Piston by Andi Rhodes

Chapter Ten

_{Why is it so hard for her to believe that I’m just a good man who does questionable things?}

Piston

As Holland moves past me and into the shop, I can’t help but inhale her scent. It’s a cross between vanilla and something fruity. The combination is intoxicating.

I lock the door behind us and shove my hands in my pockets. When Holland first looked at me through the window of her vehicle, she had tears on her cheeks. I wanted to reach through the glass and wipe them away. The urge was so unfamiliar and unexpected I covered it up with anger and annoyance.

“I really am sorry I’m late.”

I lock eyes with her and realize I’m not going to be able to hold onto that false anger for another second. She looks too vulnerable and… defeated.

“I figure Infinite Motors is as good a place as any to start.” I smirk. “This is one of those benefits to the club I mentioned… the ones I said I’d figure out later. Big shot reporter writing about the shop will be good for business.”

Holland huffs out a breath and shakes her head.

“What?”

“Nothing, it’s just…” She averts her gaze and takes a deep breath. When she expels the air, her shoulders slump. “I just got some bad news before I came, and I guess I haven’t exactly processed it.”

I take a few steps toward her. “Wanna talk about it?”

Her head whips up as if startled by the suggestion. I guess it makes sense. I haven’t exactly put my best foot forward with her. I haven’t had any reason to, but now… now maybe I do.

“Listen,” I begin and take another step forward. “We made a deal to work together which means we’ll be spending a lot of time with each other. Things don’t have to be controversial every second.”

Holland opens and closes her mouth several times. It’s clear she has something to say and I’m not quite sure why she’s holding it in. I move past her to the door that serves as the last barrier between what she thinks she knows and what is reality.

When I open it, she stands rooted in place.

“Aren’t you even a little curious about what lurks in the dark?”

“The last time I followed you through a door I ended up in the Soulless Kings’ version of Hell. I’m fine here, thanks.”

I shrug, giving the impression that I couldn’t care less. In reality, I want her to follow me. I want her to see the side of me that I’m proud of. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve got heaps of pride when it comes to the club, but I can’t share that part of me with everyone.

I step through the door and flip on the light. I kick down the doorstop so it will remain open and then I connect my phone’s Bluetooth to the sound system Fender had installed in the workshop. Lynyrd Skynyrd’s “Simple Man” flows through the speakers.

I don’t know how many songs play or how much time passes, but eventually I see Holland in the doorway. Her arms are crossed over her chest and she’s watching me with unchecked curiosity.

She reminds me of a small animal who’s been abandoned on the side of the road and is wary of the person who pulls over to help. She wants to believe I’m good, that I’m not the monster she’s imagined, but she doesn’t know how to trust me.

Why is that, Holland? Why is it so hard for you to believe that I’m just a good man who does questionable things?

Maybe because you’ve threatened her more than you’ve treated her with any sort of respect or kindness.

“I take it Infinite Motors is owned by the club,” she says, pulling me from my internal argument.

“It is,” I confirm.

“Who are Christopher and Charlotte?”

“Who?”

“Did you really think I wouldn’t do some research before I came? I looked at the business registration records, and Infinite Motors is owned by two individuals named Christopher and Charlotte.”

I grin. “Right. Sorry, I’m not used to hearing given names all that often.” I toss the wrench in my hand on the workbench. “Chris is Fender. He’s the club president. Charlotte, or Charlie as we call her, is his ol’ lady.”

“So what’s your real name?”

I stare at her as I debate whether or not to give her that information. My name isn’t a secret, not by any means. But I always hold that information back from women. It gives them something to latch onto, a reason to believe that there are feelings where none exist.

But Holland’s different.

“Sam,” I finally respond. “My name is Sam.”

“Huh.”

I narrow my eyes at her. “Huh? What’s ‘huh’ supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, you just don’t look like a Sam to me.”

“And what do I look like?”

She tilts her head and smiles slightly. “Piston.”

“Oh.”

Holland walks toward me but stops about two feet away. “You were wrong earlier.”

“About what?”

“When you called me a big shot reporter.” Her smile slips. “I was but that seems like a lifetime ago.”

“How so?”

Regret flashes across her face and she waves away my question. “Can we talk about something else? Please?”

“Yeah, we could. But something tells me you want to talk about it. You are the one who brought it up.” I step toward her and rest a hand on her shoulder. She tenses but her muscles quickly relax. “More importantly, if we shift to another topic, you won’t get what you need. Remember, I talk, you talk.”

“I remember.”

“I figured.” My lips tip up into a grin and I drop my arm. “I have an idea but you’re gonna have to trust me.” Suspicion dampens her expression. “I promise it won’t be anything illegal and you’ll love it.”

Holland seems to think about it for a minute before she nods. “Okay.”

I walk to the back door and shove it open. She follows. After shutting off the lights and locking the door, we make our way to my Harley. Holland stops a few feet away.

“I’m not getting on that thing.”

I whip my head in her direction. “Yeah, you are.”

She shakes her head. “No. I’ll just follow you to wherever you’re taking me.”

“Are you scared?”

“What? No.” She wrings her hands in front of her. “I, um… no, I’m not scared of the motorcycle.”

“Holy shit, you are scared.” A smirk forms on my lips. “And here I thought you were fearless.”

For a moment, I worry that I pushed too far but then a blush creeps into her cheeks and all that worry disappears. And when she stomps the rest of the way to my bike and throws a leg over, I realize I pushed just enough.

Holland glares at me. “Well, are you coming? Or are you scared now?”

Laughter bursts from me and it takes every ounce of self-control to sober. When I do, I notice the way her eyes are narrowed in annoyance and her arms are crossed over her chest.

“I’m gonna give you the first piece of information about me for free.”

She arches a brow.

“I don’t get scared, sweet cheeks. I do the scaring.” I straddle the bike in front of her and glance over my shoulder. “Better hold on.”

Holland scoots closer and wraps her arms around me. When I take off out of the parking lot, her hold tightens, and I feel her cheek press into my back. I don’t normally let chicks on the back of my bike. It gives them ideas, especially if they’re familiar with MC life. But Holland is different.

And that is the one thing that scares the shit out of me.

I drive toward the coast so she can experience the beauty of it like I do, like my brothers do. We aren’t riding for long before she taps me on the side and points toward the ocean. I pull over into a lookout spot and park.

Without a word, Holland gets off my Harley, walks toward the edge of the cliff and spreads her arms wide while tipping her head back. A smile spreads across her face and she looks almost otherworldly. Certainly not like she belongs with the likes of me.

I walk and stand next to her. She doesn’t acknowledge my presence for several minutes as she soaks up the sun. For a brief moment, I can almost pretend that this is right, that us here, in this place, in this time, are right.

“I forgot how much I missed this.” Holland drops her arms and turns to face me, her smile slipping. “There aren’t views like this in the Middle East.”

Middle East?

I have so many questions, but I don’t put voice to any of them. “No, I don’t imagine there are.”

Holland sits down in the mixture of gravel and dirt and crosses her legs. “Why did you bring me here?” she asks.

That’s a good question.

“Honestly, I don’t know. It seemed like a good idea.”

“But why?”

I contemplate how to respond as I sit down next to her. “You said you got bad news and then you seemed upset.” I shrug. “Coming here is one of the things that calms my mind and I guess I was hoping that it would do the same thing for you.”

Holland twists to look at me. “One of the things?”

“Yeah,” I say with a self-deprecating laugh. “It was either this or finding some asshole to take to the Nightmare Room. Figured this was the better option.”

“The Nightmare Room… is that where we were last night?”

I nod.

“I’m glad you chose this then.”

“So, wanna talk about whatever upset you?”

She takes a deep breath and turns to look back out over the ocean. “It was just a stupid phone call.” She pulls her knees into her chest and wraps her arms around them. “Gary got another job overseas and—”

“Who the fuck is Gary?” I growl, completely aware that the jealousy that flared at the mention of another man is insane.

“He is...” She darts her eyes from the ocean to me and then back again. “He was my coworker.”

“Oh.”

“Anyway, we worked together before I came back to the States. You said something about me being a big shot reporter and I was… over there. But then my dreams got put on hold and I had to come home.” The longer she talks, the sadder her tone becomes. “I guess there was a part of me that hoped I’d get to go back. Deep down, I knew that wouldn’t happen. All the wishing and hoping in the world doesn’t mean shit when there are outside forces at work.”

I try to wrap my head around what she’s saying, but her thoughts are so disjointed that I’m having trouble.

“What was your dream? Why did you have to put it on hold? Why can’t you go back?”

Holland chuckles. “One question at a time. My dream was to be a journalist, to cover stories that no one else wanted to cover. I wanted to be the best in a world where my success wasn’t the result of my last name or my father’s money.”

“And you did that?”

“Yeah, I did.” She stretches her legs out and leans back on outstretched arms. She rolls her neck to face me. “I’ll show you my work sometime. If you want.”

“I’d like that.” The second the words are out of my mouth, I realize they’re the truth. I’m not just blowing smoke up her ass or trying to manipulate her so she’ll stick to our deal. I genuinely want to learn all I can about her. “Why did you put your dream on hold?”

“My father got sick.” She swallows. “Cancer. My mom died of it when I was young and I couldn’t do anything to help her, so when I got the call about my father, I hopped on the first plane.”

“I’m sorry. I know that’s rough.” And I do know, more than I want to. “Both my parents died when I was ten.” My throat threatens to clog up at the mention of my parents. “It wasn’t cancer, but it was still awful.”

“What hap—”

My phone rings, cutting her off. I flash her an apologetic smile and answer it.

“Yo?”

“You need to get back to the clubhouse.”

Fender’s tone is infused with steel. I glance at Holland and see her watching me inquisitively. I don’t want to cut the evening short, but if she’s going to learn about the club, this is part of it.

“I’m thirty minutes out but on my way,” I say as I stand.

I end the call and reach my arm down to help Holland to her feet. When her hand rests in mine, electricity shoots through me and I shove it down. There’s no time for physical reactions or the exploration of them.

“I gotta get to the clubhouse and I don’t have time to drop you back off at your car.”

I practically drag her along with me to the Harley and we both get on. I fire up the engine and Holland’s arms come around me.

“You can take me later,” she says with conviction. “I’m sure I can sit at the bar while you handle whatever it is you have to handle.”

And just like that, our connection shifts into something that takes me way past fear and into the realm of the terrifying. Because in this moment, Holland is reacting exactly like an ol’ lady reacts.

No questions. Simple acceptance that I have to do what I have to do, regardless of whether or not it interrupts something I’d rather be doing.