Chapter 1

1

Piston – Nineteen Years Old

I grin as Amy bites her bottom lip, pushing her chest out a little. She taps her pen on the notepad before her and puts her light pink and purple hair behind her ear, her eyes firmly on me.

I chew the end of my pen, eyeing her up, wondering if I should break my rule of one-and-done, and let her suck me off later. I shake my head, writing down what the professor has written on the board, remembering that Amy is a clinger.

I’ll just find someone new later….

We're sitting in a lecture on finance, yet she's dressed for a night out in her sparkly crop top that can be classed as a bra, and her mini shorts and heels, with a face caked in makeup, and not once has she written anything down. Her dark brown eyes too busy eyeing me up all through class, lingering on my cut for a beat.

Fucking predictable, and an easy lay at that; I fucked her over the brown leather couch last week at the club party.

Women like her only want one thing: the leather and the benefits that come with it.

Old lady status.

Never going to fucking happen….

I've been part of the Huntsmen MC for about a year; my brother Oliver, who is now patched in as Acid. He got his road name after he tried to well…throw acid at the then-President Hammer, Steal's father, who refused him a job at their bar in town.

We were on the brink of getting our house repossessed, and my pickpocketing was not helping us.

Hammer, instead of killing Acid, liked what he saw, and gave my brother a prospect cut when he was eighteen. He also paid off the mortgage on our house.

I started prospecting when Acid earned his official cut. When he realized I was planning to leave New York, he begged me to stay and prospect. That was last year. Last week, I was patched in as a full brother in the Huntsmen MC. I have to tell yah, after a year of being at their beck and call, doing all the jobs they don't want to, and having my brother take advantage of giving me the shitty ones—including cleaning up the bathrooms as a joke, being a full brother and not having to do that is goddamn amazing.

I swear, no one wants to pick up used fucking condoms left on the floor in the common room.

"Alright, class, that's it for today. Please complete chapters 25 to 32 before the next class. When you return next week, there will be a quiz that will be worth 15% of your grade," The professor states, and everyone groans. Amy, who spent most of the time eyeing me up like some piece of meat, freezes, and I chuckle under my breath.

That's what happens when you don't pay attention, and it's not like I gave her any hope that I want to be in a relationship with her. I told her before we fucked last time that it was a one-and-done situation, and she agreed.

Shaking my head, I grab my bag and put my shit inside it, then descend the stairs to head out the door.

"Piston, wait," Amy calls out, but I ignore her and leave the room.

I've got to get to AP calculus, which is across campus, and besides, I don't do seconds, never repeating the same girl. I fucking refuse, even if my cock liked what he saw in class.

When you have a mother who overdosed and a drunk for a father who beat the shit outta you for as long as you can remember, commitment is a fucking joke.

Fuck ‘em and leave ‘em, that's my motto, and that's how it's going to stay.

I don't want a woman, an old lady who will require my time, money that she didn't fucking earn, and a part of me that died the first time my father put me in hospital only to wake to see him fucking the nurse in the corner.

My focus is on my double major—a bachelor's in business and a bachelor's in engineering—and my club. I only have two years before I graduate, and then I can use my degrees to help the brothers earn more money.

Steal, who took over from his father as president, has already stated that I'll be made treasurer once I graduate college, just like he'll make Acid Road Captain next year after Shotgun steps down from the position.

His job will be sorting out all the different routes three brothers and two prospects need transporting ammo to affiliated clubs, while I'll be in charge of the club's finances.

The club is run by the club council, who keep things in order. The president is at the top, and five brothers with different roles support him.

Once a week, the council meets in a room called church. They'll review the club's finances and any upcoming jobs, including charity events we to organize to raise money for people experiencing homelessness or need medical care in New York.

Last week, we participated in a fun run with our affiliated clubs, the Devil's MC, the Rebel’s MC, and The Untamed Hell Fire's MC, and we raised over $100,000 for several women's shelters across the state.

"Piston, wait, geez, you walk quick," Amy gasps as she grips my arm on the quad. I stop, raising a brow at her, but she grins. "Where are you off to in a hurry, baby? I thought we could, you know, go to my dorm for a little while, have some fun like last time…."

I sigh and remove her hand, making her frown, but I ignore it and state, "I told you it was one-and-done, Amy, and I've got class."

She opens her mouth to protest, but I ignore her and carry on my way across campus.

That's the problem with patch chasers. They say they're perfectly fine with a one-and-done but still beg for more afterward.

This is why I don't wear my cut when I pick women up from bars.

Shaking my head, I hurry my steps, smirking at a busty blonde who's looking at me appreciatively. With a look, I silently promise to find her later.

Later, I chuckle as Acid sucks the neck of a brunette, savoring all the liquor she's poured on her neck.

" Mmm , Acid…," she moans, gripping his shaggy blonde hair, and I shake my head, take a sip of my beer, and look away from their show.

I'm not the only one who likes to take advantage of our leather, but this fucker is an idiot. He has a girl who works at the club's diner, Huntsmen's Grub, who is technically in love with him, but he refuses to see it despite knowing her for four years, after meeting at her father’s gym.

He friend-zoned her, but I know, without a doubt, that when he realizes she's sleeping with some lawyer, he'll run after her. It's only a matter of time, and he’s going to get a shock.

Our Perrie, she’s fucking fierce and has a side no one knows about, well except me anyway. I’ve been her sparing partner for a couple of years now.

"Hey, Piston, where's your cut…." Katie whispers from beside me, and I tilt my head and raise a brow at her.

Her bright blonde hair is perfectly curled while her black shirt is one size too tight, and a few buttons are undone, showing her cleavage, her bright pink lace bra on view.

My cock twitches, but I ignore it.

"What can I do for you, Katie?" I ask, ignoring her question.

I don't normally wear it when I'm out on the prowl, needing a woman in my bed for the night. It only makes them hold out for more.

I could go to club for a fuck, but I want some fresh meat…

I take another sip of my beer, my eyes looking over the crowd in the Huntsmen, our club bar, as she rasps, "I thought maybe you and I could go to the back, and you know…." And I roll my eyes just before I lock them on a form on the other side of the dark room, and I lick my bottom lip.

Fuck me, she's beautiful.

A tight red dress with thin straps showcases her figure, her black hair cascading down her back.

I smirk as I watch her shake her head at some guy who has walked up behind her where she's standing with a group of girls, and whispered in her ear. She says something to the girls, who all frown but nod, and then she moves away, but he follows, not taking the hint but also giving me the perfect opportunity.

I vaguely remember Katie standing near me. "Last time I checked, you're not a clubwhore, and you also work for the club. You know I won't go there with you," I say, and then walk away from her, allowing her to stew.

Clubwhores are women who love to fuck the brothers, hoping to get a patch. They also clean and cook at the clubhouse for room and board, and are the only women I fuck more than once. I refuse to touch a bar employee, or any employees at the diner or the strip club the club owns.

They become clingy, and I don't fucking do clingy; at least the clubwhores know what they are getting.

"Are you such a fucking bitch that you can't even have one date with me? What are you, some tease, hmm? Dressing like that then not putting out," I hear the guy sneer as I get close, but the girl ignores him, and he goes to grab her hand. I quickly intervene, chuckling loudly to get their attention.

Dark blue, diamond eyes connect with mine, and instantly, I'm entranced.

Fuck me, she is stunning….

She frowns as the guy snaps, "Fuck off, will you? I'm trying to have a conversation with my girl."

Said girl in question opens her mouth to obviously refute his claim, and most likely tell him to fuck off, but I beat her to it. "Funny, because last I checked, Diamond here was my girl, has been for the past year." I raise a brow at her. "Right, darling?"

She furrows her brows, and I widen my eyes a little to get her to play along. Her’s widen back with realization, and she clears her throat and walks over to me. I lift my arm, allowing her to burrow herself into my side. She presses her hand against my chest, and I try to ignore how fucking right she feels.

Fuck me….

She pats my chest a few times and clears her throat. "Yep, so maybe you can leave me alone because, I gotta tell ya, a woman doesn't like being called a tease just because she turned you down. That’s bad enough, but my man here," she pats my chest again, and I swallow my chuckle, "is going to kick your butt for what you've just called me."

The guy's eyes widen comically as he looks me over. Unsurprisingly, he bolts out the door, and I laugh.

I get it; I have muscles where he is thin and tiny, so yeah, I get it.

The girl leaves my side once the guy is gone, and I suddenly feel cold and empty, like I’ve be torn in two.

Huh, strange….

She smiles shyly, and says, "Hey, um, thanks for the save, uh…."

She tilts her head, and I smile again and state, "Elijah."

Fuck, shit, why did I just say that….

Inside, I panic—normally giving women a fake name, not my fucking legal one—while on the outside, I keep myself stoic.

She smiles. "Right, Elijah…. I guess it's best to know my fake partner's name. Um, uh, anyway, thank you."

That said, she turns and walks toward the door, shocking me, and for the first time in my fucking life, I chase after a girl.

Just before she can leave, I grab her hand, causing her to turn to me and frown, but I just smirk. "Didn't you say it's best to know a fake partner's name?"

I can see she doesn’t want to but a smile curls her pretty, full lips. She tips her head, tightens her grip on my hand, then shakes it. I laugh as she says, "Natalie."

I nod. "It's good to meet you, Natalie." She smiles and removes her hand before I continue. "Now, as your savior…." She snorts, crossing her arms over her chest, causing her nice, full tits to lift, which yes, my cock likes, and I state, "Why don't you buy me a drink."

This time, she laughs, dropping her arms and shaking her head, but says, "I guess I can buy you one."

I smirk and tilt my head toward the bar, and she walks ahead. My eyes go to her ass, and I bite my bottom lip.

Yeah, I'm going to fucking tap that tonight….

Without a care in the world, I wrap my arm around her waist when we get to the bar, and flag down Liam, our bartender, causing my brother Acid to look at us. He grins, seeing the woman beside me before placing his attention back on the girl he was with. I accept a beer off the beauty I'm making mine tonight, not realizing how much she'll come to mean to me and how much I’ii fuck things up….

Natalie – Eighteen Years Old

I groan as my alarm sirens and turn over, quickly shutting it off. My hand goes to the left side of my small bed to apologize to my bedmate, only for it to be empty.

My eyes spring open and see the indent in the pillow, the sheets messy but cold.

He’s been gone a while.

“Just so you know, this is a one-and-done, you good with that? Because come morning, I won’t be here when you wake up….”

His words after he pushed me into my room and cupped my cheeks float around in my head.

“Huh, guess he meant before sunrise,” I mumble with a little bit of disappointment I know I shouldn’t feel.

He doesn’t do relationships, he made that clear, and I cannot even think about going there after what Chris, my ex-boyfriend, did. And let’s not bring up my childhood.

I shake the feeling off, then climb out of bed, grabbing my clothes, and ignoring my aching body.

Bringing someone home and having a one-night stand was not part of my to-do list, and wanting him again this morning was not in my plans. I only went to the Huntsmen, our local bar near the school, because Honey, my only actual friend, was celebrating getting an A on a piece honoring Monet, a famous painter from the 1600s.

I wanted to stay in and study, but she begged, mentioning how I should live a little.

I get it, I do concentrate on school a lot. I did in high school, too, and yes, I promised I’d go out more with her now that I’m no longer under my step-mother, Christy’s, thumb, but the year has only just started. We’re freshmen, and I need to start off strong straight out of the gate, especially when I can lose my full scholarship if I fall below a 3.0 GPA.

If I lose the scholarship, then I’m screwed, especially when I know, without a doubt, my father won’t pay for it; his wife won’t allow him.

You see, she hates me, always has—heck, she even forced my father to put me in daycare from the moment I was dropped off on their doorstep, something she likes to gloat about. You know, a girl’s father always wants to please his younger wife, ignoring the child his mistress abandoned on his doorstep.

Yeah, shocking, right?

My birth mother, Billy Hails, didn’t want kids. She and Dad had a one-night stand before he met step-monster a few months later. Billy decided, instead of letting him know he had a kid, to place said kid—me—in a bassinet with a note and my birth certificate, blank where her name was supposed to be, on his doorstep.

Classic abandonment.

Christy and Dad had just gotten married and were about to go on their honeymoon, or so the step-monster moaned continuously growing up, blaming me for ruining her happy life.

She put me down over and over. If I did well in school, she’d find a fault elsewhere and ensure my father agreed with her and my accomplishment would be instantly forgotten and normally, it’s because I apparently hit her, screamed at her, you know the usual crap.

He allowed her to punish me how she saw fit. A smack to the face, starvation, heck even locking me in the storage cupboard for a few hours – though, as soon as she had my little brother Cooper three years ago, I basically stopped existing in my father’s eyes, not that I did much beforehand.

Heck, I didn’t even say bye to him when I packed and left for college; the scholarship gave me a dorm room, which I’m grateful for, especially when Christy made it clear that I wasn’t welcome to stay after graduating high school.

I haven’t even had a phone call from him, so I guess he doesn’t care.

I’m the unwanted daughter his wife hates, and no, I’m not being dramatic.

Shaking my head, I grab my shower stuff and head into my tiny ensuite, looking forward to finding a small apartment for next year as the last time I walked into my father’s two bedroom bungalow comes to mind.

“Dad?” I say loudly, and I walk into the house, the walls and furniture blinding me.

Damn, I really wish he hadn’t allowed Christy to decorate the place in whites and blacks.

When nothing but silence greets me, I sigh. “Awesome. Your daughter is going off to college, but let’s not be home to say ‘bye and drive safe.’”

Hurt fills me, but I ignore it and head to the room that’s no longer mine.

As soon as Cooper was born, my father allowed his wife to decorate three-quarters of it for him, leaving only a small space for my bed and a dresser dad bought secondhand, giving my small walk-in closet to my brother.

They act like I’m a burden, like being born was all my fault.

I didn’t ask for my birth mother to drop me off with him, now did I? I think foster care would have been better than this life of being physically and emotionally abused.

Shaking my head, I go into what’s now Cooper’s room, grabbing the three bags I had no room for in my 1999 Ford Explorer I spent two years saving for while working at the local diner; my father refused to help buy it.

Heck, I even had to buy my own cell phone.

I look around the room and see my bed has already been dismantled, and Cooper’s toys overflowing the space.

I scoff silently.

Why did my dad take me in?

Why didn’t he sue Billy and leave me with Child Protective Services?

My dad doesn’t want me, his wife certainly doesn’t, and my birth mom is living the dream with her rich husband and three kids.

I found her last year and confronted her. She lives in New Jersey, not even two hours away, and she told me I wasn’t welcome, that her husband didn’t know about me, and that I needed to live my life.

Safe to say, I just walked away without a fight.

You can’t force someone to want you, can you?

My focus now is New York State College and my boyfriend Chris, the only person, other than Honey, who’s been there for me when my so-called family hasn’t, well kind of anyway.

He’s a little self-centered but he’s also perfect because I know he’s a safe option for me.

Chris and I have been dating since third grade. He was my first everything, I mean, I don’t believe I love him, but I care for him.

I’m hoping love will develop, but honestly, I don’t even know what love is. I wasn’t shown it growing up, so how am I supposed to recognize the feeling?

Sighing in defeat, I grab all three bags and move to leave my past.

I don’t think I’ll be back here again. I haven’t even bonded with my brother, thanks to Christy, who refuses to allow me to have much contact with him despite sharing a room.

Something about not being full blood….

I hear a bang coming from my father’s room and frown. I place my bags on the floor at the mouth of the hallway, and head that way. I hear Christy moan and scrunch my nose up, turning back around, not wanting to listen to her and my father having sex, pissed that he chose that over his daughter leaving.

I freeze when she moans louder. “Yes, Chris, harder baby!”

Chris….

No….

“Fuck, you’re so tight, so much better than her,” my boyfriend groans back, and bile rises into my throat.

Oh God, no….

I grab my phone and turn, slowly moving toward my father’s room, not wanting to see it but needing to have video evidence. I turn on the camera, switching it to video before slowly opening the door, and what I see makes me feel violated; I allowed that scum bag to take my virginity two years ago.

Christy is on all fours, with what looks to be a vibrator inside her, while Chris screws her ass, gripping her brown hair.

Hurt doesn’t hit me like I thought it would, only disgust.

Okay, I definitely didn’t love him, but that doesn’t make what he’s doing alright.

He groans, slamming into her faster, his dark red hair going over his eyes as he leans over her, grabbing the vibrator, thrusting it hard in time with his hips, all while I stand here and record them.

“Oh yes, I-I, I’m going to come,” she gasps, and I stop recording, put my phone away, and then clap loudly, getting their attention, ensuring she can’t have that orgasm she probably wants so badly.

Chris jumps back in shock, and bile once again travels up my throat, seeing he’s not wearing protection.

Oh God, I’m going to have to go to the clinic—I mean we’ve always used a condom, but still, I can’t chance it.

Suddenly, I’m really glad I never gave him a blowjob.

“N-Natalie,” Christy stutters, trying to hide her body with the sheets.

I shake my head and murmur more to myself, “I wonder if Cooper is even my father’s….”

Her eyes widen. “H-he is, w-we didn’t start this until t-two months ago….”

I nod. “And let me guess, because you wanted to play a sick game with me, knowing I couldn’t find out because I would tell my father? Or were you hoping I’d find out and tell my father, and he’d finally cut me out of his life, and stand by his whore of a wife?” Her lip curls, but she tries to hide it. I just shake my head and look at my now ex-boyfriend who has frozen, a pillow over his junk. “If it wasn’t obvious, we’re over….”

That said, I turn and walk out, not looking back. I grab my three bags, hearing Chris call for me, but I ignore him and head to my car, throwing the bags in the back before climbing into the driver’s seat. As soon as I reverse out, Chris runs out of the small white bungalow, half-dressed, but I put my foot down on the accelerator.

My boyfriend and my step-monster, what the hell?

A few hours later, I had a text from my father stating that it was best I don’t go back to the house. Christy made up a lie and told him I bitched her out and smacked her, and of course he believed her.

I just texted him back and told him that I thought it was best that he and I no longer have any contact, because I refuse to be last in his priorities, and to change his sheets.

I haven’t heard anything since, and I don’t want to. I know I could send the video, but what would be the point?

He’s spent eighteen years ignoring me, allowing his wife to emotionally hurt me, and a relationship between us is never going to happen now. I did, however, message the step-monster and threatened her, telling her to never to contact me again, and to ensure my father doesn’t either. Otherwise, I’ll send my father the video of her screwing my boyfriend in his bed. Then I blocked her number.

I’ll always be proud of myself for that—pathetic and sad, yes, but after years of having to keep my mouth shut for fear of living on the streets in New York, I deserved to finally get one over on her.

Chris has tried to contact me since, but I blocked his number, fed up with the constant calls and messages begging to let him explain, and apparently, it wasn’t what it looked like.

How could it not be what it looked like, seriously? He was screwing her ass, for Christ’s sake!

We’ve been on the same campus all semester, but I’ve, thankfully, managed to dodge him. The office guaranteed they wouldn’t give out my dorm number, especially after I told the woman why I didn’t want my room number given out, and gave her Chris’s name specifically.

Her eyes turned stormy before she determined that the security guard for my building would know all about Chris.

I quickly shower and change before shoving my hair into a messy ponytail, and grabbing my bag. I look around the small lilac-colored room, ensuring Elijah didn’t leave anything behind. I sigh, happy he didn’t, because I really don’t want to have to find him because—hello, awkward.

I lock up, and head down the stairs to grab a coffee first before my first class.

My end goal is to become an art teacher for the 4th or 5th grades, so I’m studying for my Bachelor of Fine Arts degree in art education. My father didn’t agree with this, so he refused to pay for my schooling.

He was hoping I’d become a lawyer or doctor or something, so he’d look good.

Ha, fat chance.

I love creating designs and pictures with all sorts of colors. It centers me, and I know teaching art will bring me happiness. My father’s reputation or community standing means jack to me.

I just have to make sure I don’t fall behind or lose my scholarship.

Hours later, I frown when someone knocks on my door. I’ve just walked into my room after five classes, including English I’m taking just in case I can’t find an art teacher position, and I’m tired.

Dog tired.

A vision of Elijah smiling up at me from between my legs before he sucked my clit into his mouth at three this morning hits me, and I bite my bottom lip. My clit throbs, and I instantly chastise myself for thinking of him again.

I slept with Chris several times throughout our relationship, after I gave him my virginity, and not once did he go down on me, and not once did he make me orgasm.

In one night, Elijah and I came roughly four times.

Damn.

Ignoring the wetness I suddenly feel dripping on my panties, I drop my bag and walk over to the door as the knock sounds again.

I open it.

My brows hit my hairline in shock, and I stutter, “E-Elijah?”

He smirks, his dark green eyes looking at me intently as he leans his palms against my doorframe, and I can’t help taking him in.

His dark blonde hair is messy on top, like he’s run his fingers through it several times, and it’s short on the back and sides.

His black t-shirt hugs his muscles nicely, making me want to run my fingers beneath it. What he’s wearing over it gains my attention, though, the patches standing out. That’s when I notice the leather for what it is, and I groan internally.

Ah crap, I screwed an MC brother? Seriously?

“Like the cut, Diamond?” he asks with a grin, a dimple popping out on his left cheek, making him look boyishly cute.

I sigh, leaning against the doorframe, and admit, “Not really, because now half the girls on campus are going to want to kill me. I’m pretty sure I passed one earlier, crying, because an MC brother refused to screw her again. And I’m guessing that was you….”

He chuckles. “Probably.” I narrow my eyes at him, but he shrugs and admits, “My showing you who I am and confirming my player status is not the reason why I’m here—and it’s Piston, by the way.”

I raise a brow, not shocked. He’s basically telling me to call him his road name and not his legal one; that is a privilege only for the woman he decides to settle down with.

The MC is really big in this part of New York. They do a lot of good, though there are murmurs of them dabbling in guns and drugs as well. It that’s true, I’m not sure I’ll be spending any time with him again.

I’m the product of too many drugs and unprotected sex, an unwanted one at that.

“Alright, Piston. Why are you here? You made it clear you don’t do seconds, and I haven’t seen anything that belongs to you in my room, so….” I shrug, and he just grins wider. He pushes off the doorframe and presses his body against mine, his hands going to my hips just below my dark blue V-neck sweater.

“Actually, Diamond, I have a proposition for you,” he replies, and I raise a brow as he pushes me into my room, kicking the door shut with his foot. I allow him, my lustful brain taking over, not realizing how much I’m about to fall, then crash and burn, because that’s what happens to me.

Everyone in my life hurts me, and Piston, well, he hurts me the most.