Page 59 of Piston

I nodded, understanding his need to ensure our safety. He disappeared inside, and I took a moment to breathe in the familiar scent of home.

Minutes later, Piston emerged, a satisfied look on his face. "All clear. Let's get you two settled."

He helped me out of the car, then reached for the baby carrier. Together, we walked up the path, our steps perfectly in sync.

Once inside, I made a beeline for the couch, sinking into the cushions with a grateful sigh. Piston gently placed the carrier on the coffee table, his eyes never leaving our sleeping daughter.

"I can't believe she's really here," I whispered, my voice thick with emotion.

Piston sat down beside me, his arm draping over my shoulders. "Believe it, baby. We made this perfect little human."

I nestled into his side, my head resting on his chest. The steady thrum of his heartbeat lulled me into a sense of peace and contentment.

"Thank you, Piston. For everything. For being my rock, my partner, my love."

He pressed a kiss to my forehead, his whiskers tickling my skin. "Ain't nothing I wouldn't do for my girls. You two are my whole world."

As we sat there, cocooned in the warmth of our love, I knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, we'd face them together. Our little family, born of the Iron Reapers MC, was ready to take on the world, one ride at a time.

The smell of stale beer and cigarette smoke hit me like a freight train as I step into Perdition. It’s just another nightat the clubhouse, but something felt different. The weight of responsibility settled on my shoulders like a heavy cut.

I make my way to the bar, nodding at the familiar faces scattered around the room. Brothers, all of them, bound by the iron in our blood and the patches on our backs.

"Hey, Tank!" Dagger calls out from behind the bar, his gravelly voice cutting through the low hum of conversation. "Glad you're here, man. We got some shit to sort out."

I slid onto a barstool, my elbows resting on the scarred wood. "Lay it on me, brother. What's the situation?"

Dagger leans in, his eyes serious. "We got a couple of prospects causing trouble down at the docks. Stirring up shit with the locals. Gotta nip that in the bud before it blows back on the club."

I nodded, my jaw clenching. "I'll handle it. Have 'em meet me here tomorrow morning. We'll straighten 'em out, Reaper style."

Dagger cracks a smile, his gold tooth glinting in the dim light. "That's what I like to hear, Tank. You're a born leader, man. The club's lucky to have you."

I shrugged off the compliment, but a part of me swelled with pride. This was my family, my purpose. I'd do whatever it took to keep the Iron Reapers strong.

As the night wore on, the clubhouse filled up with more brothers, the air thick with camaraderie and whiskey-fueled laughter. I made my rounds, clapping backs and trading stories, the weight of leadership easing with each interaction.

At one point, I found myself at a table with Cass, the club enforcer. His cold eyes met mine, a silent understanding passing between us. We'd been through hell and back together, our loyalty forged in blood and bullets.

"You're doing good, Tank," Cass said, his voice low and rough. "The club's in good hands with you at the helm."

I clinked my glass against his, the amber liquid sloshing. "We're all in this together, Cass. One family, one fight."

As the hours ticked by and the bottles emptied, I couldn't shake the feeling that something big was on the horizon. A storm brewing, ready to test the mettle of the Iron Reapers.

But whatever came our way, I knew we'd face it head-on, engines roaring and colors flying. Because that's what brothers do. That's the Reaper way.

The door slammed open, the sound cutting through the rumble of conversation like a gunshot. I spun around, instincts on high alert, as a woman stumbled into the clubhouse.

She was a mess, blonde hair tangled and matted, clothes torn and dirty. But it was the wild, desperate look in her eyes that sent a chill down my spine. This wasn't just some drunk party girl who'd wandered in off the streets.

"Help me," she croaked, her voice raw and strained. "Please..."

Before anyone else could react, I was moving, closing the distance between us in a few long strides. I reached her just as her legs gave out, catching her in my arms before she could hit the floor.

She clung to me, fingers digging into my cut, her whole body shaking like a leaf. Up close, I could see the bruises on her face, the dried blood caked around her split lip. Rage boiled up inside me, hot and fierce. Someone had done this to her, and every fiber of my being screamed for retribution.

"I've got you," I murmured, shifting her weight so I could support her better. "You're safe now."

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