Dillon's Universe: A Perdition MC Novel

by Isabel Wroth

  She didn't notice how she subtly stepped toward him when she was suddenly surrounded by ten curious guys who wanted to know how she'd managed to keep from peeing on her shoes.

  But Nasa noticed, and that one tiny step was worth whatever lead they'd lost on the satellites overhead.

  “It's the product of a woman who got tired of having to squat in the dirt with her pants around her ankles or risking a flesh-eating bacteria from sitting on a public toilet.”

  “Do those wing things hold your pussy open so you can get in there with it?” Duke asked, totally serious.

  Tobias did Nasa a favor by reaching out with his good arm to slap the bastard upside the back of his fool head.

  “What? What'd I say?”

  Raid guffawed and whipped out his phone- “I've got to get one of those for Athena; she'll love it.”

  Nasa was most definitely going to stock up on at least twenty of them and stick them in every go-bag he had in storage for the women, but they all didn't need to be out here in the open discussing the particulars of learning how to not piss on yourself.

  “Alright, everyone back in the fucking trucks. The satellites—”

  “If I have to hear about satellites one more time, I will turn this goddamn convoy around!” Veracruz snarled as he stomped off toward his truck.

  “That was the funniest shit I've seen since Roar got his dick stuck in his zipper.” Raid whooped as he climbed back in the truck.

  Dillon smiled and it made Nasa's heart feel lighter to see it. “Modern problems require modern solutions.”

  *****

  It was just after midnight by the time they pulled through the gates of the compound, and Nasa was finally able to breathe a sigh of relief.

  Despite the lateness, Ever came out to meet them with Top, smiling in welcome.

  “You look like shit, Dillon,” Ever greeted warmly. “The boys talked your ear off the whole way back, didn't they?”

  Nasa saw the smile Dillon tried to give, but it was obvious she was exhausted.

  “Only a little bit. Damon has issues with sewage, Nasa has a thing about satellites and public bathrooms, and Raid is shit scared of the Paleo diet.”

  “I am not!” Raid hollered. “I just wanna drink beer and eat some goddamn toast with my eggs in the morning.”

  “Fuck me, not again,” Top groaned piteously. “What the hell did you do to piss off your wife this time?”

  Raid scowled at Top in outrage, “Me? You're the one who opened this can of worms in the first place, old man, and all of the sudden, I'm Test Subject Number One!”

  Ever cracked up while Raid and Top tossed blame back and forth as to which one of them had created a health-conscious monster, opening her arm to Dillon.

  “Never a dull moment. Come on, I've got a room all fixed up for you.”

  Nasa watched the two women and the big-ass dog disappear into the fortress he'd spared no expense in creating, tapping the surface of his tablet to activate all the security protocols around the building.

  “You good?” Damon asked quietly from beside him. He knew how difficult it was for Nasa to leave the safety of his lair, and for all the shit Nasa got about his paranoia and behavioral quirks, his brothers were tolerant, accepting him as he was.

  Nasa gave a jerky nod. “Fine. Just been out in the open too long. I'll be in the basement if anyone needs me.”

  He didn't give anyone the opportunity to delay him, needing to be at his command center. Needing to have eyes on Dillon.

  The room Ever prepared was to Nasa's specifications, and he wanted to make sure Dillon felt comfortable enough there to sleep.

  He jogged through the compound and leaned in to let the retinal scanner take the shape of his eye, pushing through the heavy steel door and down the stairs where his system was already awake and waiting for him.

  Planting his ass in his command chair, he tapped up the security camera feed and immediately chose a full screen view of Dillon's room.

  She stood there, just past the threshold with her back to the wall, taking it in while Ever listed off the amenities and where to go if she felt like she needed a warm glass of milk.

  Just like the master in her home and the bedroom she'd woken up in at the commando's safe house, there were no windows someone could crawl through.

  The walls were painted a pale slate gray; an extremely realistic painting of a full, glassy moon hung over the king size bed, draped in navy blue and white bedding.

  A thick gray rug covered most of the concrete floor, the nightstand beside the bed had some books Nasa thought Dillon might like, and the pot of lavender must have been either Ever or Athena's feminine touch.

  The en suite bathroom had fluffy blue towels with a whole basket full of candles and girly shit from Athena's Apothecary if Dillon got the urge to use the deep soaking tub. Raid came up with the suitcase of clothes and toiletries Nasa arranged for, and finally, Ever shut the door, leaving Dillon alone with her dog.

  With a weary sigh, Dillon opened the suitcase for her bag of new toiletries and said, “There better not be any cameras in the bathroom, Nasa.”

  He smiled slightly, appreciating the fact she assumed she was being watched at all times. There were indeed cameras in the bathroom, but he kept them off to at least give her that much privacy. She came back out not long later, wearing one of the comfy nighties he'd picked out for her, tossing the extra pillows to the bench at the end of the bed. It wasn't lost on him that she left the bathroom night light on with the door cracked.

  “You thought of everything,” Dillon whispered as she slipped beneath the sheets and snuggled down with Elka.

  That night, a nightmare woke Dillon up not long after falling asleep. He checked on her via the video feed and saw she was sitting up with her elbows braced on her knees, her head in her hands while she sat there gasping for air, trembling so hard the sheets shook around her.

  While Nasa battled with the urge to go upstairs and help her, Dillon got up, ran herself a bath, soaked for almost an hour before reluctantly climbing back in bed.

  The next morning, Nasa quietly approached her in the kitchen to ask if she was alright, but Dillon acted as though nothing had happened.

  Thinking she just needed some privacy to talk about her nightmares, he tried to engage her by inviting her down to inspect his system.

  Dillon made it as far as the open door of the basement, turned white as a sheet, and spun on her heel to practically run from him.

  “It reminds her of the black site,” Tobias told him as he appeared out of nowhere, looking worse sober than he had after drinking himself into a stupor.

  Nasa tried to see the doorway as anything other than the entrance to his space.

  “It was in a basement?”

  Tobias shook his head solemnly. “Warehouse.”

  “Then why?”

  “No lights. Just a deep, black hallway she can't see the end of.”

  Without another word, Tobias wandered off and left Nasa standing there staring at the door. He took the stairs slowly, deep in thought as the lights overhead came on as they sensed his movement.

  His entire space was painted black because he found comfort in the monochromatic darkness. Roar liked to give him shit and tell him it was a pit as black as his soul.

  Nasa just liked it because everything matched, and black was his favorite color. Even his D/s equipment and toys were all black.

  He looked at the wide space where his St. Andrew’s cross and spanking bench sat. At the Sybian perched on a platform that was the perfect height for him to join his partner's pleasurable play.

  Stone made him a custom-sized tantric couch in sexy black leather; his stocks were painted black, the shelves of toys, the metal racks where he hung his whips...

  “Fuck,” he hissed, glad Dillon hadn't come down here. If the sight of a shadowy black doorway had been enough to set her off, he couldn't imagine what seeing all his dungeon furniture—especially the whips—would have done.


  All of his toys and furniture were unused because he hadn't actually ever brought a woman to the basement.

  He trusted no one but his brothers and their women to come down here into his inner sanctum, and looking at all this stuff, it seemed ridiculous to have it set up, even though he had no plans to ever use it on some random chick.

  Decision made, he went to the pair of double doors hidden beneath the stairs and pushed them wide.

  It had been a huge endeavor to make it happen, but when he'd taken on the chore of rebuilding the new compound, Nasa insisted on expanding their storage system.

  Before, all his containers had been above ground. Vulnerable and easily used as cover for enemies with grenade launchers to sneak in and hide behind.

  The containers had survived the fire, all his supplies inside untouched, but the attack had brought to light the liability having aboveground storage. So, he'd rented a huge-ass excavator and started digging.

  Every member of Perdition now had two 40 foot containers buried beneath the concrete entry lot. One full of survival supplies Nasa had compiled specific to each member’s preferences and needs, and another empty one for the brothers to put whatever the hell they wanted in them.

  He'd gotten a deal on buying the containers, so Nasa buried fifty of them beneath the compound, made extra living quarters in case of a fallout emergency, and turned a few more into an underground garage where they now parked all of their vehicles and bikes.

  All that extra cost Nasa a huge chunk of the money he'd poured into the club coffers via his stock-market play, but it was worth it. With the addition of the women and children, he was glad for the extra space.

  The guys all thought he was batshit crazy and humored him, even though they called him an OG Doomsday Prepper, but if they knew half the shit he knew about the fragility of the US government and the true likelihood of a complete and total shutdown?

  Well, suffice it to say, when things finally did fall apart, he was prepared to ensure the survival of the entire club.

  CHAPTER TEN

  After two days spent in nearly complete isolation, with nothing to really do except replay the events of the last week, Dillon decided knowing more about the person who attacked her would help her feel less out of control.

  Mind made up, Dillon hiked down the stairs, narrowly avoiding a pair of commandos who seemed to appear and disappear like magic.

  She got as far as the hallway where the basement door was before having a minor panic attack that sent her running back to her room.

  It took her another day to drum up the courage to try again, only she'd seen Ruckus and Gee come out of the ominously dark hole covered in white paint and bickering.

  “You're supposed to paint the walls, dumbass!” Ruckus exclaimed in his usual overly loud voice, his carrot red hair at wild angles.

  Gee followed not long after, liberally splattered with white paint. It was all over his black tee, his face was covered in white freckles, and there were white racing stripes through his short mohawk.

  His jeans had hand-sized streaks from knees to thigh, splattered so thick across the top of his Chucks the red canvas was almost obliterated.

  “I was in a coma, dickhead. My eye-hand coordination is still fucked up,” Gee was saying.

  There was a quietness to Gee that complimented Ruckus's over the top loudness. The eye of calm to Ruckus's tornado.

  “That's total horseshit!” Ruckus declared. “It's been two years, and you have no problems catching footballs, even when Raid throws them all lopsided and shit.”

  “Muscle memory,” Gee countered reasonably. “I've caught ten thousand passes in my life, and painted like, six walls.”

  “Says the butthole who pimps out motorcycles with the hottest paint jobs in town! How the hell can you wield an airbrush like Picasso, and not spill a drop, but can't paint up and down in straight lines with a huge-ass roller brush?”

  “Quit bustin’ my balls already, will you?” Gee grumbled, neither of them noticing Dillon hid around the corner, watching their little drama unfold.

  Dillon told herself something was obviously going on down there, and they were busy. Too busy for her right now, so once again, Dillon retreated.

  Now, she stood with her toes only a few inches away from the huge steel door that led down into the darkness of Nasa's command center.

  All the bravery she'd gathered seemed to only extend this far, and not even Elka leaning hard against her leg, steadied Dillon.

  The anxiety of lifting her hand to knock made her stomach churn. She was wound so tight, she barely stopped herself from screaming when a little voice piped up from behind her.

  “Whatchu doin’, Dilly?”

  Clearly more aware of her surroundings than Dillon was, Elka only looked at the boy with mild interest, while Dillon struggled to swallow her racing heart.

  Lyon sat on the stairs, his tawny hair in wild disarray that told her he'd awoken from a recent nap and was probably coming downstairs in search of snacks.

  He peered at her with sweet curiosity, and to her surprise, Dillon found some of her trepidation easing.

  “Well, I need to talk to Nasa. This is his door, right?” She knew it was, but the longer she stayed up here chatting with Lyon, the longer she was able to put off actually going through the door.

  Lyon nodded and bounced to his feet, hopping like a bunny down the last few steps. “Yup, yup! But he can't herd you if you jus be knockin. Dat door is unpennable. Polyps proof. You gotta ring dis bell and holler real loud if you wan Unka Nasaw to answer. I show you.”

  Fighting a smile, Dillon moved back at Lyon's imperious wave to move her out of his way.

  It was hilarious to watch him bounce up and down to reach the doorbell, slapping it with his little hand, shouting at the top of his baby lungs.

  “UNKA NASAW! WOAH-PEN DIS DAMN DOH!”

  Dillon could hear the smile in Nasa's voice when the intercom to the left of the door clicked on. “What's the password?”

  Lyon scoffed, looking over his shoulder at her with his nose scrunched up in thought.

  “Baws. I forgotted about the passurd. Uh... oh, yeah!” Lyon sucked in a huge breath, threw his shoulders back, and howled, “FUNKY SPUNKY BOO BUTTED MONKEY!”

  The door to the prepper's lair opened inward with a soft hiss, and there he was, all seven feet of pure Viking, grinning down at the littlest brother of Perdition.

  “Hey, killer. What's up?”

  Very importantly, Lyon hooked his thumb over his shoulder at her.

  “Dilly wansa talk. You got ehny box? I'm sirsty.”

  “I've got apple juice and some string cheese with your name on it.” Nasa scooped the kid up and settled him on his hip like it was the most natural thing in the world, and her already bruised and battered heart gave a flutter.

  To her, Nasa said, “You good?”

  Dillon managed to nod, noticing just now that instead of an inky black pit, the walls and ceiling of the basement stairwell were now a soft white.

  “Come down when you're ready.” Nasa turned to make his descent, asking Lyon if he'd had a good nap.

  Dillon crept forward like there was an ambush waiting to happen, peering down the long stairwell to see the light flooding the whitewashed space.

  She took the steps one at a time, creeping slowly forward, her mouth dryer than the desert as she followed the sound of Nasa's voice.

  The warm, masculine smell of leather, saddle soap, and snow-covered spruce hit her halfway down. It took her a second to realize it was him. His smell that permeated every inch of the large underground space.

  “Can I watch some toons?” Lyon asked loudly, snapping out of the scent-induced haze to realize she stood at the foot of the stairs, and Nasa's dark pit of despair wasn't what she'd been expecting.

  The enormous four-poster bed tucked back against one wall was draped in white bedding, a few black and white geometric pillows tossed in to add some contrast. Giant green ferns spilled over an ac
cent table flanked by huge charcoal gray leather wingback chairs, more cozy blankets draped over the backs.

  A few rugs on the cold concrete floors made out of natural fibers gave warmth to the room, and a sectional couch facing an equally huge flatscreen filled up the rest of the space while still leaving plenty of room to roam around.

  There were two sets of double doors, one directly to the right of the bed, and another situated beneath the stairs.

  The basement was clean, modern, and smelled very faintly of fresh paint.

  “Totally. What's your poison?” Nasa replied, sitting down in his command chair before a huge bank of computer monitors, letting Lyon slide from his arms and into a human-sized dog crate built in beneath the desk.

  Dillon's eyebrows shot up to see the Spiderman pillows and comfy blankets tossed in the cage, and how eagerly Lyon gator crawled inside with his post-nap snack.

  “Scooby-Doo! Duh!” Lyon whooped.

  Nasa blew him a raspberry. “Duh! What was I thinking? Here's your cans, man.”

  Dillon saw a little flatscreen flare to life inside the cage, and after snapping on a pair of bulky headphones, Lyon flopped onto his belly and kicked his feet up in the air as Scooby-Doo started rolling.

  “He seems a little young for crate training.”

  Nasa gave a good-natured chortle, swiveling his chair around to face her, looking like a techno god splayed provocatively on his throne surrounded by his web of information.

  The blue light from the monitors reflected off his hair, making it seem silvery in the dim light.

  “I was dumb and offered to dog sit Athena's last puppy and wound up using the crate for him. Lyon came down and crawled in with Munch, thinking the puppy was lonely or something, and decided he liked it in there. So, now it's his little man cave. What do you need?”

  Snared by the intensity of his focus, a sizeable crack formed in the wall she'd put up to contain all her emotional turmoil.

  “I need to know more about Ghost. It will help me... settle.” She almost said, 'come to grips with my new reality,' but it seemed more permanent than Dillon was willing to think about right now.