Piston by Andi Rhodes

Chapter Fourteen

_{Every ounce of ‘sweet’ that Holland saw earlier is gone.}

Piston

Sweet.

When Holland said I was sweet, the emotion that swept through me was indescribable. There was a little annoyance but it was quickly replaced by something else, something far stronger. I didn’t have time to analyze it though because she quickly made her way inside giving me no choice but to follow.

Holland’s arms tighten around my waist as I navigate a curve in the road. She’s a fast learner and, despite this being only the second time she’s been on the back of my bike, she’s picked up on the fact that you lean into a curve. It’s almost as if she was meant to ride.

My mind wanders as I drive. Holland showered relatively quickly as I waited in her bedroom and tried to control my cock’s reaction to the image of her naked and wet. I was able to do that, barely, and then she came out of the bathroom in only a towel.

Hot damn, one would think she was trying to kill me. My eyes were immediately drawn to her legs, to the water droplets running down her smooth skin. My mouth dried up and my hands fisted in the sheets on her bed. My instinct was to stalk toward her and kneel to lick the drops off her body, to take the water I so desperately needed. But my conscience anchored me in place.

I force my thoughts to the pavement in front of me and away from the temptress behind me. When I turn on the road Infinite Motors is on, the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. The parking lot is situated on the corner and only a blind man could miss the way the sunlight sparkles off broken glass next to Holland’s car.

Holland’s body tenses and her fingers dig into me so I know she sees it too. When I park and kill the engine, she scrambles off the Harley and rushes to the driver’s side of her car.

“Son of a bitch!” Holland exclaims, followed by a rapid-fire succession of cuss words that only fuel the rage in me.

I scan the area and see nothing and no one. Whoever did this is long gone, which is good for them. At least until I track them down. I walk around the vehicle to assess the damage. Every window is shattered and there are obvious key marks down both sides. All four tires are flat and upon further inspection, I find the clean slice of a blade.

I see Holland standing in front of the car, her hand over her mouth and her eyes wide. I join her and when my eyes land on what has her frozen in place, my head threatens to explode. Every ounce of ‘sweet’ that Holland saw earlier is gone.

Two lines are crudely spray painted in black: ‘Run = life’ and ‘Stay = death’.

“Who would do this?” Holland cries.

“I don’t—” She pulls out her cell phone and I narrow my eyes at her. “What are you doing?”

“What do you think I’m doing?” She glares at me. “I’m calling the police!”

I snatch the phone from her hand. “No, you’re not.”

Holland’s eyes narrow and she makes a grab for her cell, but I pull it out of her reach.

“Holland, listen to me,” I demand. “You can’t call the police. I’ll fix your car and we’ll figure out who did this, but we’ll do it without the law breathing down our backs.”

Her chest heaves with anger. Indecision is clear in the lines wrinkling her forehead, but after several seconds she gives a curt nod.

“Fine,” she snaps.

“Thank you.” I hand her phone back to her and she shoves it in her pocket. “Let’s go inside. We can start figuring things out in there.”

As I guide her to the front entrance, I take my own cell out and text Fender. I unlock the door and usher Holland over the threshold. I step around her to disarm the alarm and once that’s done, I refocus my attention.

“The guys are on their way.”

She lifts her gaze to mine and crosses her arms over her chest, as if protecting herself from something, from me. All that does is add fuel to the fire.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Holland. You know that, right?”

“Someone wants to.” Her tone is flat. Gone is the anger, the frustration with me.

“Maybe, maybe not.”

“Piston, I think it’s pretty clear that someone wants me gone.”

“Like I said, maybe, maybe not.” I shrug. “But let’s go with that scenario. Do you have any enemies? Piss anyone off lately?”

She huffs out a laugh. “Other than you?” She shakes her head. “No.”

I ignore the jab. “What about at work? Uncovered any secrets someone would want to silence you over?”

I’m wracking my brain for any option and coming up empty. I know she worked overseas and likely made an enemy or two there, but it would have to be pretty bad for someone to track her down here. And if that were the case, what’s with the message? It makes no sense.

“Piston, I…” She leans back against the wall. “I can’t think of anyone. There’s Gary and I guess he could be harboring a grudge for me not returning to work with him. But I just can’t see him taking it to this level. I’ve pissed my father off a time or two, but what daughter doesn’t make their dad angry?”

“Okay, then let’s switch to the ‘maybe not’ scenario,” I suggest. “Your car is parked in front of Infinite Motors, which is tied to the Soulless Kings. It’s more likely that we’re the target.”

“I agree but why my car?”

“I don’t know.” I walk toward the door that leads to the back of the shop. “Let’s go back here and wait, away from the windows.”

I don’t really think there’s anyone out there that would take a shot at us but I’m not willing to take that chance, not with Holland. We wait in silence, both of us trying to mentally connect the dots. Problem is, neither of us have any idea what the final picture looks like.

A noise at the back door jolts me from my musings and I instinctually pull my gun out of my waistband. Holland’s eyes widen at the sight. I know she felt it there while we were riding, but I guess knowing of its existence and confirming it are two different things.

The door swings open and Fender steps through.

“Put the fucking gun down, P,” he commands.

Greaser, Riker, and Trainwreck walk in behind him. The exhaustion on Trainwreck's face reminds me of what I tasked him with last night before I went to Holland’s. He had a lot of bodies to dispose of and I can only assume that, if he’s here, he finished his task. My respect for him rises a notch.

“Saw the car when we pulled in,” Greaser says and then looks at Holland. “Sorry about that.”

“What are you sorry for? You didn’t do it,” Holland says and then her eyes dart back to me. “You guys didn’t do it, right?” she asks as if the thought just occurred to her.

“Of course not,” I snap and stalk toward her. “How could you—”

“Piston,” Fender barks and I twist to look at him. “Give the girl a break, huh? She doesn’t know us and she barely knows you.”

I take a deep breath and reign myself in. “Yeah, okay.” I scratch the side of my nose. “We just need to figure this shit out. It’s one thing to vandalize a car, but doing it in our parking lot and to a brother’s girl takes it to a whole other level.”

“Your girl?” Greaser asks, brow raised.

Shit!

“You know what I mean,” I argue.

“He might but I don’t,” Holland pipes up.

“All I meant was, as far as anyone on the outside looking in is aware, you’re connected to the club through me. That alone should keep them away, regardless of who the target was.”

“Right.” She grins, the first spark of sass I’ve seen since we came inside. “We can talk about our connection later. For now, can we focus on the fact that there's clearly a threat out there and that threat chose my car as its message board?”

“She’s right.” Riker steps forward and extends his hand. “I’m Riker, club enforcer.”

Holland shakes his hand. “Holland Tibideaux.” She slants her eyes in my direction. “Vandal victim.” Sarcasm drips from her tone.

Riker swivels his head to look at me and grins. “I like her, P. Don’t fuck it up.”

Holland rolls her eyes. “Do I even get a say in whether or not Piston and I are anything more than… I don’t know, whatever the hell we are?”

I open my mouth to answer, but Greaser beats me to the punch. “Nope. Once you’re claimed, that’s it. You’re stuck.”

“He’s kidding,” Fender comments. “Yes, you have a say.” He stops and shoves a hand through his hair. “How the fuck did we get so off track?”

“Exactly,” Holland says as she rubs her temples. “Focus. Please.”

“Could it be retaliation from last night?” Trainwreck asks from his spot by the back door.

All eyes cut to him and my respect for him dips back down. Trainwreck has a big mouth and he needs to learn how to shut it. Holland knows that something bad went down after I sent her away but not the details.

“We’ll discuss that later,” Fender growls.

I move the conversation back to Holland's demand that we focus.

“Listen, I don’t know whether Holland is the intended target of the threat or if it’s an ass backwards way of getting at the club. Either way, we take no chances. I’ll get the car fixed as soon as I can, and in the meantime, a patched brother will provide Holland transportation. I’ll do it as often as—”

“Wait a second,” Holland protests and slaps a hand on my chest. “I’m a grown ass woman, Piston. I don’t need you to take charge or take over or whatever it is you’re doing. I know how to take care of myself.”

“No one said you didn’t.”

“Not in so many words, no, but the sentiment was the same.”

“Fine, what do you suggest?”

Holland looks from me to each of my brothers and then back again. She crosses her arms over her chest defiantly. “I suggest the Soulless Kings figure out who their enemies are and why they’d target me. Do that and I’m betting it’ll become real clear, real quick who the threat was meant for.”

Riker laughs, pulling my attention. “Brother, I repeat, don’t fuck this up.”