Piston by Andi Rhodes

Chapter Eleven

_{Piston is everything I shouldn’t want, everything I should run from, as fast and as far as I can.}

Holland

“What can I get ya?”

I slide onto the barstool and try like hell to get my head to stop spinning. I was enjoying my time with Piston. I shouldn’t have been. He’s a job. But he’s also a man who sparks something in me that I’m not at all sure how to handle.

“I don’t suppose you’ve got any red wine?”

“As a matter of fact, we do.”

The bartender walks to the other end of the bar and comes back with a liquor bottle and a shot glass. I read the label and see that it’s tequila. She fills the shot glass to the brim and slides it toward me.

“This isn’t wine,” I remark and want to call back the words when she smirks at me.

“No shit, hun.” She chuckles and it’s raspy like a pack-a-day smoker. “But you looked like you could use something a bit stronger.”

Realizing she’s right, I tip the shot glass to my lips and gulp down the tequila. It burns a path through my body, and when I swallow the last bit, I scrunch up my face.

“Not much of a tequila fan?”

“Nope.”

“Didn’t think so.” She reaches for something under the counter and pulls out a bottle of red wine and a wine glass. As she pours me a healthy dose, she keeps talking. “I’m Margo. My husband is Burly. He’s in church right now, but I’ll introduce you after.”

Church? It’s Saturday night and these people don’t exactly strike me as the religious type.

I take a sip of the wine and savor the flavor. No cheap wine for the Soulless Kings. This shit is the good stuff.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Holland.”

“I know who you are,” she replies. “I’ve followed your work for the last few years.”

“You have?”

Margo cackles as she pulls a pack of Marlboro Reds from her top and sticks one between her lips. After she lights it and takes a drag, she says, “Don’t look so shocked, Hun. You’re a damn good journalist. Only person I trust to give me the news of all the bullshit overseas.”

“Oh, well… thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. We may be a secretive bunch, especially the guys, but credit is given where credit is due. And you, my dear, are a damn genius.” She laughs again. “Leave it to someone with a vagina to show them how it’s done in a male-dominated field.”

“I like you, Margo.” I lift my glass in a mock salute and take another sip.

“Margo isn’t who you need to worry about.”

I whirl around at the voice and see a woman standing there with her arms crossed over her chest. She’s wearing tight jeans and a black tank top with an orange skull design that matches the one on the back of Piston’s cut. She’s also sporting a scowl and a giant chip on her shoulder.

“Oh can it, Merry,” Margo snaps, pulling my attention back to her. “Don’t mind her, Hun. She’s a Bangin’ Betty who seems to have forgotten her place.” She looks over my shoulder. “I know he’s always a good lay, but Piston has never made any promises to you. It would be wise of you to remember that because something tells me he wouldn’t appreciate you scaring off his girl.”

“Oh, no, I’m not…” The protest dies on my lips at Margo’s narrowed eyes.

“Go do what you do best, Merry, and spread your legs for another brother.”

“Fuck you, Margo,” Merry shouts and stomps away like a two-year-old throwing a temper tantrum.

“Sorry about that,” Margo says and pours another shot of tequila. “Here, drink this.”

I don’t argue with her. I down the shot and slam the empty glass onto the bartop.

“What the hell was that all about?”

“What, her?” Margo tips her head in the direction of Merry. “You’d do well to ignore her.”

“What’s a Bangin’ Betty?”

Margo throws her head back and laughs. When she sobers, her expression becomes thoughtful. “Do you want the on the record answer?”

I think about her question. Of course the reporter in me wants everything I learn to be on the record, but I’m beginning to realize that I’ll get more if it’s off the record. Besides, Piston is going to have to approve what gets printed, so what’s the harm in getting all the nitty gritty details?

Finally, I shake my head. “Off the record.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.” Margo grins. “A Bangin’ Betty is a club whore. Ya know, a bitch that hangs around and waits for a brother to fuck her. They’re good girls, for the most part. Meredith—Merry-go-round is her nickname—she’s a little more persistent than the others. Sleeps with anything with two legs and a cock, doesn’t respect wedding rings. She has a thing for Piston. And he’s too damn nice for his own good.”

“Wait, so she’s slept with Piston?”

For some reason, that thought sours my mood.

“Hun, if you think Piston has spent his life living like a monk, you better just hop off that stool, call a cab, and get as far away from here as you can and never look back. He’s no saint.”

“I never…” I slam my mouth shut and try to come up with the right words. “Of course I don’t—”

“But,” she says as if I wasn’t speaking. “Piston is as honest and loyal as a Soulless King can be. If you’re looking for a good time with a man who will never lie to you, who won’t cheat or make promises he can’t keep, a man who will love you with every single part of him, then Piston is your guy. A monk or saint? Fuck no. But a good guy? Better than you can possibly imagine.”

With that, Margo pours me another shot and walks away. I’m already feeling a little fuzzy headed from the first two shots and glass of wine, but I down the liquor anyway. What the hell am I supposed to do with the information she gave me? I never even considered Piston to be someone other than a path to a good story. I mean, he’s sexy as hell for sure and I have no doubt he could show me a good time. But he’s business, not pleasure.

Could he be both?

Yes.

No.

Shit, I don’t know.

I nurse the rest of my wine because I don’t want to have to get Margo’s attention for a refill. Music pumps through the speakers in the room, but it isn’t as loud as it was last night at the party, and for that, I’m grateful. I love music but I’m also very comfortable with silence.

While I wait, I pull my cell phone out of my pocket and see that I’ve missed several texts and calls from Janessa. I read the messages and listen to her voicemail. Apparently, unless I want her to send out a search party, I need to call her back.

I bring up her number and hit ‘call’. While I wait for it to connect, I take a sip of wine.

“Where the hell are you?” she demands as soon as she answers. “I’ve called you at least a hundred times and I’ve been by your house. Do you have any id—”

“You only called three times, not a hundred,” I say around a chuckle. “And I’m fine.” I look around at my surroundings. “I’m actually at the Soulless Kings clubhouse.”

“Wait. Where the party was last night?”

“Uh huh.”

“What are you doing there?”

There’s a reason I didn’t tell Janessa what I was up to tonight. Sure, if it weren’t for her, I never would have been in the position to make a deal with Piston, but I have to explain my every move to my father and I refuse to do the same with anyone else.

“I’m working.”

“Working? You’re spending your Saturday night with the epitome of every woman's bad boy fantasy and you’re working?” She chuckles. “Girl, have I taught you nothing?”

I toss my head back and laugh. When I get myself under control, I change the subject. “Did you need something?”

“No, not really. I was just gonna see if you were up for a movie or something. I’m bored.”

“No Tinder hookup tonight?”

“Nah. My vajayjay needs a night off. And quite frankly, so do I.”

“Well, I’d hang out with you if I were home. As it stands, I’m not sure when I’ll be there. Maybe tomorrow?”

“Works for me.”

“Good.”

A commotion breaks out behind me, and I glance over my shoulder. Piston is walking into the room from the hallway, surrounded by several other bikers, all of whom are very large and intimidating. Piston is dragging a flailing man by his hair, and a path of blood trails behind them. As much as I don’t want to see it, I can’t turn away.

And strangely, I’m finding the caveman routine a little bit hot.

“Ah, I gotta go,” I say into the phone and end the call.

I shove the device back into my pocket and hop off the stool, grabbing my almost empty wine glass as I do. I make my way toward Piston and his victim. As if he senses me, he looks in my direction. His eyes widen for a split second, and I can’t help but wonder if he forgot I was here.

Piston shoves the man to the ground. “Joker, keep an eye on him for a sec, will ya?”

Without waiting for an answer, he starts toward me. I wait for the fear to creep in, but it doesn’t. Instead, my body tingles and warmth spreads through me the closer he gets. His hands are covered in what I assume is blood and he has blood trickling from a cut on his cheek. Piston is everything I shouldn’t want, everything I should run from, as fast and as far as I can.

And instead you’re standing here imagining all the wicked things he could do to you.

I shake the thought from my head just as he stops in front of me. The air around me seems to disappear, making me feel like I exist in a vacuum. A very sexually frustrated vacuum.

“I’m gonna have to get a raincheck for the rest of the night.”

My mouth is too dry to respond so I nod instead.

“I’ll have someone take you home. I can pick you up in the morning and take you back to your car, if that’s okay?”

Still unable to speak, I nod again.

Piston grins as if he knows I’m struggling. His eyes trail the length of my body and his grin slips.

“Fuck, this is the last thing I want to deal with right now.” He reaches a hand out toward my face and pulls it back before he makes contact, as if he only now remembered that he’s covered in blood. “See you tomorrow, sweet cheeks.”

Before I realize what he’s doing, his lips graze mine in what can only be described as the most excruciatingly fast kiss in the history of forever.