoke and whiskey.

Normally, those sensations meant home. Comfort. But now, they only reminded me of what I was about to leave behind.

I made my way through the main room, nodding to a few of my brothers as I passed. They could tell something was up, could see it in the set of my jaw, the tension in my shoulders. But they didn't ask. In the club, you learned quick when to mind your own business.

Grabbing my helmet off the hook by the door, I stepped out into the night. The air was cool against my skin, the moon a pale sliver overhead. I straddled my bike, the worn leather of the seat molding to my body like a second skin.

The engine roared to life, vibrating through my bones. For a moment, I let myself get lost in the sensation, in the raw power thrumming beneath me. This was what I knew. What I was good at. Out here, on the open road, I was in control.

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