Page 25 of Piston

NINE

JENNY

I gripthe steering wheel hard, knuckles whitening, as I drive like a madwoman towards Perdition. My mind races faster than the speedometer climbing higher and higher.

Where the hell is Piston? What happened to him? Is he hurt? Is he...

No. I shake my head, refusing to finish that thought. He has to be okay. He just has to be.

Carlie's words echo in my head on repeat. "Jenny, something's happened with Piston. The club is being real hush-hush about it but it sounds serious. You need to get down to Perdition, pronto."

I swing into the dusty lot and screech to a halt, not even bothering to properly park. I'm out of the car in a flash, boots pounding up the steps and bursting through the front doors.

The main room of the clubhouse is dimly lit as always, thick with the haze of smoke and the cloying scent of stale beer and whiskey. My eyes frantically scan the space, searching for a familiar face, anyone who can give me some damn answers.

There. In the back corner. I spot Mason and Dagger, heads bowed close together, locked in serious conversation. A fewother Hellfire boys are clustered around the table too, their expressions grim.

I march over, fists clenched at my sides. Mason glances up as I approach, his obsidian eyes unreadable. Dagger shoots me a look I can't quite decipher. Pity? Concern? I don't have time to figure it out.

"Where is he?" I demand, my voice slicing through the tense quiet. "Someone better tell me what the hell is going on with Piston, right now."

The men exchange heavy glances. No one says a word. The silence stretches, pulling taut like a rubber band about to snap. Seconds tick by, each one ratcheting up my frustration to a boiling point.

Finally, Mason clears his throat. He rises to his feet, towering over me. For a moment I think he's going to tell me to get lost, that this is club business.

But then he tips his chin towards the back hallway and gruffly says, "Come on. I'll take you to him."

I suck in a sharp breath and nod. Fear and determination war inside my chest as I fall into step behind Mason, the thud of his heavy boots against the floor mirroring the erratic pounding of my heart.

Please let him be okay, I pray silently as we walk down that dim corridor, dread knotting in my gut with every step. Please, please just let Piston be alive.

The hallway seems to stretch on forever, the soft thud of our footsteps echoing off the dingy walls. My heart races, blood pounding in my ears as a million scenarios run through my head - each one worse than the last.

Mason stops abruptly in front of a closed door. He turns to face me, his expression grim. "Listen, Jenny... Piston's in real bad shape. But he's alive, okay? Just... brace yourself before you go in there."

I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly bone dry. "How bad?"

He shakes his head, jaw clenched tight. "Bad enough."

With that, he unlocks the door and steps aside. I take a deep breath, steeling myself for whatever awaits me on the other side. The room is dimly lit, a single lamp casting shadows across the walls.

And there, lying motionless on the bed, is Piston.

My breath catches in my throat as I take in the sight of him. Bandages cover most of his exposed skin, stark white against the purple-black bruises that mottle his face and arms. His eyes are closed, one swollen shut completely.

"Oh god..." I whisper, my voice cracking. A tear slips down my cheek as I move to his bedside on shaky legs. Gently, I take his hand in mine, careful not to disturb the IV line snaking from his arm.

He looks so broken, so vulnerable lying there. It physically hurts to see him this way - the man I've come to care for, to admire for his strength and resilience, reduced to this.

I brush a strand of hair from his forehead with a trembling hand, my vision blurring with unshed tears. "I'm here," I murmur, though I doubt he can hear me. "I'm right here, Piston. And I swear to god, I'm going to help you through this. Whatever it takes."

In that moment, as the machines beep steadily in the background, I make a silent vow - to Piston, and to myself. I'll be his strength, his rock, for as long as he needs me.

No matter what.

The walk feels endless, each echoing footstep ratcheting up my anxiety another notch. What the hell am I about to see? My mind races, conjuring up worst-case scenarios despite my attempts to stay calm.

Mason's hulking frame leads the way, his broad shoulders taut with tension. He hasn't said a word since we left the main room, but his grim expression spoke volumes.

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