by Isabel Wroth
A hard glint turned Nasa's eyes a darker blue. A muscle ticked in his jaw, and from the tightness of his expression, Dillon expected him to tell her to forget it.
To her surprise, he jerked his chin at the couch.
“Have a seat.”
On auto-pilot, Dillon's feet carried her over to the couch, sinking into the plush suede leather. When Nasa got up and headed to the set of doors beneath the stairs, Dillon found herself leaning curiously forward to watch him press his hand to a biometric plate. A beep sounded right before a loud series of thumps, and the doors popped open to reveal a brightly lit tunnel.
“Is that where you keep your bat suit?”
Nasa snorted, his lips quirking ever so briefly. “Storage facility slash fall-out shelter. You want a tour?”
Dillon would have been lying if she said no. So far, just as he'd described, every inch of the Perdition compound had been built with safety and protection in mind.
After hearing more than one person bust his balls about his overly-aggressive tactics in prepping, she was doggedly curious about Nasa's method.
“What about Lyon?”
Nasa looked at the toddler tucked under his desk and a smile quirked his mouth. He crossed the distance and crouched down to tug on the boy's boot.
Lyon looked back and yanked his headphones off with a scowl.
“What? Dis duh gud part, Unka!”
“I'll rewind it for you, killer. I'm gonna show Dillon my treasure room. Stay put, okay?”
Lyon put his headphones back on and gave a dismissive wiggle of his chubby hand.
“Wudebber! Wind it, now!” Nasa obeyed, chuckling when Lyon screamed, “STAHHP!”
Nasa then shot a text off—presumably to Ever to let her know her son was contained—and tilted his head to invite Dillon into his 'treasure room.'
She followed him down another flight of stairs, into a hallway wide enough to drive a truck or an SUV through. It was a long concrete box at least three hundred feet long with dozens of roll up doors on either side.
Dillon looked around with wide eyes, slightly in awe of how much labor the project would have entailed.
Nasa let her take it in, a set of keys jingling in his hands as he shortened his stride to stay beside her.
“When the original compound was destroyed, only the basement survived the explosions, and even then the ceiling had a few cracks in it from the impact of falling debris. So, I buried fifty shipping containers beneath the building.”
“Did you layer a steel plate and beam system between the basement ceiling and the concrete foundation of the compound?”
Nasa glanced down at her with a warm, appreciative look. “Yes. At the end of the hallway is the underground garage, accessed from the barn where we do most of our mechanical work.”
He opened doors and showed her storage containers packed full of supplies to ensure a single person could survive for a year or more.
She spied a towering stack of diapers in one container that would cover Ever's daughter until her sixteenth birthday; a wall of pink stuff in another container along with more baby supplies.
The contents of the next was an arsenal that could supply the takeover of a third world country—Nasa didn't comment on where he'd gotten the firepower—another one held auto parts and tools galore.
Honestly, all that was missing was an ark for the animals.
He led her all the way through the garage and showed her the emergency escape route, and the barn overhead where six enormous trucks sat—all of them white and nondescript.
Nasa explained to her the many ways the vehicles were equipped to survive anything from bomb blasts to epic floods.
“I wanted to make sure we had multiple escape routes that didn't require us to leave the safety of the building in the event of an attack.
"Athena wants to put in a greenhouse to ensure we always have access to clean food, but the only place to safely put it is smack dab in the middle of our training field.”
“You mean that astro-turf covered, post-apocalyptic gorilla playground you've got behind the barn?”
Nasa slanted a narrow look her way, but his lips twitched.
“It's a training field.”
Dillon gave a lofty nod. “Sure. With everything else you have in this place, I was shocked I didn’t discover a fancy home gym with all the latest equipment.”
“Damon is in charge of PT, and he doesn't believe in mirrors. Says only narcissistic douchebags go to an air-conditioned gym to watch themselves lift weights.”
“That's the only reason I'd go to the gym, but it was way more fun to watch all of you flipping a tractor tire up and down the astro-turf.”
It was so effortless, Dillon didn't even realize she was doing it until she caught a glimpse of Nasa’s knowing smirk.
She was flirting.
Thankfully, Nasa didn't call her out on it. He gave a grunt that sounded suspiciously close to a laugh and bent to open the rolling door closest to his basement lair.
“We kept trying for real grass but couldn't keep the fire ants or the sticker burrs from invading. The prospects were spending all their time babying the damn grass and not doing their jobs, so we scraped it all out and put down the astro-turf. No fire ants, no stickers. Traction can be tricky, but we make it work.”
Oh, she'd seen it work. She'd sat beneath the enormous oak tree with Elka between her legs, brushing her slick coat while trying to covertly watch the men making a trash-talking relay race of flipping the two tractor tires up and down the field.
Only a few were missing from each group, on patrol or rotation or whatever, and while it was a total wurstfest on the field, Dillon had eyes only for Nasa.
In his low-slung gym shorts and matching black tank, his body glistening with sweat, muscles bunching and flexing beneath tattooed flesh...
Dillon found herself captivated and desperate for a therapy session to get a handle on why she was attracted to someone she was terrified of.
Dillon knew Nasa was one of those men. A protector of women, children, and small animals. She'd really seen that side of him today in the way he'd eagerly welcomed Lyon, and in the way Nasa prepared a container for his brother's wives with everything a woman in a post-apocalyptic eventuality might need to make survival more comfortable.
Dillon wasn't terrified of him because of these things.
She was terrified because he saw her.
There was no hiding from someone like him, no pretending, no having to explain why she was the way she was. He knew.
Worse, he understood.
The men of Perdition lived with Nasa's paranoia induced proclivities every day and accepted him, warts and all.
They weren't at all put off or uncomfortable with Dillon's issues. In fact, they seemed to effortlessly anticipate and cater to her particular needs without any extra effort, which did make her feel like less of a burden.
Even the women, Athena, Ever, and Ripley, were super conscious of Dillon's need to constantly have her proverbial back to the wall, and in the few moments Dillon had been around the three women, it was with great relief because they acted as though Dillon was perfectly normal.
Not one time had they treated her with kid gloves. The only person who really tip-toed around her was Tobias—for understandable reasons. To her surprise, it seemed whenever Tobias was within sight of her, so was Nasa.
As in, if Tobias was in the room with her, Nasa came up from his basement and found an excuse to give the guy some brotherly shit or do something to the cameras in the room.
Given his dedication to his work, she doubted the cameras needed adjusting or repairing, but she recognized it was Nasa's way of silently letting her know she was in his sight at all times.
No, Dillon wasn't afraid Nasa would do anything to hurt her.
Dillon was afraid, because she could see herself fitting in at the compound, and with Nasa.
She'd come down the other day to make herself some lunch, and Ever and Ripley had alr
eady been there, schlepping in groceries and talking about how crazy expensive TP was getting.
Ever's solution? A bidet made out of a garden hose, and the story turned out to be hilarious.
"By the time it’s all said and done, it'll be cheaper to remodel the bathroom and put a drain in the floor to hose the boys down.
"It'll save me time cleaning the damn bathroom after Roar and Lyon get finished pissing all over the place.
“I mean, seriously, if Roar can put a bullet in the center of a bullseye, I don't get why he can't pee in the bowl. He's got a damn fire hose, so how hard is it to aim and shoot? Lyon has an excuse. He's short, and he's a child.
“After I ripped Roar a new asshole about the mess I was having to constantly clean up, his solution was to take Lyon outside to start pissing on the trees. ‘Problem solved,’ he said.
"Only now Lyon won't pee unless he's outside, and Squatch goes along to pee where the boys have peed to mark his territory.
"My entire backyard smells like a fucking urinal, and before long, I expect to see Roar holding Harper over a bush like a savage. Hey, Dillon.”
Ripley was wiping tears from under her eyes as she sucked air in and tried to keep her cackling down to a low howl. She waved, and somehow managed to gracefully cross the kitchen in towering heels that would make it impossible for the spa owner to run for her life if she had to.
Dillon hadn’t seen Ripley wear anything but feminine outfits in varying shades of pink along with incredibly sexy heels.
Her man, Saint, obviously loved it. Dillon saw how his eyes fell to Ripley's shoes and worked their way up in a sensual, warm, appreciative glide every time he caught sight of Ripley.
In Dillon's estimation, both Ever and Athena were much more practical in their footwear. Dillon was six feet tall without shoes on, but the idea crossed her mind that she could wear heels and still be shorter than Nasa.
Which was ridiculous, because she had no plans to wear anything but sturdy boots around him.
Still, Ever's story and related tales of the shenanigans her husband and son got up to were hilarious.
Dillon wound up helping them cook Sunday dinner for the club, and it turned out to be one of the most fun afternoons she’d had in a long time.
“Alright. These six cabinets have everything we've compiled on Ghost, the Leviathans, and their operation,” Nasa told her, waving his hand like Vanna White at the row of black filing cabinets and neatly stacked boxes that lined both sides of the shipping container, front to back.
“Our first encounter with him starts here.”
Nasa opened the top drawer of the cabinet closest to them on the left, a muscle ticking in his jaw. He stood with both hands curled over the top of the drawer, staring at the neat rows of papers tucked inside hanging files with anger and with sadness.
“How did Perdition get involved with the Leviathans?” she asked gently.
Nasa puffed out a short breath and began his tale, “It started when Ever and Roar got involved a few years back. They had a rocky start, and Roar isn't exactly the sharpest crayon in the box.
"Sometimes, I wonder if Ever would have taken Roar on if she hadn't gotten pregnant.
“Anyway, it took him a while to get his head out of his ass, but Roar put in the effort and Ever came around just in time for her past to come knocking.
"She'd been on the run, in hiding after her entire family was killed, took on a new name, a new identity, and made a life for herself out here.
"She let Roar in, and by proxy the rest of the club, and confessed her father had been president of an MC in Nevada, the Tornadoes.”
Nasa looked sideways at her, and Dillon nodded to say she was keeping up.
“The Tornadoes were struggling to keep their territory and were about to make a merger with a larger club to keep from being taken over by a huge pack of skinheads.
"Couple weeks later—on Ever's wedding day to a dude who turned out to be an undercover ATF agent—there was a massive shootout at the Tornadoes compound and the whole place was set on fire.
"The entire club, her father, grandfather— all dead. Her car popped a flat tire, or she would have been among the casualties.”
Dillon took that information in stride, feeling strangely relieved to know she had something in common with the red-headed badass.
They'd lost everything and rebuilt their lives from nothing. Ever had a family now: two beautiful babies and a husband who looked at her like the sun rose and set because of her.
Dillon didn't see that kind of life for herself, but it was good to know it was possible.
“The Leviathans' were responsible?” Dillon questioned.
“Mmhm. After Ever and Roar sorted their shit, Top wanted to get to the bottom of who was responsible for the massacre. He'd met Ever's parents way back in the day, so he sent Pike and his wife Susan to Nevada to do some research.
“Pike had been a member of Perdition since before I came on about nine years ago. The two of them weren't in Nevada for a week before they were brutally murdered.
"We found out later that Ghost was responsible; he'd been hired by the Leviathans because we were sticking our nose in their business. We didn't know how dirty it was until much later.
“They run drugs, guns, sex-slaves, and have their fingers in every illegal pie you can think of. I've done everything I can to shut them down—and I tell you with pride, I've put a major fucking dent in their finances and their supply lines. And I’m not just looking for Ghost, there’s a woman named Wren.
“That's another story, but she's special to Pen and he's been a wreck since she disappeared, so I want her home.
"I've been tapping my network, using all the resources at my disposal—and my resources aren't slim pickin’s—to find her.”
Nasa glanced her way again, his gaze dropping briefly to Dillon's belly.
“Considering the message Ghost gave you, I must have been getting close. For some reason, he doesn't want me to find Wren, and I haven't come up with a reason yet why that is.”
“Do you believe the answers you need are here in all these files?” she asked.
Nasa made an affirmative noise, his fingers nimble as he reached in to sort through the papers. “I have everything on a closed data-network, but Top is old-school and likes paper.
"We're working our way through this one step at a time. Unfortunately, there's a ton of shit to work through and only a fraction of it is the truth. The rest is just window dressing to disguise it all. Like Ghost.”
He pulled out a green folder and flipped it open, offering her a sheet of paper with a black and white composite sketch.
Whoever had done it was an exceptional artist. The face she held in trembling hands was so lifelike Dillon could almost see the play of muscle beneath the skin.
She could hear his voice in her head, dull and lifeless, devoid of inflection. It was strange, looking at the face, she only heard one word.
One word Ghost had used on purpose to deliver another message.
One word guaranteed to terrify Dillon and force her to focus on that terror, when in reality, it was a message hidden within the message.
Dillon studied the image, her body flashing hot and cold while she tried to keep herself calm and in the present.
The information she had needed to be shared, but it wouldn't happen if she fell down the dark well of traumatized panic again.
She knew her triggers, and she was precariously weaving from side to side on the tight rope that spanned the deep, dark abyss full of demons and monsters waiting to devour her.
Her entire body flinched when Nasa took one of her hands, his grip firm, ignoring how the muscles in her arm turned to stone.
He held on, guiding her palm up to press her fingers to the pulse at his throat.
“Stay here with me, Dillon.” His eyes were an ocean, deep and rippling. His voice, the waves on the shore, soothing and rhythmic.
Completely focused on him, Dillon didn't even notic
e he'd taken the sketch from her until he had her other hand in his to flatten against his chest.
“Count my heartbeats, follow the cadence of my breath.”
The technique was a familiar path back to control, and she walked along it, drawn forward by the strength in his fathomless gaze.
His skin was several degrees warmer than hers, the material of his shirt soft over muscles that were definitely not soft.
When she no longer felt like she was about to spin off into a meltdown, she gave a short nod.
“Still here.”
Nasa gave her hands a squeeze before gently releasing her.
“Good. Was it the photo that tripped your trigger?”
Dillon licked her dry lips, rubbing the heels of her hands against her thighs, but it didn't stop her skin from tingling everywhere Nasa had touched her.
“No. Ghost, he ah... when he was with me at my house, he kept calling me Duchess.”
“Yeah, he said it on the phone, too. Does that mean something to you?”
Her eyebrows hiked as she reached up to touch the raised scar that curved over the top of her right shoulder, pursing her lips to draw in another cool breath.
“It's what the interrogators called me. When I was first brought in, the guy whose wife I helped disappear grabbed my face and told me I acted like his wife. Like I was better than him, but I didn’t look like a princess apparently, so he called me Duchess. Never my name, just… just Duchess.”
Her throat closed up, unable to make any more words come out. His steady gaze burned with an unholy fire, fixated on the sketch sitting atop all the files he'd collected.
“Seems Tobias needs to tell us a little bit more about those assholes he worked with. Specifically, John Lewis.”
“It might not be him,” Dillon rasped.
“It's him. That's what I didn't know.”
Nasa shocked the shit out of her when he bent and touched a quick kiss to her forehead before he snatched up the sketch and strode out the door.
Dillon didn't follow. She was too busy trying not to melt into a puddle of goo.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Tobias had quit drinking a few hours before leaving Dallas, and as far as Nasa knew, he hadn't touched a drop of booze since.
