Page 28 of Piston

PISTON

The Russian'sfist slams into my jaw, snapping my head back. Pain explodes through my skull as I stumble, trying to keep my footing on the blood-slicked concrete. He comes at me again, a mountain of a man, all bulging muscles and cold fury. I barely get my hands up in time to block his next punch.

"Ty ne vyzhivesh', svin'ya!" he snarls. You will not survive, pig.

Fear and rage course through my veins, fueling my counter-attack. I drive my knee into his gut, doubling him over. Following up with an elbow to the back of his head. He grunts in pain but doesn't go down. Straightening up, he grins at me through broken teeth.

"You hit like girl, suka."

With an animalistic roar, I launch myself at him, tackling him to the ground. We grapple savagely, exchanging blows, grunting and cursing. His hands wrap around my throat, iron-hard fingers digging in, cutting off my air. Panic swells in my chest as blackness creeps in at the edges of my vision. I'm going to die here, my blood mixing with the filth on this grimy floor...

I jerk awake with a strangled gasp, my heart jackhammering against my ribs. Disoriented, I blink rapidly, trying to make sense of my surroundings. Dim light filters in through the gaps in the heavy curtains, illuminating the familiar contours of my bedroom. The sheets are tangled around my legs, soaked with sweat.

Shit. Just a dream. Another goddamn nightmare.

As the adrenaline fades, pain slams into me like a freight train. A groan escapes my lips as I take stock of my injuries. Ribs - probably cracked. Head - feels like it's been used as a punching bag. Which, I realize with a bitter chuckle, isn't far from the truth. Last night's brawl at the biker bar comes back to me in vivid flashes. Fists flying, bottles smashing, chaos erupting as the Hellfire Riders clashed with Cassidy's crew.

I need to get up, assess the damage. Gritting my teeth, I struggle to sit up, every movement sending fresh jolts of agony through my battered body.

I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, ignoring the wave of dizziness that washes over me. The floor seems to tilt beneath my feet as I stand, and I stumble, my hand shooting out to grab the nightstand for support. A lamp crashes to the floor, the sound like a gunshot in the quiet room. "Fuck," I mutter, kicking aside the shattered remains.

Each step is a battle as I make my way towards the bathroom, my movements slow and labored. Pain lances through my side with every breath, a stark reminder of the cracked ribs. I bump into the dresser, sending a stack of magazines and an empty beer can clattering to the ground. Frustration boils up inside me, mixed with a hefty dose of vulnerability. I hate feeling weak, hate the way my body betrays me.

A soft knock at the door makes me freeze. "Piston? You okay in there?" Jenny's voice, laced with concern.

Damn it. I don't want her seeing me like this. "Fine," I growl, but the word comes out strained.

The door opens, and Jenny steps inside, her pretty face etched with worry. She takes in the scene - the broken lamp, the scattered magazines, my hunched form - and her eyes widen. "Jesus, Piston. Let me help you."

She reaches for my arm, but I jerk away, anger flaring in my chest. "I don't need your help," I snap, my pride rearing its ugly head. "I can manage on my own."

Jenny flinches at my harsh tone, but she doesn't back down. "Don't be an idiot," she says, her voice firm. "You're hurt, and there's no shame in accepting a little support."

I clench my jaw, torn between the desire to push her away and the longing for comfort. My instincts scream at me to keep her at a distance, to protect her from the darkness that clings to me like a second skin. But there's something about the determination in her eyes, the gentle strength in her presence, that makes me hesitate.

"Why are you even here, Jenny?" I demand, my voice rising. The frustration and pain swirl inside me, threatening to spill over. "You shouldn't be caught up in this mess."

Jenny takes a step closer, unfazed by my outburst. "I'm here because I care about you, you stubborn ass," she says, her words a mix of exasperation and affection. "Whether you like it or not, I'm not going anywhere."

I stare at her, my chest heaving with each labored breath. The sincerity in her gaze chips away at my defenses, and I feel the walls I've so carefully constructed start to crumble. But the fear, the fear of dragging her into the chaos of my world, it's too much to bear.

With a grunt, I push past her, limping towards the bathroom. "Just leave, Jenny," I mutter, my voice low and strained. "You don't belong here."

I slam the bathroom door shut behind me, the sound echoing in the small space. Gripping the edges of the sink, I force myself to look in the mirror. The face staring back at me is a mess - bruised, battered, and broken. The cuts and scrapes mar my skin, a physical reminder of the battles I've fought, both on the outside and within.

But it's the turmoil in my eyes that strikes me the most. The swirling mix of anger, fear, and something else, something I can't quite name. It's the look of a man on the edge, teetering between the light and the darkness, unsure of which way to fall.

I hang my head, my knuckles turning white as I tighten my grip on the sink. The weight of my choices, my actions, it all comes crashing down on me in that moment. The guilt, the regret, the longing for something more, something better.

But I know I don't deserve it. Not after everything I've done, everything I've been through. The life I lead, it's not one that allows for happy endings or fairy tale romances. It's a life of blood and grit, of survival and sacrifice.

And yet, even as I try to convince myself of that, my thoughts drift back to Jenny. To the warmth in her smile, the fire in her eyes. She's a beacon of light in the darkness, a reminder of the goodness that still exists in this fucked-up world.

But I can't let her in. I can't let her see the demons that haunt me, the scars that run deeper than the ones on my skin. She deserves better than that, better than me.

With a shaky breath, I straighten up, ignoring the pain that shoots through my body. I turn on the faucet, splashing cold water on my face, trying to wash away the doubts and the fears.

But even as the water drips down my chin, I know it's a futile effort. The past, the memories, they cling to me like a second skin, refusing to let go.

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