Dillon's Universe: A Perdition MC Novel

by Isabel Wroth

  “Okay.”

  *****

  “I'm still impressed that you've got twelve screens going all at once.” Dillon dipped her chin to look over her shoulder at him, and Nasa fervently hoped his security cameras caught that look because he had plans to take a still shot and frame it later.

  “It's technically all one computer, but I run so much data one screen just won't cut it.”

  Nasa leaned forward with his arms around her, feeling the shudder that wracked her in response to the kiss he dropped on her throat.

  Because he could, he scraped his teeth across her pounding pulse just to hear her soft gasp.

  “So, um, what are we looking for?” she stammered a bit breathlessly. “You said something about me blowing the lid off an important clue?”

  “Yeah. I think Ghost is the Dread Pirate Roberts.”

  Dillon didn't say anything for a second, then turned to look over her shoulder at him. “Come again?”

  “You’ve never seen Princess Bride?”

  “Of course, I'm just shocked that you have,” she told him in disbelief.

  “I'm not a complete heathen.” Nasa grunted, giving her a quick kiss. “I've run all the images we have of Ghost through facial recognition more than once, and the matches were always within a ninety-four to ninety-six percent. After what you said about the eyes, I think I may have been wrong in accepting that as good enough.”

  His heart pounding with adrenaline, Nasa pulled the photos up and put them through the recognition software, focusing on one specific measurement.

  “Even if Ghost had reconstructive surgery, even if he wore a wig or prosthetics—which have always seemed far too fallible if you ask me, especially in the heat of the summer around here—there's one thing you can't change: pupil distance.”

  Dillon murmured a sound of amazement, her thighs tensing on his as the program spit out the results to say there was no match. Zero percent.

  “I can't fuckin believe I didn't do this before,” he swore angrily, mentally kicking himself in the ass.

  "Granted, it's not concrete evidence, but it's a start. If we had profile shots, comparing the shape of the ears is also another way to confirm. You can add and subtract a lot with plastic surgery, but the ears are usually left unaltered.”

  “That's amazing!” Dillon told him with a laugh. “But how does this blow the lid off anything?”

  That was the million-dollar question, wasn't it?

  “Andrew Stanfield was the Leviathans’ original wet work guy, but according to what we were told by a few of the gang members we interrogated, no one ever actually saw Stanfield.

  “He only spoke to the Leviathans’ President, Wexler, who's now in federal lock up after Perdition helped the DEA put him and a bunch of his guys away.

  "It stands to reason, the person I interviewed as Toad took Stanfield's place and took the title of Ghost.

  “While he was here pretending to be one of us, the new Ghost might have been consolidating his power and making a move against the Leviathans, without the risk of Wexler recognizing he wasn't the original Ghost.

  “It would explain why Toad was here with us for an entire year without doing anything to hurt us, why he helped us take down Leviathan supply lines, why he killed the twelve guys in lock up, and why he gift-wrapped the female recruiters the Leviathans use to kidnap kids off the street.”

  “So Stanfield was Ghost, and Toad was Ghost, but Stanfield and Toad are two different guys. How do you prove it?” Dillon asked, a heady note of excitement in her voice.

  “I’m not sure yet, but I’m going to start by going over the jobs Toad worked as a PI.”

  Nasa had already combed through all the case files for any signs that he was meeting with the Leviathans and came up with nothing, and no murders had stood out as unusual cases that Nasa could recall, but there had been deaths.

  Car accidents, accidentals, overdoses, but nothing violent or gruesome enough to be tied to Ghost. At least, that had been his assumption.

  A searing lick of fury directed squarely at himself lashed through his belly like the worst case of heartburn ever. Assumptions weren't facts, and here he was, Mr. Fuckin’ Universe, making an ass of himself.

  “You're thinking he might have utilized the cover of whatever PI jobs you sent him on to take out members of the Leviathans, or someone in a position to help him prepare a coup?”

  Dillon's question made his dick hard, simply for the fact that she'd caught on and was keeping pace with him. “That, and/or removing pieces on whatever chess board he's playing on, Leviathan-related or not.

  "I'm also thinking he utilized his time here with Perdition to perpetuate the legend of the invincible Ghost who can walk through walls and kill people without getting caught. But there's something else to consider.”

  “What's that?”

  “By the account Wren gave when Damon and Saint were being held by Ghost, it sounds like Andrew Stanfield loved his job.

  "I'm not an expert on serial killers, but I know enough to say serial killers follow the same habitual guidelines.

  “Stanfield took trophies to give to his wife, he wrote stories about his murders, passed them off as fiction and had Wren read them aloud to bring her into his fantasy.

  “He would have kept on being the perfect husband living a dual life had Wren not seen the news broadcast with a photo of the deceased woman wearing the jewelry Wren had on.

  “He'd been doing work for the Leviathans for years at that point, was reliable, built an epic reputation, and he had a discernible pattern of taking his victims and holding them prisoner for his pleasure.

  “The sheer number of sexual assaults reads as Stanfield especially enjoying that aspect of his work, but right after Susan and Pike were murdered, that number dropped to zero.”

  Dillon clicked her tongue as she frowned. “Working with battered women, I can tell you with certainty, rapists aren't known for their impulse control.

  "If that was part of Stanfield's methodology, he would have had an incredibly difficult time denying himself.”

  “Right. So now I have a timeline I can work off of, and I can start separating Stanfield's murders from Toad's.

  "I'm also wondering whether Stanfield's retirement was voluntary, or if the current Ghost killed Stanfield and assumed his identity. If the current Ghost is John Lewis, then the question becomes, is he on assignment?”

  Dillon got up just enough to seat herself back down sideways over his lap. He could see the doubt in her eyes, hear it in her tone, but she didn't dismiss what he was saying out of turn.

  “Assignment, as in, he's still active within the bureau?”

  “I told you I've suspected for a long time he's had help from the government. Getting out of jail free because his alias had diplomatic immunity, even after literally murdering twelve men in a cell with him at county lock up. There is no way that would have happened if not for some kind of agency intervention.

  “One of the three letter companies had to have been involved. I can't believe it's taken me this long, or that I didn't manually measure each facial characteristic until I got a perfect match.”

  Dillon chuffed at him, curling her fingers in the hair at his nape. “Do you normally take every face you put through your software and measure it manually?”

  “No,” he admitted grudgingly. “But I should have.”

  “Why? These programs are designed to do all that for you, and a ninety-six percent match off a grainy photo is pretty damn good, I'd say. Not to mention the fact you've got a full-time job working the digital side of the PI business.

  “I've only been here for a few weeks, but I've seen the way your guys come down here night and day asking you to run this search or do a background check on that guy—as though they don't know how to run one themselves—because they have something else going on and they can’t right now, which interrupts whatever project you're working on.

  “You're monitoring where thirty people are every day at
any given time, watching the stock market, dealing with legal issues, chasing down assholes who haven't paid their bill because they weren't happy finding out their wife is sleeping with their boss, taking care of everyone who matters to you, catering to whatever it is I need, and doing nine million other things to keep this place running.”

  He couldn't remember a time when anyone else had been annoyed on his behalf, or recognize how much weight he carried around every day.

  Nasa wouldn't trade it for anything, bearing the responsibilities with pride because he could multi-task like a beast, but it didn't mean all that shit didn't get heavy from time to time.

  It's why BDSM played such a big role in Nasa's life. He needed the release of stepping out of his basement, away from his computers to focus on just one person. On being responsible for that single person's needs and wellbeing.

  It's why he'd been so eager to help build Pavlovia, and yet he hadn't stepped foot in the dungeon more than twice to actually play. Both times, Nasa hadn't been able to fully engage because his partners for the evening were temporary. Their needs were simple.

  Nasa enjoyed his time with those women in the same way he enjoyed sitting on the deck with a cold beer in his hand. There hadn't been any depth to it, just a pleasant way to relax and pass the time.

  Nasa didn't want Dillon because she was powerless and afraid. He didn't want her because he thought she needed someone to take care of her.

  He didn't want her simply because she was the first woman in ages to make him salivate like a starving wolf presented with a flock of sheep.

  Nasa wanted Dillon because she was strong. Because she refused to let her weaknesses break her. He wanted her because despite being perfectly capable of doing it all on her own, she allowed him to take care of her.

  He wanted her because her crazy fit his crazy. Because she'd looked into his apocalyptic pantry and asked him if he'd stocked up on potassium iodide just in case, and questioned what type of water and air filtration system he'd used in the fallout shelter out of legit curiosity.

  He wanted Dillon because she could not comprehend why someone would betray her after she'd bent over backward to protect them. Because honor, integrity, loyalty, and compassion flowed through the very marrow of her bones.

  Because she was a warrior at heart. A badass who wouldn't rely on him to save her. She'd shoot her way out and find a way to get back to stand at his side, right there in the trenches with him, working in seamless tandem, watching his back while he watched hers.

  True partnership. The ultimate goal.

  It wouldn't happen overnight, but their sexual chemistry was so far off the charts, once he proved to her she could trust him with her most fragile pieces, Nasa would be able to lavish so much pleasure on her, so much love and attention, so much devotion, she'd kneel at his feet without a second thought.

  He could do all of that, and given half the chance, Nasa would do all that, but sex was easy. It was the important stuff, the deep, emotional connection built on respect and understanding that truly mattered.

  Granted, Nasa wasn't currently feeling respectful or understanding. He felt like an animal in full a rut who'd finally caught the scent of his mate.

  “Kiss me,” he ordered softly.

  Dillon's mascara-free lashes, long and tipped with gold, fluttered like butterfly wings. Hints of amber flashed in her eyes as her pupils dilated, something he was delighted to see. A physical reaction she couldn't control.

  She searched his expression for a few moments before lifting her mouth to his, smooth and confident. What he'd intended to be another slow exploration of the connection between them became a wildfire of passion.

  Nasa slipped his fingertips beneath the hem of her tank top, hyper-aware of how she hugged his shoulders in response. Coming closer to him, not trying to get away.

  Following her cues, Nasa pushed his palm up the satiny skin over her waist, up until his thumb brushed along the unbelievably soft skin of her bare breast.

  He hadn't been so excited to get to second base with a woman since the head cheerleader at his high school decided to give him a graduation present he'd never forget.

  Dillon raked her teeth across his bottom lip, unaware of how much harder that seductively aggressive move made his cock.

  A silent litany of curses accompanied the growl he gave, and he definitely regretted his decision to not put on a looser pair of jeans this morning.

  Nasa learned the shape of the most perfect pair of breasts he'd ever had the privilege to hold, spurred on by the way Dillon arched into his touch, squirming on his lap in an effort to get closer.

  The gentle pinch to her nipples made her give throaty, hungry little noises that felt like diesel on an already roaring bonfire.

  Nasa indulged himself, rolling, squeezing, learning the pressure she preferred until he could feel her trembling with need.

  Dillon tore her mouth away to suck in deep, ragged breaths, her head falling back to bare her throat. Nasa bent and nipped at the vulnerable arch, taking the opportunity to catch his own breath while he continued to kiss, lick, and nibble at every inch of exposed skin from her shoulder to her ear.

  “You good?”

  Dillon gasped softly, followed immediately by a sweet mewl when Nasa plucked at her nipple. When she didn't answer him, Nasa pinched a little harder and said her name, getting a hiss and hard shudder out of her.

  “Yes. Good. Mmhm, very good. But I want...” she trailed off as though unable to finish her sentence, so Nasa stopped distracting her by stimulating the sensitive places he'd discovered, nuzzling at her cheek instead.

  “You want what, Tiger Lily? Whatever it is, all you gotta do is ask.”

  “I want... this feels so good, and I want more, but I don't know if I'm ready for... for everything.”

  Nasa heard the hesitant uncertainty in her answer and spent the next several heartbeats kissing her with all the gentleness he possessed, rewarding her for her bravery.

  “You want an orgasm, but no fucking. Yes?”

  With her cheeks bright red, eyes sparkling, lips swollen, Dillon said, “Yes, please.”

  Nasa felt that sweet 'please' in his balls. “My pleasure. Elka isn't going to tear me a new one when I make you scream, right?”

  Dillon's laugh was breathy and still a little nervous, but a quick command to Elka had the dog trotting to the couch to lie down.

  Nasa dove back into kissing Dillon, releasing her nipples only long enough to reach down and hit the leaver on his chair that allowed him to lean back, making it that much easier for Dillon to rest against him.

  He checked in with her one more time, thrilled to see the hazy look of need and excitement in her eyes.

  He saw surprise, too. Surprise when he tugged at the drawstring on her pants and pushed his hand under her panties.

  Nasa could feel her heat through the soaked cotton, and the astonishment that flashed across her face? Priceless.

  Utterly drenched, Nasa traced the outer lips of her pussy, feeling not a single hair or the scrape of stubble to distract him.

  He used two fingers to spread her open, exploring deeper, watching the way her lashes twitched while he pet her.

  The way her teeth bit down on her bottom lip when he circled the swollen knot of her clit, and how the breath heaved out of her as he pushed down to trace the tiny opening he had every intention of fucking.

  Not today, but soon.

  He watched, knowing what he saw would stay with him even if he someday went blind.

  Desire, excitement, and trust.

  Dillon said his name with a tremulous whimper, her hips lifting to chase after his hand, her urgency coming through loud and clear.

  It only served to excite him further; the dichotomy of wanting to give Dillon everything she asked for and wanting to deny her until she couldn't stand it rode him hard.

  He eased one finger inside her, feeling the powerful muscles of her pussy clench down tight enough to strangle. Slick and velvety,
hot enough to burn.

  One finger, and he could barely move for the exquisite pressure. The urge to deny her disappeared like a magician's flash paper.

  “How long has it been since you had a man?”

  She shook her head, gripping his shoulders so tightly he could feel the prick of her nails through the leather of his cut. “Since before... oh my god... before I was taken.”

  “Ten, eleven years?” Nasa clarified in astonishment.

  Dillon nodded, sliding her knee farther down his thigh to give him all the access he needed, keening softly when he used his thumb to spread the thick, creamy fluid dripping from inside her in circles around her clit.

  He rubbed and thrust, waiting until the grip she had on him eased enough to slip a second finger inside, locking onto the quarter-sized spot at the front wall of her pussy.

  Nasa could feel the raised ridges of her G-spot, and the crook of his fingers against it had Dillon's entire body rippling in immediate answer.

  “There! Oh... ohmmmthere!”

  “Yeah, right there,” he echoed, thrusting back and forth, inside and out, moving like he was rolling a ball around between his fingertips.

  Stimulated on both fronts, it didn't take long for Dillon to come apart at the seams. “That's it. Come all over my hand. Don't stop.”

  He'd used that particular technique on his fair share of women, and each of them responded differently, but none had ever come so hard, so long, or so spectacularly.

  It truly felt as though his bones were being ground to dust, but Nasa couldn't find it in him to care. The moment Dillon got enough air in her lungs to breathe, it was to give a strangled wail of relief so profound it brought tears to her eyes, but they didn't fall.

  He continued to stroke her gently—not to stimulate but to soothe—feeling the fluttering contractions as they continued to ripple across his fingers.

  Dillon looked at him through wide eyes, still holding onto him even though he could see she was shocked by what he'd made her feel.

  Before she could pull away or let the uncertainty of unfamiliar feelings derail the beauty of what she'd just given him, Nasa gently withdrew his hand, refusing to look away when he raised his fingers to his mouth and slowly, deliberately, licked them clean.