Page 72 of Piston

Anchor flat-out laughs while Acid grins with pride, making me laugh.

The woman is thirty years old, and he looks like the proud older brother, even though he’s only twenty-six.

Groaning, Steal stands, brushing off his cut as his eyes go to my wife.

“Why is she still asleep? I don’t get it,” he mumbles.

I sigh, running a hand through my hair, and explain, “Cass thinks she doesn’t want to wake up. Medically, nothing is keeping her in the coma. Cass said I need to tell her my deepest, darkest secrets to get her to wake up, after telling Nat I was theone who dumped glue and glitter over her head, and posted the picture around the school.”

Acid grins. “Have you told her about the pie incident yet?”

My eyes widen, and I snap, “No, and we’re not going to, either. My girl obviously just needs some time, and I won’t put my balls on the chopping block just to get her to wake up, especially with the pie incident….”

“What pie incident?” Perrie asks as she walks into the room, looks around, and then purposely avoids my brother.

Acid looks at her with longing as he explains, “Eight cherry cream pies fell off the shelf and onto Nat in the cafeteria. She thought she must have banged into it, but the idiot here thought it would be funny to shake the shelf, not thinking they’d all fall. He wanted to make her jump.”

“Oh, I made her jump alright,” I mumble as I remember the shocked look on her face as she slipped and fell on her fucking ass after jumping a few feet in the air.

Perrie smiles a little, a twinkle in her eyes, and slowly walks around the bed, eyeing my wife, making me frown with confusion as she asks, “So, I’m guessing you're trying to get her to wake by pissing her off?”

I raise a brow. “Cass suggested it….”

Perrie hums. “That’s good.” She smirks. We watch as she bends down near my wife’s ear and looks at me, asking, “Hey, Piston, did you know Nat got a tattoo four years ago?”

My mouth parts in shock, “What, no, I would have?—”

She cuts me off, “It’s on her inner thigh, got it done by a competitor tattoo shop just so you wouldn’t find out, and guess whose name it is….” She looks down. “Come on, Nat. Wake up before I tell all of your dirty secrets….”

I grin wide while Acid, Steal, and Anchor chuckle.

“No, not going to open your eyes. Alright then…. Piston, she got ‘Piston’ tattooed on her inner thigh because she said no guy is ever allowed between them.”

“Is that so?” I ask, eyeing my wife’s prone body. I am willing her to open her eyes, but I also want to hear more….

“Mmhmm,” Perrie confirms, “she is also the one who sent your dick pic to all the girls on campus after she realized you are the one who sent the picture of her with the glitter and glue incident and, really Piston, you didn’t even hide your number when you sent it to me.” My mouth drops open, the men laughing their asses off as Perrie looks at my wife. “Come on, Nat, I have so much more, like the video you have of you and Piston having sex, the video you saved on your phone and used to get off to when he decided to withhold your orgasms for nearly three years….”

Motherfucker!

“Oh, fuck Nat, I’d wake if I was you….” Anchor cackles.

I tilt my head. “What else has my wife done, Perrie?”

She grins wickedly. “How about carving her name in your tank after the fifth orgasm you withheld, and then made a profile on a dating website, ensuring everyone knew you liked it up the ass?”

You have got to be kidding me….

“Well, that explains the several men that showed up at the club last year, looking for Piston’s Pistol,” Steal mumbles, and I slump back in my seat.

Fucking hell….

Perrie sighs when my girl doesn’t even stir. She looks at me, and then back at Nat, the wheels turning in her head.

“Okay, Natalie, if that’s not going to wake you up, let’s switch it up a little, shall we? We all know how much of a momma bear you become where your little brother is concerned….” All three of us men freeze, and I open my mouth to tell Perrie to stop, but she speaks louder and says, “How about I tell you your husband is teaching your baby brother to ride a dirt bike? The scrapes on his side weren’t from falling off the jungle gym at the playground; he fell off the bike.”

My mouth drops open, and I stand, snapping, “Hey!”

She winces and shrugs, continuing, "Also, the stitches Cooper needed, Piston and Acid were teaching him how to throw knives at the dartboard." She looks at me. "The kid likes to talk when I give him milkshakes at the diner.”

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