by Isabel Wroth
After reluctantly letting her go, Nasa told her he had to set up the range and she should probably eat something.
So, while he went off and did his thing, Dillon made herself a smoothie.
She was in the process of cleaning up her mess when Ever and Athena came trooping in, both with huge tactical bags slung over their shoulders and eager smiles on their faces.
“Nasa invited us over to shred some targets!” Athena declared with great enthusiasm.
Ever gave a gleeful cackle and waved at Dillon to join them. “Nasa said you only had a few handguns with you, so me and Athena brought all our favorite toys.
"Ripley is finishing up at work and will join us in a little while. You're going to die when you see her kit. Spoiler alert: it's all pink.”
Irritated by the pair intruding on what Dillon had thought to be her decompression time, she reluctantly followed Ever into the dining room.
As soon as Ever unrolled her bag of goodies out on the table, Dillon forgot to be angry. Between the two redheads, there was enough weaponry to rob three banks.
Handguns, rifles, and knives. Oh, my!
“I'm pretty partial to my HK handguns, but Athena is a Glock girl,” Ever shared, pointing out the different options in their personal handgun preferences.
“And I just got this baby in a few days ago. I haven't tried it yet, but it's supposed to be specifically engineered to suit women.”
Dillon nodded, reaching out to reverently stroke her hand along the disassembled pieces.
“The Lady DI. I tried one out at a range near my house, and I loved it. It's slimmer than a typical AR-15, lighter in weight and in recoil, and you can use it right or left-handed.”
“I knew you were gonna fit right in!” Athena whooped, and a few seconds later Nasa came in, toting another huge bag and rolling a suitcase behind him.
The sight of the case had Athena bouncing up and down, clapping her hands with all the delight of an eager little girl.
“Ooh! Did you bring up the Galil?”
Nasa's grin split his face from ear to ear. “Yes, I brought it up, you little psycho, and enough ammo to blow a hole the size of Texas through the barn.”
To Dillon, he said, “Do you want to go get your toys or play with mine?”
As innuendo laden an invitation as that was, Dillon couldn't resist. “Show me what you've got.”
And that’s how Dillon wound up standing on a line with the women of Perdition, playing a hilarious game of Texas Shoot'em.
By the time the three of them had set up, picked their weapons, and toed the line of the tactical bay situated behind the barn, all the guys in residence had come out with beer and snacks to take a seat on the back porch and watch.
Ripley arrived not long after the first round—which Dillon won—and as expected, Ripley had on a pretty pink dress with white polka-dots and mile high pink heels.
She looked like a pin-up model on a fashion shoot, and all three of her pistols had pink grips. Somehow, she managed to make shooting an elegant, lady-like sport.
As soon as Ripley lined up with them, Nasa declared they would move on to play Trivial Pur-Shoot, and gave a deck of trivia cards to Ruckus, who shouted the questions loud enough to be heard downtown.
Ruckus hollered out the trivia, and whoever answered correctly got to take a shot at the paper targets. The closer to the red center, the higher the points.
So far, Dillon was tied for first with Ever, and Ruckus kept asking sex-related trivia questions that had all the guys in stitches.
“Lagnoperissia is a fancy name for what sexual condition?” Ruckus bellowed enthusiastically.
“Nymphomania!” Ripley shouted out immediately, eliciting a loud wolf-whistle from her husband.
“Correct! Nail that target!” Ruckus ordered. They all watched Ripley hit the southwest edge of the target center.
Dillon glanced over her shoulder to see the guys in their lawn chairs with binoculars pressed to their eyes.
Top, Damon, and Duke huddled together to confer before writing their scores on the white cards Nasa had provided.
They each gave Ripley a 4.5 for a total of 13.5. Dillon couldn't help but smile when Ripley let out a little squeal, waving at Saint like he hadn't been watching.
Dillon looked to where Nasa sat with his legs sprawled out in front of him, his arm draped over Elka's back.
Elka looked ridiculous with this contraption on her head that was the equivalent of noise canceling headphones, but the big goof looked deliriously happy to be included in the festivities, sitting beside Nasa with her tongue lolling in a Dobie grin.
The headphones? Also, Nasa's doing. He'd whipped the gadget out of his bag and explained Elka wouldn't be uncomfortable with all the noise while wearing the headphones.
Dillon has sarcastically asked him if he just had them lying around, and without missing a beat he had said, “You have no idea how much shit I have 'just lying around.'
"I got a spare pair for Ever's dog, Squatch to keep here. He's terrified of thunderstorms and vacuums and will literally drop turds from one end of the building to the other, runnin’ around hollering like he’s bein’ gutted. Put these on him, and he's good to go.”
“What sort of sexual practice is Lectamia?” Ruckus shouted like a drill sergeant.
Athena bounced up and down, whining like she had to pee, chanting under her breath, “I know that one! It's on the tip of my tongue!”
Dillon waited while Ever and Ripley thought about it for a full minute before answering,
“Cuddling in bed without intercourse.”
“Correct!” Ruckus whooped.
Dillon took aim and hit the heart of the target, taking a moment to appreciate the fun she was having.
Dillon now was in the lead with 150 points, Ever had 145, Athena 120, and Ripley—the least comfortable shooter—was in last with 95.
“Alright, ladies! This one’s a twofer for the final score! Fifty points for answering the question correctly, and another fifty for hitting anywhere in the red. Answer the question and shoot. What is... Jesus, how do you even pronounce this?”
Ruckus tipped his trivia card to Gee, who shrugged and passed it to Nasa.
“Bas-oh-rex-eeah,” Nasa enunciated slowly.
"Right-oh!" Ruckus gave a hard bounce of his head as though giving his factory settings a reset. “Ripley, you're up. What is basorexia? “
Ripley made a face and looked to Saint for help. He gave a shrug of uncertainty. “Um, an STD?”
Ruckus made a buzzer sound, loudly. “Wrong! Shoot!”
Ripley took her shot, hit the red, and put her pistol down with a little pout. Roar walked out then with his daughter strapped to his muscular chest, and his hand fisted in his son's overalls like he was toting around a suitcase.
“What the hell? I go out to get food for everyone, and y'all didn't tell me you were having a contest? That's not fair; you know my wife is the best.”
“Yeah! What da hells?” Lyon echoed in the same disgruntled tone as his father. “Mama! Are you winnin'?”
Ever laughed, full and throaty at her boys. “It's pretty close.”
“We're in the final round of Trivial Pur-Shoot,” Ruckus announced, waving his hand around imperiously. “You're holding up the game, so take a seat and hush. One hundred points are on the line. Athena, what is basorexia?”
“An eating disorder?” Athena offered hopefully, and got the loud buzzer from Ruckus. “Aw, poop.”
Athena hit the target dead on, giving Ripley a high-five to commiserate their half-win.
Ruckus asked Ever next, and Lyon screamed like a howler monkey, still held up by his overalls. “Whoop dey ass, Mama!”
“Thanks, baby.” Ever laughed, scrunching up her nose. “Is it a fetish relating to the sound of a base guitar?”
Ruckus made an impressed face and started to nod, glancing at Nasa before going from nod to shake.
“Nope, but that's a really good guess. Shoot!”
Ever took her shot, nailed the target dead center, and did a little dance in time to Lyon's triumphant chant of, 'Mama killed it dead!'
“Alright, Dillon, basorexia. Go!” Ruckus cut his hand through the air like he'd dropped a checkered flag before a drag race, putting his whole body into it, giving an exaggerated lean forward with his hand cupped around his ear.
Dillon looked to see Nasa trying to hide his smirk by taking a drink from his beer bottle. Dillon knew he'd picked this question personally for her.
“Basorexia is the overwhelming desire to kiss someone.”
Ruckus shot a fist into the air and did a goofy ninja move. “Correct! How the hell did you know such a weird, obscure fact?”
Dillon turned bright pink to be the focus of everyone's curiosity, but the wink Nasa shot her sent a flurry of butterflies winging through her belly.
“I didn't have a lot of money for beer when I was in college, so I got smart and went on trivia nights with the poli-sci geeks to drink free.”
“I know where we're going for Ladies’ Night.” Ever chortled, sharing a suggestive waggle of her brows with Athena and Ripley.
“Shoot, shoot, shoot!” Ruckus chanted, discarding his trivia cards in favor of stealing Lyon from Roar to bounce and chant with the boy whose lung power rivaled his own.
Dillon took her shot, and when she hit the target precisely in the center despite the raucous noise, the entire lot of spectators went wild, clapping and hollering like she'd won a championship game instead of a game between growing friends.
The girls were graceful losers but demanded a rematch of Texas Shoot'em at some point in the future, to which Dillon happily agreed.
They cleaned up their weaponry, washed their hands, and on the porch, Nasa poured Dillon a glass of hard cider, pear-flavored. It was crisp and sweet, perfect for the lingering heat of the summer day.
It never even crossed Dillon's mind to ask where the cider had come from or who'd made it.
“I wanna peace the bass!” Lyon announced, wiggling free of Ruckus's hold to run to his father.
Roar gently thumped his daughter's belly through her harness, giving Lyon a serious look of doubt.
“I dunno, son, the girls sure went through a lot of bullets. Think you can do it before dinner?”
While Lyon went on to assure Roar he was totally capable, Dillon looked to Nasa in confusion. “Peace the bass?”
Nasa chuckled while he peeled Elka out of her headphones, tilting his head toward the range.
“We got a little paint ball gun last year to let Lyon shoot like the rest of us, and even though it was play, Top started to teach Lyon basic gun safety. Rule number five, always police the brass.
“The paintballs don't have cartridges, so we toss a few down while he's shooting for him to find later. To keep reinforcing the rules in a positive way, we give him a penny for every shell casing he finds. Kid has an impressive piggy bank going.”
“Unka Gee got me a bid mannet, daddy. I'll get aw the bass afore dinners, I pawmiss!” Lyon pleaded piteously. His begging face was camera-worthy as he clung to his father's leg, bottom lip poked out and everything.
“Alright, little man, go to work.” Roar curled his arm around Ever, drawing her in to his side with a huge grin to watch their son take off like a rocket.
Lyon grabbed up a little kid-sized bucket from a spot by the stairs, a cat litter scoop, and a long magnet on a pole.
Dillon scooted closer to Nasa, her shoulder touching his thigh so she could keep her voice low enough not to impede Lyon's progress.
“I know we live in Texas, but isn't he a little young for shooting?”
Nasa swirled his fingers through the short hairs at her nape before settling his palm across the back of her neck, his thumb stroking up and down her jugular.
“Yeah, but he's a curious little monkey. As careful and protective as we are with him, he sees a lot, hears more than we think, and tries to imitate us all the time.
"It's cute as hell, but Ever worried if we didn't get a handle on teaching him how to be safe, he'd pick up a gun we put down and walked away from one day to act like one of the big boys, and accidentally shoot himself.
“He can't get more than bruises from the paint ball gun—unless he somehow managed to aim at his eyeball—or accidentally hurt one of us, and when he gets bigger, we'll all teach him to responsibly use real guns.
"Giving him payment for a job well done teaches him some work ethic, and with as much energy as he's got packed into that tiny little body, any work we give him can only tire him out.”
Dillon watched Lyon running back and forth with the magnet out in front of him, a serious frown of confrontation on his face.
It was rare for Dillon to see happy, well-adjusted children. The ones she usually saw were withdrawn, scared, sometimes battered and bruised, but Lyon was open and sweet.
He ran up to every adult he met and confidently struck up a conversation, completely unafraid of the men around him. They were his uncles, his family, and his sister seemed just as comfortable to be picked up and passed from man to man for kisses and snuggles.
Not one of the rough and tumble bikers shied away from the little girl, actually accusing one another of hogging Harper, and the trash talk as to who Harper liked best—all spoken in baby voices—was downright hilarious.
“We'll sit out here with Lyon and goof off until he's done, cheer him on, and we'll make a big deal of counting all the shell casings.” Nasa gave Dillon's neck a gentle squeeze before putting his beer down to take Harper from Raid, his smile softening when Harper smacked his face and yanked on his hair.
Nasa blew a raspberry on Harper's throat, and the sound of Harper's wild giggles were pure joy.
A loud chime sounded from one of Nasa's pockets, and a quick glance at his watch had him frowning. “Will you hold her for a minute?”
“Oh, I don't know—” Dillon had to put her hands out because Nasa was already handing Harper over.
Thankfully, Harper was easy, reaching out to wrap her arms around Dillon's neck the same way she'd done to Top the day Dillon first came to the compound.
Harper snuggled down with a soft coo, giggling again when Elka leaned in to gently investigate the small creature clinging to her mistress.
Harper smelled like cherries and oatmeal, her bushy head of red gold curls shimmering in the fading light. She was heavy— a good sort of heavy— relaxed, and warm.
The urge to squish Harper's chunky baby thighs where they hung out from her cute denim skirt with ruffles on it was irresistible, and obviously not a new experience for Harper.
Her skin felt softer than rose petals, and Dillon found herself savoring the sweetness of the moment. Not long later, Harper let out a little snore.
She'd fallen asleep.
It was a humbling feeling to know Harper felt safe enough in Dillon's arms to sleep, and it made Dillon compare the baby's reaction to Dillon's instinctual reactions to Nasa.
Harper didn't know Dillon. She wasn't a familiar face around the compound or someone Ever socialized with on the regular, and yet Harper still fell asleep in strange arms.
Was it because Harper knew her family was close and wouldn't allow her to be held by unworthy hands? Or did she sense something instinctively about Dillon that had her reaching out so trustingly?
Dillon pondered the questions for a time, but in the end, it didn't matter.
The fact was, Dillon felt safe with Nasa in the same way Harper felt safe with him.
He handled the kids with obvious love and affection, he protected his family, and talked about teaching Lyon responsibility and safety with confidence and dedication as an uncle.
Nasa was kind and thoughtful toward animals, and in those actions proved himself to be a good man. The kind of man a woman could trust.
The kind of man Dill
on could trust.
“Dillon, do you know a woman named Patti Bowers?” Nasa asked, his tone tight with suspicion.
Dillon looked up at him, the contentment she'd felt in holding Harper swallowed in a sickening rush of dread.
“She runs the women’s shelter I helped build in Dallas. Why? Did something happen to her? Is she okay?”
“She just filed a missing person’s report with your name on it.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Nasa hustled Dillon inside to deal with this latest problem, and when Dillon tried to pass Harper off to Ever, Dillon was happily informed, “House rule: if the baby falls asleep on you, she's yours until she wakes up.”
Dillon was pretty sure that house rule was bullshit, but when Ever gave her a salacious wink and grabbed her husband by his belt-buckle to drag him inside, Dillon got the message.
With both their kids otherwise occupied, Ever and Roar had the opportunity for some... togetherness.
So, Dillon retained possession of her sleeping passenger, walking smoothly and carefully through the compound so as not to disturb Harper.
Focusing on the task distracted Dillon from the anxiety brought on by wondering what could have possibly prompted Patti to file a missing person’s report.
Dillon made her way down the stairs to the basement, one arm carefully keeping Harper pressed to her chest, the other hand firmly gripping the railing just in case, taking one step at a time.
When she finally made her way to the bottom, Nasa was there with a soft, amused smirk on his face.
More than a little flustered by the warmth in his expression, Dillon demandingly whispered, “What?”
Nasa clicked his tongue and uttered a single husky word. “Basorexia.”
Arousal spread through her body like a flash fire, and all Dillon could do was stand there and fight the urge to drop her gaze to his mouth.
She failed.
In answer, Nasa made a satisfied noise, sauntered over to his big bed, and pulled some pillows down to make a little nest.
“You can lay Harper down here; she won't wake up for at least an hour.”
