Page 4 of Piston

But do I really? The thought gives me pause. I love my independence, the thrill of being untethered. Could I really give that up for a man, even a biker?

I shake my head, pushing the thought aside. It isn’t about giving anything up—it’s about finding someone who gets me, who can keep up with my wild side and still be my rock.

“Hey, Jenny!” A gruff voice pulls me from my musings. I look up to see Bobby, one of the regulars, waving me over.

“What’s up, Bobby?” I ask, sauntering over with a smirk. “Need another beer to cry into?”

He barks out a laugh. “Nah, just wanted to say thanks. You always know how to keep this place lively.”

I grin, warmth spreading through my chest. “Aw, you’re gonna make me blush.”

“I mean it,” he says, his tone turning serious. “It wouldn’t be the same without you.”

“Thanks, Bobby. That means a lot.”

As I move on to the next patron, his words of appreciation ring in my ears, giving me a little pep in my step.

As the last patron stumbles out the door, I let out a sigh of relief. Another night in the books. I grab a rag and start wiping down the bar, the familiar motions soothing my tired muscles.

“Jenny!” Carlie’s voice cuts through the quiet, and I look up to see her waddling toward me, one hand on her pregnant belly.

“Hey, mama,” I grin, tossing the rag aside and pulling her into a hug. “What are you still doing here?”

She shrugs, a contented smile on her face. “Just wanted to check in on my best friend before heading home.”

I lean against the bar, studying her. She’s practically glowing, and it’s not just the pregnancy. “You’re really happy, aren’t you?”

Carlie nods, her eyes softening. “I am, Jen. I never thought I could have this, you know? A good man, a baby on the way...”

“I want that,” I blurt out before I can stop myself. “What you and Mason have, I mean. Not the baby part. Not yet, anyway.”

She raises an eyebrow, a knowing look on her face. “You’ll find it, Jenny. I know you will. You’re too damn stubborn not to.”

I laugh, feeling lighter than I have all night. “Damn straight.”

We chat for a few more minutes before Carlie heads out, her old lady duties calling. I watch her go, a pang of longing hitting my chest. Someday, I tell myself. Someday.

The ride home is a blur. When I climb the stairs to my apartment, the events of the day play back in my mind like a movie reel.

Snipping hair, pouring drinks, laughing with the club members—it’s a good life. A full life. But as I unlock my door and step inside, the emptiness of my apartment hits me like a punch to the gut.

I want more. I want someone to come home to, someone to share my dreams with. And I know, with a certainty that settles deep in my bones, that I won’t stop until I find it.

I kick off my boots and collapse onto the couch, a smile playing at the corners of my lips. Tomorrow’s a new day, full of possibilities. And I’m ready for whatever it has in store.

TWO

PISTON BLACKSTONE

The dingy wallsof my apartment close in on me like a goddamn coffin. I shift in the creaky wooden chair, my back aching from another day of riding. The half-empty bottle of Jack stares back at me, begging to numb the memories that won't quit. Some nutjob drones on about lizard people in the government on the podcast, but I can't focus for shit.

Just got back from a run for the club, delivering a "package" up north. The kind of job that keeps the cash flowing but eats away another piece of your soul. Can't shake the images - the pleading eyes, the sound of bones snapping. It's enough to make a grown man puke his guts out. But weakness ain't an option in this life. You bury that shit deep and keep moving.

I take a swig straight from the bottle, welcoming the burn. Memories of my army days flash like muzzle flashes in my mind. The screams of my buddies as bullets tore through them. The weight of their dog tags in my hand as I sent them home in boxes. And for what? So some suits could play their political chess games?

Fuck, I need to get out of my own head. The road is the only thing that helps, the rumble of the engine drowning outthe noise. But even that's just a temporary fix, a bandaid on a gushing wound. This life, it marks you, stains your soul until you can't recognize yourself in the mirror anymore.

The podcast cuts to a commercial, something about dick pills. I turn it off and toss back another shot. Gotta be ready for whatever the club needs next. This is the only family I got left. The only thing that gives me purpose, even if it's just being another cog in the machine.

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