by Isabel Wroth
“Or the part where you informed me this man has a hand in drugs, guns, human trafficking, and is part of some biker gang who wants me dead?
“I did hear you, and I appreciate the fact that as far as criminals go, it doesn't get much worse, right?
"I also heard the part about whatever war your gang and his gang have going on, which only reinforces my decision to be anywhere else but here.”
“Perdition isn't a gang. It's a club, and yes, there is a difference,” Top informed her firmly, giving Dillon what the women affectionately referred to as, ‘the fish eye.’ The wives of Perdition knew that look meant Top was skimming the edge of his temper, but Dillon had no idea.
“Everyone under this roof is a licensed private detective, and aside from some minor breaking and entering, nothing about our operation is illegal, unlike the gang Ghost works with.
"The Leviathans are on the actual terror watch list and are being investigated by every three letter agency you can think of.
“Until we figure out why Ghost sent you here, why he picked you to deliver his message—knowing full well we'd take you in and protect you like one of our own—I highly suggest you take a few minutes to reconsider. You leave this compound, you're a dead woman. Ghost made that clear, and he may be a psycho, but he ain't a liar.”
Dillon sat there with a frown on her face, silent for the longest time.
“You don't know me at all, but you're willing to stick your neck out for me?”
Top spread his hands wide. “The Leviathans want you dead, so that means I have an invested interest in keeping you alive, just to spite those bastards. I know you want to get gone, but why don't you stick around long enough to get that beast of yours to the vet to make sure whatever Ghost gave her doesn't fuck her up.”
CHAPTER THREE
It softened Dillon when it shouldn't have that Top's concern extended to her dog. It made her like the silver-haired biker. Maybe even respect him a little bit. Top sat right in front of her and made the call to a mobile vet, who sounded like his buddy, and got the guy to agree to come into the city to give Elka a thorough once over.
“You're about the same size as Roar's woman,” Top told her when he hung up. “She won't mind if you borrow a shirt. You hungry? I can send one of the boys to get you anything you want.”
Dillon was starving, but there was no way she'd be accepting food from these people.
“Elka and I don't eat anything I didn't make myself.”
Top's bushy black and silver eyebrows hiked up.
“Ever?”
“Ever.” Elka tilted her head at the mention of food, and Dillon felt an undeniable wave of gratitude that Ghost chose to simply sedate Elka instead of killing her.
Dillon smoothed her hands over Elka's ears, looking into her big amber eyes. “Though, I guess even being prepared and careful doesn't always ensure it's safe.”
Whatever Top would have said in response was lost as the door exploded open like a giant had kicked it in, and a tornado came whirling through, shouting at the top of his lungs,
“Papa, I'm weddy to wide!”
Dillon was so surprised she nearly jumped out of her skin, but Top sat there calmly, struggling to keep a stern expression on his face as the tow-headed boy, dressed in a kid-sized leather jacket, jeans, and a pair of beat up baby biker boots, threw himself into Top's lap.
Dillon saw the adoration shining in Top's clear blue eyes despite the hardass edge to his voice.
“Boy, you know when that door is closed, it means you stay out.”
The kid was about to reply when a woman's voice echoed throughout what felt like the entire compound.
“Lyon Taggart Morningstar, you get back here RIGHT NOW!”
“Aw sheeit,” the kid declared, sliding off Top's lap like an eel to crawl under the table.He made it to cover just as a gorgeous red-head carrying a little red-headed toddler wearing a big polka-dot bow, perched on her hip marched through the open door.
The woman had on a nearly indecent pair of cut off shorts, her miles of tanned legs on display, and a black shirt that said Never Ever Land surrounded in vibrant flowers.
Her wild red hair was barely restrained in a braid that fell to the hem of her cut-offs, and even across the room, Dillon saw fire in her bright green eyes.
The little girl was adorable wearing nothing but a diaper and a black shirt that proclaimed her Property of Perdition, burbling a sweet sound as she gave Top a gummy grin and reached her chubby arms out for the older man.
“Top, you seen the ankle-biter?”
Top covertly pointed at the table and shot the woman a wink. “Nope, he bust loose from his car seat again?”
Glaring with a mother's fury at her son's hiding place, the woman huffed out a breath and handed the little girl over when Top held his hands out for her.
“He unbuckled himself before I even put the car in park and climbed out the damn window! I swear to god, there is no such thing as a 'child-proof' lock. Where’s my other problem child?”
Top cooed at the baby girl who wrapped her arms around his neck, cuddling against him like the old man was her favorite teddy.
“Down in the basement with the rest of the boys.”
The red head scowled darkly. “Please tell me Nasa isn't putting on another one of his kinky knot tying classes.”
“Better not be,” Top chuckled. “Ever, this is Dillon. She had a run-in with Ghost.”
Dillon watched the horror twist the other woman's face into a worried mask.
“Oh, fuck. Are you okay?” Ever seemed genuinely concerned, fearful even.
Dillon managed a weak smile and nodded, still clutching at Elka in hopes of avoiding a panic attack. “I'll live.”
“She needs a shirt,” Top cut in. “You got any lying around to spare?”
“Yeah, of course. What else? Food? A stiff drink?” Despite her frustrations with her wild child hiding beneath the table, the motherly instinct was clearly strong with Ever.
“Hand sanitizer if you have it,” Dillon croaked, able to feel the ink on her flesh burning like acid. She needed it gone, now.
“No problem. Top, if you see my wayward son, let him know there won't be any popsicles in the freezer for the next week.” Ever winked at Top and strode from the room.
As soon as she was gone, Lyon crawled out from under the table with a fierce scowl and gave his little leather jacket a tug.
“No fair!”
Top blew a raspberry on the little girl's throat that made her shriek with laughter.
“Tough titties, kid. You're not supposed to run from your mama. It's not safe.”
Lyon gave an honest to god growl and scuffed the toe of his boot against the floor. “Nowhere safer den the pound. Unka Nasaw said so.”
Top snorted shortly, still struggling to keep a grip on his stern grandpa face. “Don't argue with me, Lyon. Your daddy would lose his mind if anything happened to you because you were goofing off and not minding your mother.
"Then who would go riding with me or sneak popsicles out of my office freezer when your old man is busy makin’ your mama happy?”
“No-buddy,” Lyon grumbled, ducking his head in an appropriate show of remorse.
“That's right. So, when she comes back, what will you say to your mother?”
Lyon heaved a sigh, scrunched up his face. “Imma tell her sowwy and try hard to be a good boy.”
“And when this door is closed?” Top drawled with a narrow glare for the kid.
“Nobody comes inside who idn't a brudder, and I don't got my patches yet. But I will soon,” Lyon said, looking at Dillon with a confident lift of his chin, like it was important for her to know his leather jacket wouldn't always be bare.
“You're pridy, who're you? Can I pet your dog?”
Dillon choked on the laughter she knew she didn't dare let go of. “I'm Dillon, and this is Elka. She only lets her friends pet her, so if you want to be friends, you have to shake hands first.”
She thought Lyon would hesitate, considering Elka was so huge he only came up to her chest, but the boy walked right up to her and bravely stuck out his little hand.
“Shake?”
Dillon gave Elka a little squeeze, and the huge beast lifted her paw, gently placing it in Lyon's palm to somberly shake.
Lyon chortled when Elka licked his face, diving right in to wrap both arms around Elka's thick neck.
“You're pridy too, Elka. Can she haz a snack?” Lyon asked, fishing a huge milk bone biscuit from inside his jacket with a way too cute grin.
“I was gonna save it for Crunchie, but I give him snacks all duh time.”
Heart melted to goo, Dillon nodded. It was highly unlikely a toddler had done anything other than get pocket lint on the biscuit.
“Sure, she'd like that a lot.”
Elka was gentle as a lamb when she took the bone from Lyon, devouring the treat in three huge chomps. Lyon's eyes went wide with delighted awe, petting Elka's shoulder.
“She's hungee! I can get more.”
“Thank you,” Dillon murmured with a genuine smile. “But Elka has to see the doctor soon, so she has to wait until after.”
“Oh no, is she sick?” Lyon asked, his eyes going wide with instant worry, his bottom lip even gave a little wobble.
“No, but a very bad man put something in her dog food and made her go to sleep. I want to make sure she's okay before she eats anything else.”
Lyon took a step back, the sadness gone from his too cute face, replaced with baby biker rage. Once again at the top of his lungs, he howled, “What bad man? Gimme a name, wumin, and he seeps with fishes a-fore dawn!”
One of the bikers Dillon vaguely remembered escorting her inside walked in with a huge grin on his face. He was broad shouldered, blond, exuding sexiness like an aroma.
“You planning a vicious murder again, son?”
Lyon whipped around to face the man who fathered him and dramatically declared, “Daddy, someone hurted my fren! Nobody hurts my frens and wivvs! I wanna see a body, wight now!”
The biker dipped his chin in a grave nod. “We're workin’ on it. Who's your friend?”
“Dis is Elka. We shook hands, Daddy. We best frens forebber now.”
So saying, Lyon turned around to wrap his arms back around Elka's neck and stroked her ears with gentle hands.
“It's okay, Elka. Daddy will bring you a new pair of balls soon. Den we can play fetch.”
A squeak escaped Dillon's lips as she looked to see both Lyon's father and grandpa grinning at one another like they'd just witnessed one of the proudest moments of their lives.
“Well, I see my son is wasting no time charming the ladies.” Ever sauntered in with a wicked smile on her face, a basket full of stuff balanced on her hip.
Her husband reached out to draw her under his arm. “Chip off the ole' block, huh?”
Ever clicked her tongue in reprimand but shot a smoldering look at her man from under her lashes. “Unfortunately.”
Top cleared his throat loudly, which made Lyon's shoulders hunch, but he let go of Elka and shuffled over to give his hugs to his mother's leg, tipping his head back to look at her.
“I'm sowwy for being a bad boy, Mama. I won't climb out duh winder again and wun away.”
It was plain to see Ever wasn't immune to either of the men in her life because she sighed, palming Lyon's tawny hair. “You are a good boy. Don't be in such a hurry next time, okay?”
“Okay, Mama. My fren needs a pupsicle.”
“Nice try, mister,” Ever snorted. “No dice. You want a popsicle, you better go clean up that huge pile of blocks in the game room.”
“Aw, Mama, you k’win me here!” Lyon griped, but he shuffled off without further prompting.
Ever lifted the basket of stuff and tilted her head to the side with an inviting smile.
“There's a bathroom just down the hall where you can change.”
Dillon’s knees were still a little shaky as she stood up and followed Ever out of the room, but the burst of satisfaction she got in watching Ever's biker husband step aside to give Elka a wide berth gave her strength.
Down the hall, Ever pushed open a door to a large bathroom that looked like it was straight out of the Magnolia catalog. Farmhouse chic, complete with a huge soaking tub and a shower big enough for three men.
Ever set her basket down on the white marble countertop and leveled a serious look at Dillon.
“If my son runs up to smooch your hellhound there, she's not going to eat him, right? No offense, he just has no sense of self-preservation whatsoever and that's literally the sexiest, meanest looking dog I've ever seen.”
Dillon looked down at where Elka sat, right by her heel, and couldn't help but rub her fingers deep into the sweet spot just beneath Elka's ear.
“She's a monster when she needs to be, but they shook hands. It's the cue her trainer taught her to know the difference between friend and foe. He's safe to smooch away.”
“Cool, well, I'll leave you to it.” Ever waved her hand at the bathroom. “There aren't any cameras in here, so take your time.”
“Thanks.”
“You're welcome. I'm sure it might not seem like it, but you're safe here.”
Dillon didn't want to argue with someone who'd gone to the trouble of being kind, so she just smiled and ducked her head in acknowledgment.
*****
Nasa pulled his phone out like he was texting, spinning to the side so none of the others would see him activating the cameras in the upstairs bathroom. He felt the slightest pang of guilt for spying on Dillon in there after hearing Ever tell her it was a camera-free zone, but he still didn't trust their guest.
He didn't think it would hit him as hard as it did, watching as Dillon rifled through the stuff Ever brought her with trembling hands.
She unzipped her hoodie and tossed it on the sink, her breath coming in choppy pants as she dumped hand-sanitizer into her palm and rubbed it over her chest and belly, using a washcloth to roughly scrape at her skin until it was red. Until not a speck of black ink of Ghost's orders remained on her flesh.
Huge tears spilled over Dillon's lashes, and Nasa felt his stomach turn sour as he invaded her privacy, spying on her at her most vulnerable. Every instinct he had was screaming at him to go up there and do something to make Dillon stop crying. To make her feel safe. To protect her. To do something. But he just sat there and watched that huge-ass dog of hers hop up on her hind legs to push her face against Dillon's.
The dog practically wrestled Dillon to the floor, wiggling into Dillon's lap as she used her impressive bulk to press Dillon back against the vanity cabinets.
Dillon was close to hyperventilating, but the dog continued to lean all her weight against Dillon, and her breaths slowly started to level out. Her arms came up to hug the dog, and for a long time, the two of them just sat there.
When she finally got it together, Dillon lifted her face from her dog's throat and let her head thunk back against the cabinets. She looked frail, terrified, completely drained.
For a moment, Nasa forgot she might be one of Ghost's spies and gave into curiosity, wondering what could have possibly happened to her that she needed an emotional support dog.
In the preliminary dive he'd done into her background, he'd found nothing that told him she was dirty. No offshore accounts, no strange connections to suspected terrorists, no arrests, no active warrants, not even a speeding ticket on her driving record.
In fact, she had no credit cards, she had no debt, and her credit score was in the high eight hundreds. She had no social media accounts, no email, and the phone he'd taken off of her was registered to a women's shelter in Dallas. The only thing of value she had to her name was the Bronco.
She had a birth certificate, a social security card, a driver’s license, and that was it as far as a paper trail.
He still wasn't done searching, and until his programs found something new, he was stuck feeling like a com
plete douchebag for doubting her.
But until he had concrete proof she was an innocent victim, he couldn't allow himself the luxury of belief. Not when his family was at risk.
“Thanks, Elka.” Dillon's husky whisper came through on the audio, and after a few more minutes of slow, deep breathing, the dog backed off and let Dillon up.
Dillon stumbled like she was drunk, bracing herself on the counter to take a minute before she finished cleaning herself up.
The video feed was clear enough for Nasa to count the scars on her back, and he couldn't imagine she'd have willingly put herself in a position to receive them.
As thick and raised as they were, she hadn't earned them through any form of consensual BDSM.
The wounds would have been deep, probably deep enough to need stitches, but hospital records would have popped on his search almost immediately.
What kind of hell had this woman been through?
Dillon bent and splashed water on her face, then raked her fingers through her short hair.
She pulled on the pink Harley Davidson tee and finished cleaning up, lifting her gaze to the mirror to give a short, sharp sigh.
“I've got to get the hell out of here.”
*****
“Blood work looks good,” Dr. Bly reported in a slow Texas drawl. The vet was in his late forties, short and stocky, his dark hair covered by a beat-up Stetson.
His nose was slightly malformed from having been broken one too many times, his skin tan and red from hours spent in the sun. He looked like a man who'd been rode hard and put up wet his entire life
His dark blue polo shirt had a smear of something brown on the shoulder, his pressed jeans had a few more brown stains, and his boots were caked around the edges with what smelled like cow shit.
The only clean and shiny thing he had on was the dinner plate sized belt-buckle, proclaiming him the calf roping champion of 2016.
Elka lay calmly on the tailgate of Dr. Bly's truck, watching him with a bored expression on her face.
She even huffed in annoyance, like this whole thing was beneath her somehow.
