Page 19 of Piston

Heck, I’m his wife, his old lady, and I’m not allowed to use his given name or attend the club’s family BBQs.

Gently, I place Bluebell on the dark blue couch, and she instantly digs her claws into it, stretching, making me push her off.

I wince when she falls, then shake my head. I hang my bag up, and head to the kitchen. I'm happy that I don’t have to see Piston today, as he's going on club business for two weeks, giving me a break from feeling empty and dirty and worthless.

We have three years left, then I’ll divorce him and, hopefully, put together the heart he broke, and whether that will be on my own or with someone else remains to be seen.

6

Piston – One Month Later

“Hey, Piston,” a sultry voice whispers in my ear, a slender arm gliding slowly over my shoulders from where I’m leaning on the bar, and I silently groan.

All I want is a drink in peace while I contemplate whether to meet with Natalie tonight or just say fuck it and use my hand in the shower instead.

I have my back to everyone, my head partially down, which means don’t fucking disturb me. Now, why can’t this bitch take the fucking hint?

I gulp my beer, trying to calm the anger that I always fucking feel lately, and ask, “Why are you at the clubhouse annoying me, Katie, and not at the bar?”

She breathes in my ear, making me cringe before she gently bites my earlobe, causing a disgusted shiver to run through me. I move away quickly, making her stumble. She quickly grabs the bar before falling on her ass, gasping in shock.

I glare hard at her, but she ignores it. Her eyes look over my tank underneath my cut, and fury runs through my veins. This bitch is getting too fucking comfortable around us brothers for my liking, and none of us have even fucking touched her.

It’s club law not to fuck the employees unless they are clubwhores, but they don’t even act this way.

Katie grins, biting her bottom lip, trying to run her long, red nails down my bare arm despite my trying to move away from her, and puts a lustful rasp to her voice as she whispers, “I quit last week. I no longer work at the bar, Piston; I own my own interior design business now, baby, which means you and I….”

Her voice trails off when I laugh darkly, cutting into her failed seduction.

She seriously thought just because she no longer works for the club that I’d fuck her, when I haven’t touched another girl other than Natalie in five fucking years?

What a stupid fucking idiot.

Unfortunately for me and my fucked-up past, my mind, body, and fucking soul belong to one woman and one woman only. I’m just not willing to show her.

“Ever fucking defy me again, brat, and I’ll kill you, do you hear me, huh?” my father shouts as his right fist hits my eye, then my stomach, and I grunt, coughing, and I land on my knees.

I was seven when he put me in hospital, all because I refused to hit my mother with an iron bar. She was passed out from whatever drugs she’d taken, and his dinner was late.

When I woke up in the hospital, Acid told me Mom was in the room next to mine. Dad nearly killed her, hitting her with theiron bar over and over again, and the only reason we didn’t end up in foster care was because our lovely father came up with a story of us getting robbed, and he ran into the house to find us unconscious.

Mom died not long after that of an overdose.

I have my father’s blood running through my veins, and I refused to settle down; worried I’d be like him, only for Natalie to fucking trap me.

It didn’t stop my feelings, though, did it?

I lift my left hand in front of Katie’s face, showing her my wedding ring, and I remind her, “I’m married, Katie.”

She pouts. “Only on paper because she trapped you.”

I raise a brow. “And? She’s still my wife, and I won’t cheat on her, so why don’t you turn around and fuck off so I can finish my drink.”

She opens her mouth, but before she can try to pointlessly persuade me to take her to my room, a heavy hand lands on my shoulder.

“I didn’t realize someone hired you to decorate their home on club land, Katie,” Canine says, and I sigh.

Fucking great; there’s goes my peace and quiet.

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