Page 51 of Piston

This is bad. Really fucking bad.

Jenny's heart threatened to pound its way out of her chest as she sobbed into her hands, shoulders quaking with each racked breath. The conversation she'd just overheard replaying in her mind: Piston's betrayal of the Russians, the lives at stake. Fear gripped her like icy talons, digging in deep with every beat of her frantic heart.

She knew too much now, she realized with dawning dread. And Piston, sweet, oblivious Piston, was in more danger than he could ever know. And here she was, useless and tied up in the darkness, unable to do a damn thing to help either of them.

The weight of helplessness pressed down on her, suffocating her cries as she wept. Wiping her nose on her sleeve, she tried to collect herself, but it was no use. Tears spilled over again, hot and unrelenting. She'd never felt more vulnerable in her life, more at the mercy of forces beyond her control.

Jenny's sobs were the only sounds in the musty room until the door flew open, startling her into a breathless silence. Harsh light flooded the space, blinding her tear-filled eyes. The captors' shadows loomed menacingly against the wall, their curses like whips on her already frayed nerves.

One of them grabbed her by the back of her shirt, yanking her to her feet so roughly that her sneakers skidded across the filthy floor. As the hood fell away from her head, revealing her puffy, tear-stained face, she stared into the impassive eyes of theone who'd grabbed her. The coldness in his gaze, the lack of any shred of humanity, chilled her to her core.

"She's a fucking mess," he sneered, and in that moment , Jenny realized her worst fears had come true.

One of the thugs grabs a fistful of my hair, yanking my head back so hard I swear he's gonna rip it clean off. I let out a yelp, the sound muffled by the duct tape.

"Looks like this ?????? ???? could use a real man to show her a good time," he sneers, rank breath hot against my ear. The others laugh, a chorus of cruel snickers that sends ice through my veins.

No. No no no. This can't be happening. I thrash against my bonds, kicking out blindly. My foot connects with something solid and there's a grunt of pain. A fleeting moment of satisfaction before a blow to my stomach knocks the wind right out of me.

I wheeze, gasping for air that won't come. Thick fingers paw at my chest, groping and squeezing. Tears leak from the corners of my eyes, mixing with snot and saliva. The humiliation burns almost as much as the lack of oxygen.

"???????? ?? ???!" one of them barks. "Boss said not to damage the goods."

"?? ????? ??," the thug snarls back. "I'm just having a little fun."

His weight presses down on top of me, smothering, suffocating. Panic claws at my throat as his hands roam lower, tugging at the waistband of my jeans. I buck and twist, but it's useless. He's too strong, too heavy.

This is it. This is how it ends. Me, violated and discarded like a piece of trash. Piston will never know how much I...

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Gunshots. Loud and close. The thug on top of me goes rigid, eyes bulging. Blood sprays across my face, warm and sticky. He slumps forward, dead weight crushing me.

I scream, raw and primal. The tape muffles it into a strangled wheeze. Oh God. Oh fuck. I can't breathe. Can't think. This isn't real. Wake up, Jenny. Wake up!

The body slides sideways and thumps to the floor beside me. I suck in a desperate breath, chest heaving. My ears ring from the gunfire. Blinking rapidly, I thrash against my restraints, not caring how the plastic bites into my wrists. Gotta get free. Gotta run.

Heavy boots pound across the concrete, charging straight toward me. A large shape looms out of the darkness. Panic surges through my veins. I shriek behind the gag and flinch away, eyes slamming shut. This is the end. They're going to kill me too.

"Jenny! Baby, it's me!"

That voice. I know that growling rasp.

My eyes fly open. Piston drops to his knees and hauls the dead man off of me, flinging him aside like a ragdoll. Even in the dim light, I can see the pure rage contorting his face. He's splattered with blood, chest rising and falling rapidly.

"I got you," he says gruffly, yanking a knife from his belt. "You're safe now."

The blade flashes as he slices through the zip ties. I watch, not quite processing, as he tosses them away and reaches for the tape on my mouth. His hands tremble slightly as he peels it off as gently as possible. The next thing I see is Piston using the bottom of his tshirt to wipe the blood from my face.

"Piston," I rasp, finding my voice. "You came. You really came."

Fresh tears spill down my face. I don't try to hold them back. The relief is too intense, mingling with the residual terrorstill coursing through me. Piston carefully helps me sit up and pulls me into his arms. I bury my face against his leather cut, breathing in the familiar scent of whiskey, smoke, and motor oil.

"'Course I came," he mumbles into my hair. "Ain't nothing that could keep me away. Not when you needed me."

His strong arms wrap around me, one hand cupping the back of my head. I fist my hands in his shirt and let the sobs overtake me. Great, heaving things that shake my whole body. Piston just holds me tighter, rocking us slowly.

"I got you," he repeats softly, over and over. "I got you, darlin'. You're okay. I'm here now. I'm so damn sorry, Jenny. This is all my fault."

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