Page 52 of Piston

The anguish in his voice cuts straight to my heart. I pull back enough to meet his eyes, vision blurred with tears. He looks wrecked, face drawn and eyes haunted. I've never seen him so vulnerable.

"Piston, no," I manage to choke out. "You saved me."

He shakes his head, jaw clenched tight. "I put you in danger in the first place. If anything happened to you, I'd never forgive myself. I love you too fucking much to let anyone hurt you."

The words hang in the air between us. He said it. He finally said it. A small, broken sound escapes me. I reach up to cradle his face in my hands.

"I love you too," I whisper fiercely. "So much. Please, just get me out of here."

Piston nods and presses a kiss to my forehead. Then he stands, scooping me up into his arms like I weigh nothing. I loop my arms around his neck and tuck my face into his shoulder.

"I got you," he says one more time. "Let's go home."

As he carries me out of that hellhole, I let his strength seep into me. The danger isn't over. We both know that. But wrapped in Piston's embrace, I finally let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, everything will be alright.

Piston carries me out of the dark, damp room and into the harsh light of day. I squint against the sudden brightness, burying my face further into his neck. His scent, leather and smoke and something uniquely him, fills my nose. It's the smell of safety, of home.

He doesn't stop moving until we reach his bike. Only then does he set me down, keeping one arm wrapped securely around my waist. I lean into him, legs shaky and weak.

"Let's get you on the bike, baby," he murmurs, his free hand coming up to brush the hair out of my face. "I'll take you back to the clubhouse. You'll be safe there."

I nod, not trusting my voice. He helps me onto the back of the bike before swinging his leg over and settling in front of me. I wrap my arms around his middle and press myself against his back, molding my body to his.

The engine roars to life beneath us, and then we're flying. The wind whips my hair back as we race down the open road. Piston drives fast, like he's trying to outrun the demons chasing us. I don't mind. The speed, the adrenaline, it makes me feel alive. Like I can finally breathe again.

We don't talk on the ride back. There's too much to say, and not enough words to say it. But the silence isn't heavy. It's comforting, like a warm blanket on a cold night.

When we finally pull up to the clubhouse, Piston kills the engine and twists around to look at me. His eyes search my face, like he's trying to memorize every detail.

"Jenny, I..." he starts, then stops. Swallows hard. "I meant what I said back there. I love you. I know I'm not good enough for you, but I promise I'll spend every day trying to be the man you deserve."

Tears prick at my eyes again. I lean forward, pressing my forehead against his. "You already are," I whisper. "I don't want anyone else. Just you."

He kisses me then, soft and sweet and full of promise. And for a moment, the rest of the world falls away. It's just us, two broken souls finding solace in each other.

When we finally break apart, Piston helps me off the bike and leads me into the clubhouse. The other members of the MC are there, their faces drawn with worry. But when they see us, the tension breaks. They swarm around us, clapping Piston on the back and pulling me into fierce hugs.

"We've got you now, little sister," one of them says gruffly. "Ain't nobody gonna hurt you again."

And looking around at these rough, tough men, I believe it. They're my family now. My protectors. With them, and with Piston by my side, I know I can face anything.

Even the long road to healing that stretches out before me.

EIGHTEEN

JENNY

I siton the edge of my bed, staring blankly at the wall. The past few months keep replaying in my mind like some twisted highlight reel I can't shut off. Meeting Piston, falling for him hard and fast, getting sucked into his world of leather and chrome and danger. What the hell was I thinking? A kindergarten teacher playing house with the VP of the Devil's Wrath MC? I must've lost my damn mind.

A soft knock on the door barely registered. Carlie poked her head in, her blonde curls framing a face etched with concern. "Hey, Jen. Mind if I come in?"

I shrugged, not taking my eyes off the wall. The bed dipped as she sat beside me, her arm sliding around my shoulders. The simple gesture threatened to shatter the fragile hold I had on my emotions. I leaned into her, drawing strength from her presence.

We sat like that for a while, not speaking. Carlie always knew when to push and when to just be there. I was grateful for that now more than ever.

"I don't know if I can do this, Carlie," I finally said, my voice barely above a whisper. "This life, with Piston, it's...it's insane.The club, the danger, never knowing if he's going to come home in one piece or in a body bag."

A shudder rippled through me at the thought. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block out the image of Piston lying broken and bloody somewhere.

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