Chapter Three

Venus

"What do you mean you're not kicking him out?" Even though I tried to keep my voice neutral, I knew I sounded on edge of losing my mind. I never thought Piston would make it past front gate at Iron Tzars compound. Not only had he followed me straight to main clubhouse, but Sting had welcomed him like long lost relative. Male bonding moment of huge slaps on back made me want to puke. I tried to keep my mask of indifference. I really did.

"Piston's a good guy, Venus. He's always gonna be welcomed in my club." Sting still had grin on his face. Either he was oblivious to tension between me and Piston or he didn't care. He'd called Eagle, medic in Iron Tzars, and other man had cleaned and dressed Piston's wound. Eagle said Piston had let it go too long to put in stitches, but one more scar wasn't going to matter much. Again, they'd slapped each other on back and this time I had to stifle urge to gag.

Breath in. Breath out. Don't go on killing spree .

"Piston!" Older teenager called out just as younger girl ran at full speed straight to Piston and jumped, throwing herself at him and wrapping her arms and legs around him.

Piston chuckled. "Hey there, little Clover Bee. How's my girl?"

Clover didn't speak, but peppered Piston's face with kisses. She had huge smile on her face and obviously loved Piston. She had been non-verbal since being put into group home for wards of state. I wanted to stay angry, but seeing how much Clover was at ease with the big, gruff biker softened something inside me I'd have rather stayed hard.

"She ran all the way from the family side." Daisy, the older girl with Clover smiled affectionately at the little girl in Piston's arms.

"Because she knows she's my favorite." Piston gave Clover raspberry kiss to her neck. The little girl sucked in a surprised gasp, but her lips were firmly shut even though she was smiling. With one last kiss to Piston's cheek, Clover scrambled down and ran back the way she'd come. Daisy waved and chased after the little girl.

"She's still not talking." Piston sounded like he knew he was stating obvious and didn't phrase it as a question, but expected Sting to answer.

"No. She doesn't say anything. This was the first time she's gone anywhere without someone holding her hand since the last time you visited."

"I'm glad I can provide a distraction for her." It struck me then that I hadn't seen Piston smile like he was now. There was affection as he continued to look after the retreating child.

Another pang hit my chest. I'd been having those lately which wasn't something I was used to having to deal with. Only emotion I ever showed was anger or displeasure. And only to get reaction I wanted from someone.

"Yet another reason Victor will die."

Sting raised an eyebrow. "You think he's responsible for what happened to the girls? El Diablo seemed to think they got everyone involved."

"He did. In that cell. El Diablo cleaned his city but did not shut everything down. Was just one cell Victor controls."

"Is it like El Diablo to leave even one leg of a trafficking ring open?" Sting looked appropriately incredulous, but I knew the truth.

"El Diablo took out what he could reasonably enforce." Piston glanced over at me as he spoke. Checking with me? Why would he do that? "His city, and everyone knows he considers Palm Beach his as well. He knows shutting it all down is impossible, but he can make it more difficult for anyone to do business in his territory."

I gave Piston side-eye. I wasn't in mood to agree with him, but I could find no fault with his logic. Fact was, I was thinking same thing. "I agree. While El Diablo protects his territory fiercely, he knows how much control he can reasonably expect."

"Why was Victor after you, Venus?" Sting gave me quizzical look, and I could tell the answer mattered to him.

"If you're worried about me bringing trouble to your club, Sting, don't. I would never bring danger to your door and risk children and your women."

Sting gave me an impatient look. "Venus, the club can protect our own. If you need us, you get word to us or just get your ass here as fast as you can."

"I promise you, I am more capable of taking care of myself than you are of protecting everyone in compound."

"Venus." Sting scowled at me, looking from me to Piston and back. Younger man raised an eyebrow at Piston. They seemed to be communicating silently, and it grated on my nerves. I also knew I was being bitch.

"I don't know why I'm included in this conversation. Two of you seem to have everything figured out anyway."

Sting gave Piston a grin. "Bit prickly, ain't she?"

"Only when around this ape." I bared my teeth at Piston. "He brings out suka in me."

"How about a visit with Iris and the other women?"

Again, I felt that pang in my chest. Spending time with the old ladies of Iron Tzars, even though all of them were at least a decade younger than me, was one of my favorite things to do. I considered all old ladies of Salvation's Bane to be my family and the women of Black Reign were just as close. Women of Bones were all like sisters, especially since my own sister, Millie, was there. But women of Iron Tzars were… more. There was something about all of them that soothed me. I had found home in Grim Road, too, but Grim was Piston's home. And I wasn't sure I wanted to be in such close proximity to him.

"Is my usual room in clubhouse open?"

"It is. Danica will want word from Lemon. They Facetime every day, but I think she would feel better to hear how Lemon's doing from someone other than Lemon. Apple misses her sister, too."

I couldn't help but smile. Lemon was hell on wheels, but she was still teenager. It was easy to forget. "Tell her I'll meet her for dinner in common room. I have many stories to tell to lift her spirits."

"Don't we all." I glanced over to find Piston grinning while he toed gravel at his foot. Obviously, there was some memory he was reliving that amused him. Out of nowhere, surge of something that felt suspiciously like jealousy slammed into me. It was on the tip of my tongue to remind big baboon Lemon was taken, but I managed to keep retort to myself.

"Right." Sting had wary look on his face as he glanced from me to Piston and back. "Well, you both know where to go. Make yourselves at home."

I didn't wait around, instead securing my bike before slinging my backpack -- pink, of course -- over my shoulder and heading inside. I needed hour of peace and quiet. To decompress and get my thoughts under control.

Piston was thorn in my side. I hated him. I was also more attracted to him than any person I'd ever met. Man or woman. There were reasons I never had relationships. First and foremost was the fact that, being in relationship meant you had to care about someone. Caring about someone meant you had to protect them. Protecting them meant you put yourself between them and danger. I'd found out hard way, when I'd left for my training in FSB, best way to protect people you cared about was to stay away. Or not care in first place. Through years since leaving Russia, this was rule I'd broken. Not intentionally, but by becoming part of Salvation's Bane, I'd put club directly in path of my enemies. Something I hadn't seriously considered until Victor had abducted Lemon. So, Piston needed to get lost. Which meant I needed to push him away harder.

Room I used at Tzars was barren of furnishings save single-size bed, small table doubling as desk, and storage cabinet. I rarely needed it, but Sting's woman, Iris, had insisted I have more than simple bed. I was surprised she hadn't insisted on more furniture, but she'd respected my boundaries and refrained.

There was knock at my door. I had to grin, wondering if Daisy and Clover had let the other kids know I was here. They liked pink. Especially my eyes. I opened the door, not to the gaggle of kids I expected, but to big baboon I'd been trying to get away from.

I scowled. "I'm busy." I tried to shut door, but Piston stuck his heavily booted foot in way preventing satisfying slam I wanted.

"Calm down, Shortcake. You're not so busy we can't have a little chat." The look on his face was positively carnivorous.

"Shortcake?" I frowned up at him.

Smile split his face, but it wasn't happy look. Was more like he was mocking me, or maybe there was hint of challenge there too. "Yeah. Shortcake. Because you're sweet when you wanna be." His grin got wider. "And you remind me of that little doll back in the eighties. My little sister had several of them." Then he chuckled. "Strawberry Shortcake and Lemon Meringue. Gonna have me some fun when we get back to Grim Road."

It took me moment for what he'd said to register. "Strawberry Shortcake. And… Lemon Meringue?"

"Yeah. Little dolls. One dresses in pink with strawberries over her dress. The other in yellow. One smells like strawberries, the other…" He let obvious linger, not finishing his sentence.

"Are you… calling me… some kind of… doll ?" That couldn't be right. "Because if you are, you know you die now. Right?"

The very last thing I expected was for Piston to bark out genuine laugh. This kind of displeasure usually had my prey quaking in fear. But not this man. Of course, not this man. Because, for some reason, he saw me, yet still wanted to be near me.

I rolled my eyes, trying to brush off his amusement as well as unwelcome warmth flooding me. "What do you want, Piston?"

He leaned in, his bulk feeling like wall even with door somewhat between us. "Let me in. We need to talk." His words were serious, but he still had amused expression on his face I didn't like. Not since Victor had sent me off to start my training had anyone been amused by me. When I stared at someone like I was looking at Piston now, only feelings they had were fear. Terror even. Not Piston. He looked like he knew exactly what he was in for and relished the challenge.

With exasperated sigh, I stepped back to let him in. Partly because I knew he wouldn't leave until he'd said his piece, and partly because I was secretly relieved to delay the solitude that would force me to confront my conflicted feelings about him. And the pressing need to find Victor again.

Room felt smaller with Piston inside. His presence was too large, too intense. He looked around, probably noting Spartan furnishings with raised eyebrow, but said nothing about it. Instead, he crossed his arms and leaned one shoulder against closed door casually. When he said nothing, only stared at me, I had to stifle urge to squirm under his gaze.

"Well?" I frowned, trying to read him. Might as well have tried to decipher hieroglyphics for all good it did me. There was amusement on his face but also that hungry look in his eyes. How long had it been since man had looked at me in sexual way? Had anyone ever? I was adept at reading people. Came with territory. Intent was everything in my world. If I didn't read someone's underlying intent, it could get me killed. With Piston, all I saw was hard lust. Like he wanted nothing more than to strip me bare and lick my body from head to toe.

"Well, indeed," he muttered, wiping his hand over his mouth.

" Byad !" I took in deep breath, looking to heavens for patience. If I believed in God, I'd definitely pray for the stuff. In abundance. Or just the will to actually kill big fucker. "I don't need this." I had to turn away from him, which normally I'd never do. If I hadn't, he'd have seen how much that fucking look affected me. Because it had. More than any sexual encounter in my life, this man affected me. With only a look.

I chanced glance in his direction in time to see him move from door and cross scant distance between us. He took my arm and turned me back to face him. His grip was firm but not harsh. Once I faced him, he did the same with my other shoulder. My leather vest was sleeveless so his warm, calloused hands on my bare skin was unexpected thrill. There was no way to stop soft gasp from escaping my lips.

For long moments we stood like that. Piston stared down into my upturned face. His jaw worked, bunching at the sides like he was angry. At me? Not that I cared. Or maybe, he was just as turned-on as I was getting and fighting it just as hard as I was.

The next thing I realized, my hands were on his chest, my fingers curling against his T-shirt-covered skin. Muscles played, giving me delicious hint at what lay under the thin cotton, and I wanted to dig in and hold him to me. My nails, which I kept razor-sharp, had to be poking against his skin. Wouldn't surprise me if I'd left little pricks of blood in my wake.

"Fuck," he muttered. Then he was kissing me.

I stiffened, unsure if I wanted intimate contact or not. I should push him away. Should drive my nails into his belly and eviscerate him. As soon as I got my fill of his delicious kiss…

His lips, warm and insistent, melted resolve I had thought fortified by steel and shadow. I kissed him back with ferocity that surprised even me, my hands moving from his chest up to tangle in his hair. If I scratched him accidentally, he didn't seem to notice. Every fiber of my being screamed that this was wrong, yet it felt terrifyingly right.

Piston's hands moved with possessive urgency, tracing line of my spine before pulling me closer. His touch sparked wildfire threatening to consume everything I'd built around myself. My defenses, my missions, my very identity negated relationships. Yet hadn't I just been thinking how I'd managed to build relationships with people over years?

Yes. I should kill him. And I would. Just as soon as this unbearable tension eased. Just as soon as I figured out how to breathe again without his scent filling my lungs.

And that kiss, it wasn't gentle or tentative. It was all-encompassing, fervent, as if he was trying to meld our souls into one. His lips moved against mine with desperate intensity that left no room for doubt. This wasn't just lust. It was something fiercer, something that didn't care about deadly secrets we both carried or the scars we'd hidden under our clothes and bravado. And I knew Piston had as many secrets as I did.

As his tongue sought entrance, my initial resistance melted like ice on hot blade. Against such incomprehensible lust, I had no defense. I should have. My training had been intense in not only combat and killing, but seduction as well as how to control myself and not get caught up in moment. But I now knew something I doubt anyone of those sadistic bastards who trained me knew. There was no way to combat feelings this intense, because they couldn't be inspired by just anyone. And, oh, how they'd tried…

What I was experiencing currently, though, seemed to shove past back where it belonged, weaving through layers of my guarded self, unraveling years of solitude and survival instincts in moments both fleeting and eternal. Piston moved a hand to nape of my neck. It anchored me to present, to him. His fingers threaded through my hair, pulling slightly, sending shivers down my spine that were both pleasure and dire warning.

Suddenly he pulled back, his breath ragged, his eyes searching mine in dim light. There was vulnerability there I hadn't expected to see -- mirror to my own raw exposure. We were warriors, killers, not meant to find anything but death in our futures. Right? That mantra had been drilled into me from beginning of my training.

His gray eyes, dark and stormy, seared into mine with intensity that both frightened and excited me. "You should've killed me when you had the chance," Piston whispered, his voice rough with emotion.

The truth of his words stung like slap. I should have. Yet, here I was, drowning in depths of his gaze instead of plotting my next move. "Maybe I still will," I managed to say, though threat lacked conviction now tangled up in heat between us.

Piston's half-grin was edged with dangerous knowledge. "Maybe you will," he conceded, the low rumble of his voice challenge and promise rolled into one. The edge in his voice could have cut glass, and it ignited something defiant within me. "But not tonight."

Charged silence stretched between us, thick with words unspoken and moves unplayed. All those lethal skills we both had, our secrets and lies, none of it seemed to matter in that moment. I wanted to take this where we both obviously wanted, but, for the first time in my life, was utterly terrified. I'd rather be in plane crash again than open myself up to the pleasure I might find in this man's arms.

His hands traveled back down my back with ghostly touch I felt through my leather vest -- the vest that proclaimed me part of Salvation's Bane MC -- felt like both caress and dare. I knew in that instant we were trapped in web of our own making, each push driving us deeper into chaos.

He leaned in again, his lips brushing mine with gentleness that belied his strength and the earlier aggressive kiss. This time I didn't stiffen. I opened my mouth and thrust my tongue between his lips at same time he licked at mine.

This dual exploration became another kind of battle, not one of strength or skill, but of vulnerability and surrender. As his taste mingled with mine, a mix of danger, desperation, and underlying hint of something like hope blossomed in my chest. I could feel layers of calculated defenses crumble within me. I had time to wonder if this was all some kind of cruel test, but simply couldn't hold on to anything other than man with his arms around me and his tongue lapping at mine.

Our kiss intensified, no longer just a clash of lips and tongues but something more… connected? His mouth on mine felt just as desperate as I did. He was right. I should have killed him, but I knew I couldn't. Knew I wouldn't . That was problem. Because, for the first time since I was teenager, I had someone I knew I couldn't kill. Sure, men and women in Bones, Salvation's Bane, Grim Road, Iron Tzars, and even Black Reign were people I respected and maybe even cared for, but if I had to, I could kill every single one of them. I'd hurt afterward, but I could do it. Maybe. But Piston? Yeah. I wasn't sure I could kill him, and had no idea why.

I tried to pull myself back, to reassess this whole situation. Except my stupid mouth wouldn't be parted from the pleasure of his. My pulse hammered against his touch as if trying to beat out rhythm for new kind of existence, one where fear and pain weren't foundation or even factor.

Finally, I managed to push against his chest and duck my head. I had no doubt there would be smirking grin on his face if I looked up and wasn't sure I was prepared to deal with any emotions resulting from that embarrassment. Heavy groan seemed to be ripped from his chest as he pulled me closer, resting his chin on my head.

"Shortcake." There was wealth of need and affection in that single word. It also was like needle scratch back to reality.

"Don't call me that," I muttered, familiar defensiveness rebuilding its walls around my heart. Shadows deepening in the fading light seemed to grow denser, as if they too sensed the gravity of what was unfolding.

Piston's chuckle was low and somewhat pained. "Why not?" he asked, his voice teasing yet edged with something like sincerity. "It suits you."

"I refuse to believe I resemble smelly doll in any way." My chin went up and I gave him full force glare that should have shriveled his dick on spot. Instead, I felt it pulse between us. Yeah. I'd missed that before. How, I have no idea because it seemed Piston was big. All over.