Page 9 of Piston

"No," I lied, taking a swig of my beer. "I'm over it. Over him."

Carlie raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "Sure you are. That's why you're staring at him like he's the last slice of pizza at a frat party."

I flipped her off, but I couldn't help the grin that tugged at my lips. "Shut up and pass me another drink, will you?"

As the night wore on, the banter and laughter continued to flow, the bonds of brotherhood evident in every interaction. Mason and Tank were engaged in a heated debate over the best route for the next club ride, while Dagger regaled us with yet another tale of narrowly escaping an angry boyfriend.

I leaned back in my chair, a sense of warmth and gratitude washing over me. These men, this club - they were more than just friends. They were my chosen family, the ones who had my back no matter what. I may have had my doubts and insecurities, but in moments like these, I knew I was exactly where I belonged.

As the crowd at Perdition began to thin out, Carlie and I found ourselves alone at the table, nursing the last of our drinks. She reached over and squeezed my hand, her eyes softening with understanding.

"You okay, Jen?" she asked, her voice laced with genuine concern.

I nodded, managing a small smile. "Yeah, I'm good. Just thinking about how crazy this life can be sometimes, you know?"

Carlie chuckled. "Tell me about it. But we've got each other, and we've got the club. That's what matters."

I felt a surge of affection for my best friend, grateful for her unwavering support. "You're right. And you know what? I'm done letting Piston get under my skin. I've got bigger things to focus on."

"Damn straight," Carlie agreed, clinking her bottle against mine. "Like the upcoming charity ride. Are you ready to show these boys how it's done?"

I grinned, feeling a renewed sense of purpose. "Hell yeah, I am. Let's show them what the Iron Reapers' ladies are made of."

We finished our drinks and stood up, arm in arm as we made our way towards the exit. The cool night air hit my face, and I inhaled deeply, feeling a mix of excitement and determination coursing through my veins.

Whatever challenges lay ahead, I knew I had the strength to face them head-on. With my biker family by my side, there was nothing I couldn't handle. I glanced over at Carlie, feeling a rush of gratitude for the bond we shared.

"Thanks for always having my back, Carls," I said, my voice thick with emotion.

She bumped her hip against mine, a mischievous glint in her eye. "That's what sisters are for, Jen. Now let's go kick some ass and show these boys how it's done."

As we walked out into the night, I felt a sense of belonging and purpose that I hadn't experienced in a long time. The Iron Reapers were more than just a motorcycle club - they were my home, my family, and my future. And with them by my side, I knew I could face anything that came my way.

I scanned the crowded bar, my eyes landing on the dance floor. That's when I saw him. Piston. With his arms wrapped around some club whore, her hands all over him like she owned the guy.

What the actual fuck?

I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Piston, the same asshole who'd confused me for a club whore when we first met, was now grinding up against one like it was his job. The hypocrisy made my blood boil.

"Can you believe that shit?" I muttered to Carlie, jerking my chin towards the dance floor.

Carlie followed my gaze and let out a low whistle. "Damn, looks like Piston's getting cozy with the entertainment tonight."

I clenched my jaw, trying to ignore the bitter taste in my mouth. It wasn't like I had any claim on the guy, but still. Seeing him with that whore, after all his big talk about not messing around with them? It stung more than I wanted to admit.

"Thought he was too good for club whores," I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "Guess he changed his tune real quick."

Carlie shrugged. "Men are pigs, Jen. You know that."

I did know that. But somehow, I'd let myself believe that Piston was different. That maybe, just maybe, there was more to him than the tough-guy biker persona he put on for everyone else.

Clearly, I'd been wrong.

As I watched him pull the whore closer, his hands sliding down to grab her ass, I felt a surge of jealousy that I couldn't quite shake. It pissed me off, knowing that I still had feelings for the guy, even after everything he'd put me through.

I hated myself for it, but I couldn't seem to let him go. No matter how hard I tried to convince myself that he was just another asshole biker, my heart refused to listen.

"I need a drink," I said abruptly, tearing my eyes away from the dance floor. "A strong one."

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