Dillon's Universe: A Perdition MC Novel

by Isabel Wroth

  “Tuesday at four,” Dillon confirmed, trying and failing to find any familial similarities between Dr. White and Cher.

  The two women were about the same size and both had blue eyes. Cher's hair was a russet brown, Dr. White's was black.

  She supposed their skin tone would have been the same if Cher didn't avail herself of tanning beds, but beyond their general shape, Dillon didn't see it.

  Then again, it was difficult to picture Dr. White wearing the uniform of a Dominatrix and receiving money for utilizing whips and chains on the men groveling at her feet.

  Actually, giving it a bit of thought, it really wasn’t that difficult after all.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Two hours after watching her confidently follow Collette back to the therapy suites, Dillon came back to the waiting room with her hands jammed defiantly into her pockets, giving Nasa this look like she dared him to try and grab her hand.

  Dillon was polite to Collette in her goodbyes, purposefully directing Elka to walk between them as Nasa led the way out.

  Nasa threw a suspicious glare over his shoulder at Collette, but she didn't look guilty in any way. In fact, she gave him a huge smile and two thumbs up. Whatever the fuck that meant.

  Nasa took Dillon out the back to avoid having to pass by Cher, waiting until they were in the truck before asking her if she was alright.

  “I'm fine. It was just a lot to go over everything again, and Dr. White left me with a lot of food for thought. I'm digesting,” Dillon said calmly, but she sat ramrod straight with her hands clasped tightly in her lap, looking straight ahead.

  Opting not to push or insist 'fine' was a word women used when they were anything but, Nasa started the truck and pulled out of the parking lot, his mind racing with scenarios that might explain Dillon's chilly attitude toward him.

  Dillon said she'd gone over 'everything,' but two hours didn't seem like enough time to sort through three years of missed appointments.

  Or describe what it felt like to have a murderer in her bed, two dead bodies on her conscience, and being in unfamiliar territory. Any of those things could have triggered a panic attack.

  Collette knew what to do, she had plenty of experience helping Dillon, but Nasa couldn't help the anger brewing to not have been there to make Dillon feel safe himself.

  Teague would probably want to talk about that irrational thinking.

  Radiating tension from the passenger seat beside him, Dillon was silent the entire thirty minutes it took to get back to the Perdition compound, and even when she asked him if she could get online to check her emails and stuff, she didn't meet his gaze.

  “Is that what you need right now?” Nasa asked, hoping she would elaborate, or at least look at him.

  He could hear her swallow, see the fine tremble that danced across her shoulders, and the goosebumps that prickled across her arms.

  “Yes.”

  Frustration ate at him to have so little information, but Nasa led the way downstairs, glad to see Gee and Ruckus had set up exactly what he'd asked for.

  They'd moved the couches farther away from the wall and set up a desk for Dillon with a thick dog bed for Elka right beside the chair.

  As soon as Dillon saw it, she stopped dead, and to his horror Nasa watched her bottom lip wobble before she roughly bit down on it.

  Not sure which part was the cause of her distress, Nasa hurried to reassure her it could all disappear, “I thought you'd like a spot of your own to get back to working on your housing projects. If you don’t like it, or being down here—”

  “Dr. White told me you're hardcore into BDSM, but you moved all your sex furniture out of the basement when you painted it white, that you did all this because of me, and I should ask you for a massage.”

  The words came out in a wild rush, so jumbled and close together it took him a second to untangle them.

  Three distinct issues needed to be addressed, but she was still so tense and emotional, Nasa didn't know where to start.

  He ducked his head to the side to catch her gaze, getting angrier by the second to realize she was on the verge of tears.

  “Which part of all that upsets you the most?”

  “You told me in the truck you weren't interested in any sort of therapy for yourself, and not ten minutes later agreed to sixty-four hours with Dr. Thompson. Why did you do that?”

  The erratic jump from one topic to the next left Nasa feeling distinctly off balance, but he was glad he'd already talked about his quick change regarding therapy with Teague.

  “As soon as we walked inside the building, you went from holding my hand to clinging to it tight enough to make my bones rub together. You didn't relax and ease up until I started talking about the planters, and I realized how much courage it took for you to go in there despite having an established relationship with Collette.

  “I felt like an asshole for insinuating I had a handle on my crazy and you didn't. I was only going to suggest the planters to Teague, but he shot me down so hard I knew I could use it as an excuse to negotiate some sessions with him without looking like a pussy.

  “I did paint the basement white and put all my toys and dungeon furniture away because I didn't want you to be uncomfortable if you had to come down here.

  "I didn't want you to feel like you were in the black site, or revisit what it felt like to be whipped if you saw my collection of single tails.

  “Yes, BDSM plays a big part of my life, but I don't need it twenty-four-seven, and whatever skills I have in that arena would never be used to hurt you.

  "As for asking me to give you a massage, any excuse you give me to put my hands on you is one I'll gladly take, but Collette was wrong to suggest it and believe me, she and I will be having words.”

  A few tears trickled down Dillon's flushed cheeks, and Nasa had to curl his hands into fists to keep from reaching out to brush them away.

  He wanted to, with every fiber of his being, but feared Dillon would flinch back.

  For now, Dillon focused on his expression and his responses. Nasa knew he needed to be calm and steady for her, not pissed off and about to rip into Collette for telling Dillon things about Nasa that Dillon should have heard from him.

  So far, the only upside was Dillon had a distinct lack of fear in her eyes.

  “Why was she wrong to suggest it?”

  “Because, going from holding hands to a full body massage is too big a step. You still have trouble letting me walk behind you, so being face down on a table where you can't see me moving around you would only make you anxious, which would defeat the whole purpose of a massage.”

  He must have said something right, because he saw Dillon’s shoulders start to drop from where she’d hunched them up around her ears.

  “What's the step after holding hands?” Her voice was thick, as though she struggled to take a full breath, clearly holding back the urge to cut loose and cry in earnest.

  “A hug,” Nasa answered immediately; he could barely hold himself back from snatching her up and hugging the shit out of her. He needed it, and she sure as fuck seemed to need it too.

  She sniffled and shook her head like she was trying to roll the tears back down inside her, which was not good. Women needed to cry from time to time. Everyone knew that.

  It was a good thing, and that she sucked back her tears only added to the list of stuff pissing him off.

  “I can't remember the last time someone hugged me,” Dillon confessed with a ragged sigh, sharing the first personal detail about herself that had nothing to do with Ghost, her torture, or her dog.

  “Not even your family?” He took a risk and reached out, stroking his fingers along her wrist.

  If she wasn’t ready for a hug, he wanted to hold her hand. Dillon looked down at where he touched her, but instead of pulling away, the action seemed to steady her.

  Her chest rose and fell with the deep breath she took, and when she unclenched her fist to let him take her hand, Nasa felt the world start to
turn right side up.

  If she was willing to take his hand with whatever she and Collette had discussed rocking around in her head, he still had a chance.

  “My mom died from an unexpected aneurysm when I was four, and I have no idea who my father is. My grandmother wasn't the most affectionate woman in the world, but she was the only family I had left.

  “She was a cranky old lady set in her ways, and raising a toddler wasn't on the list of things she wanted to do in her old age. She did right by me, she was good to me, but hugs weren't her thing.”

  Seeking to fill the silence that followed with something, Nasa gave back details about himself none of the men upstairs knew. Details that were precious and special.

  “My mom wasn't a hugger either. The first hug I ever remember getting was from Teague.” Nasa grinned when Dillon frowned at him in doubtful confusion.

  “It's true. We got into a fight and his mom said if we didn't hug it out, I was expelled, and Teague would be washing dishes for the rest of his natural born life.

  "I was already in trouble, and hugging some snot nosed midget to avoid expulsion seemed like the easy way out.”

  Dillon gave a watery smile, just a little one, so Nasa gave her more in hopes of seeing the sorrow and confusion fade completely from her expression.

  “With a few more hugs under my belt, I can confirm Teague sucked at it. All awkward and worried about his junk touching another dude's junk.

  "His mom gave great hugs. The sort of hugs that made you just melt and forget the world existed until she let you go.

  “For a kid raised by two emotionally ambivalent parents and subsequently starved for affection, Terri Thompson was a goddess.

  "Teague wasn't too keen on sharing her with me, but after I helped him do dishes a few times, I won him over and we were nearly inseparable until I went away to college.

  “My own mother disowned me after I went to jail without ever stopping to ask whether or not I was innocent.

  "Both my parents dropped me, but Mrs. Thompson—who hadn't seen me in years—came to visit me after my first week in prison.

  "I have no idea how she got into a federal detention center, but the first thing she said to me through the glass was, 'I wish I could give you a hug.'

  “Today was supposed to be good for you, but I'm not sure it was. I don't understand why you're upset, but I'm one hundred percent ready and willing to hug the shit out of you until you're not upset anymore, or until you can tell me why so I can fix it. You can even cry if you want to. I could use a shower.”

  Dillon made a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a sob, and when he gently tugged on her hand, she kept coming until her face was tucked right up against his throat. Nasa wrapped her up and held on tight.

  The worry that she might reject him because of his sexual preferences, or fear any sort of relationship with him because of it, vanished like a candle being snuffed out.

  A foot shorter than him, Dillon fit perfectly under his chin, and he didn't have to bend at all.

  Her arms went around his waist beneath his cut, her fingers fisted in the material of his shirt, and Nasa wrapped her up.

  He took it a step farther, turning his lips to the hollow behind her ear, rubbing his cheek against the softness of her hair as he closed his eyes to better absorb the sensations.

  She trembled like she was cold, but as the shivers abated and she began to relax, Nasa waited for the tears to flow.

  But they didn't come.

  Nasa smoothed his hand up and down her back, feeling the raised scar tissue—the pain of her past etched into her flesh like braille.

  He held on tight to keep her pressed as close as he could, expecting her to shy away from his touch like she had in the bathroom at Veracruz's old firehouse. The relief he felt when she sighed against his chest and relaxed enough to let him take her weight, was profound.

  It was a little thing, something most people would take for granted, but not him.

  Nasa understood what it meant for her to let him touch her scars. To lean on him and trust him to hold her steady.

  Today, it was letting him hold her hand and give her a hug.

  Tomorrow, it might be making lunch for her and Elka again while she explained the process she'd used to build her planters.

  The day after that, more hugs and casual affection. Life was short, and they both had enemies after them, but Nasa would take as much time as he had to, to make Dillon feel safe.

  Shit, he would make time if he had to. Whatever she needed, Nasa found himself desperate to give it to her.

  “You smell really good.”

  Her comment was spoken with petulance, but Nasa claimed it as a win regardless. Smells were important when choosing a mate.

  “Yeah? What do I smell like?”

  “Like forests and victory with a hint of leather.”

  He laughed before he could stop himself, gently swaying side to side with her. “Athena stocks us all up with her hippie girl products. I think my soap is called Pine Cone, but Forests and Victory sounds way more marketable. You smell like lavender and bergamot.”

  “You into essential oils?” Dillon drawled with her face pressed to his chest.

  “Not as a rule, but I asked Athena to stock up your bathroom with all sorts of stuff to make you feel good.

  "The bath bombs you like are lavender bergamot flavored, which are an Athena's Apothecary house special for relaxation.”

  Another shudder tore through Dillon, which made him shift her a little to ensure they were pressed together from neck to knees.

  When she spoke, her voice was thick again with unshed tears, and he was almost tempted to find a way to make her cry, just to help release the pressure bottled up inside her.

  “You think of everything,” she told him softly. Reverently.

  Nasa frowned and nuzzled deeper into her hair. “Is that a bad thing?”

  “I've been terrified of men for the better part of ten years,” she confessed hoarsely, making his heart clench with sympathy. “Yet here I am, surrounded by strange men, and I feel more at home here than anywhere else I've ever been. I don't understand why, but I do know it's because of you.

  “Without speaking to me about it, you noticed my favorite color is blue, that I only use facial products from Eminence, that I like Hask Orchid flavored shampoo, and Suavecito pomade.

  “You noticed Elka likes big chunks of sweet potatoes and apples in her food, and that she needs an elevated stand to eat out of.

  "You painted your goddamn basement white and put away your whips and chains so I wouldn't be afraid.

  “I think about needing something, and I find it in my room the next time I go up. In our session, Dr. White pointed out that instead of grabbing onto Elka during our sessions to steady me and stay grounded, I was rubbing at this damn GPS tracking watch you gave me.

  “I don't know you, but you make me feel safe, and it's probably because I came out of the most intense mental breakdown I've had in a long damn time, flying high on adrenaline, panic, and the certainty I was about to disappear into another black site or die, and I imprinted on you like a baby duck or something.”

  Baby ducks were fragile and helpless.

  Two adjectives he’d never in a million years associate with Dillon. No. She was a goddamn tigress, but apparently, she'd missed the memo.

  Nasa listened to her rant out all the ways he'd treated her with kindness and consideration with extreme irritation.

  He heard it in her voice how those small, thoughtful things touched her, and heard her fears that whatever she felt for him was the result of the traumatic experience Ghost created to ensure their meeting.

  He understood how Dillon might think she was some damsel in distress he was invested in saving, but she'd saved herself before he'd even gotten to her.

  Her survival instincts were honed to razor sharpness, and if Tobias hadn't been the one to walk up to her in that moment, Nasa was certain Dillon would have been fine. />
  “I don't know what to say that won't come across as me arguing with you that you're wrong and I'm right, but I'm not going to stop anticipating your needs or finding ways to make you more comfortable.

  “If I can make life a little easier for you right now, I will, because I can and I want to. I definitely don't think you're a helpless baby duck, and the connection we have has nothing to do with what happened in Dallas.

  “I get you're confused right now, and I'll be honest when I say I'm a little confused myself at how important you feel, but it doesn't feel wrong.

  "You're not ready, so I'm going to give you whatever space you need to sort out what's bullshit and what's real. I won't push you to get intimate with me, but I'm not going to disappear. Okay?”

  “Okay,” she murmured softly.

  “Did your session with Collette help you? Or confuse you more?” he asked, needing to get a baseline on whether or not to expect this kind of emotional turmoil from Dillon after every session, or if today was just a particularly trying day.

  Dillon gave another light sniffle, rubbing her cheek against his chest like a kitten seeking comfort and reassurance.

  “Both. It was just a lot of information all at once, but I'll have time to process it all by my next appointment on Tuesday.”

  “Did you cry in her office?” he murmured, keeping his mouth pressed against her skin to ensure each word was a kiss.

  Dillon swallowed audibly, giving a subtle tip of her head to give him better access to her neck. “No. I didn't want to. I still don't. I... I'm afraid if I start, I won't stop.”

  Nasa scowled because she couldn't see, truly understanding why she wasn't prepared to lose that much control, but all bottled up like she was, she needed some kind of release.

  Despite knowing an orgasm always set him right, Nasa couldn't suggest sex, but he had a second favorite way to let off steam.

  “How about burning through some bullets? Shredding a paper target always makes me feel better.”

  After a brief pause, Dillon nodded. “I could do that.”

  *****

  When Nasa asked if she wanted to burn some bullets, Dillon hadn't anticipated what it would turn into.