Page 22 of Piston

Carlie must see it on my face, because she suddenly pushes herself up off the couch. "Alright, that's it. We need shots. Stat."

I can't help but crack a smile as she waddles over to the bar, her pregnant belly leading the way. Leave it to Carlie to know exactly what I need.

A few minutes later, she's back with a tray full of shot glasses. "Bottoms up, bitch," she says, handing me one. "Time to stop moping and start having some fucking fun."

I raise my glass in a mock salute. "Yes, ma'am."

The tequila burns going down, but it's a welcome distraction from the thoughts swirling in my head. Carlie and I trade shots and stories, laughing until our sides hurt.

For a little while, at least, I let myself forget about Piston and whatever the hell is going on with him. I focus on the here and now, on the friend by my side and the family I've found in this club.

But even as the night wears on and the alcohol blurs the edges of my mind, I can't quite shake the feeling thatsomething's about to give. Like a storm's brewing on the horizon, and we're all just waiting for it to break.

My eyes flick to the door for what feels like the hundredth time tonight, half hoping to see Piston's familiar figure striding through. But it's just some prospect, his cut so new it practically gleams under the neon lights.

I swallow back the bitter taste of disappointment, forcing a smile as Carlie launches into another story about the joys of pregnancy gas. But even as I laugh along, I can feel the anger starting to simmer in my gut.

Where the fuck is he? If he's off with some club whore after everything that happened between us...

I shake my head, trying to dislodge the thought. I'm being paranoid. Piston's not that kind of guy. At least, I don't think he is.

But then again, what do I really know about him? A few shared meals and one incredible night together doesn't exactly make us soulmates.

Carlie must see something in my expression, because she stops mid-sentence and fixes me with a look. "Okay, spill. What's going on with you and Piston?"

I open my mouth to deny it, but the words won't come. Maybe it's the tequila loosening my tongue, or maybe I'm just tired of keeping it all bottled up inside.

"I don't know," I admit, my fingers tracing the rim of my empty shot glass. "I thought... I thought there might be something there. Between us."

I tell her about the haircut, the dinner, the way Piston opened up to me in a way I'd never seen before. How for one brief, shining moment, it felt like anything was possible.

Carlie listens, her brow furrowed in thought. "I haven't seen him around the past few days," she says slowly. "But there's beensome weird shit going on with the club. Hush hush stuff, you know?"

I nod, my stomach clenching. I know all too well the kind of "hush hush" business the MC gets into. The kind that can get a person killed if they ask too many questions.

"You think that's where he is?" I ask, hating the way my voice wavers. "Off on some club thing?"

Carlie shrugs. "Maybe. Or maybe he's just being a typical man and getting cold feet." She reaches over and squeezes my hand. "Either way, don't let it get to you, okay? You're a total catch, and if Piston can't see that, it's his loss."

I force a smile, wishing I could believe her. But the truth is, I'm not sure of anything anymore. Not Piston, not the club, not even myself.

All I know is that I can't sit around pining like some lovesick teenager. I came to Perdition tonight to have a good time, and that's exactly what I'm going to do.

I push to my feet, wobbling only slightly in my heels. "Come on," I say, holding out a hand to Carlie. "Let's dance."

She grins, hauling herself up off the couch with a groan. "Fuck yes. Let's show these boys how it's done."

Together, we make our way to the dance floor, the bass thumping through the soles of my boots. And as I lose myself in the music and the sway of bodies around me, I let everything else fall away.

EIGHT

PISTON

Crouched behind a rusty dumpster,my eyes lock onto the shadowy figure in the distance. Intel says that's the Russian rat who sold out the club. My fingers twitch, ready to pull the trigger and paint the alley with his brains.

But even now, with vengeance coursing through my veins, Jenny's face flickers in my mind. Her warm laugh, the way her eyes crinkle when she smiles at me. Damn it, focus Piston. You gotta do this and make it back to her in one piece.

I shake my head, trying to clear the image of Jenny's lips on mine. I'm doing this for her - for us. So we can ride off into the sunset without looking over our shoulders. The life I want to build with her, it ain't gonna happen if I don't take care of business here and now.

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