Dillon's Universe: A Perdition MC Novel

by Isabel Wroth

  “I'm fine!” Nasa wheezed, causing Dillon to give a choked cry of relief. “Hitting the floor knocked the wind out of me.”

  He rolled over onto his back, not a single spot of blood to be seen anywhere.

  Dillon wanted to weep in relief, to lean down and pepper kisses all over his face, but all she managed to do was furiously shout, “What the fuck, Nasa?”

  He grunted out a laugh as he sat up and reached for her, undeterred by her hostile demand. He pulled her right in and practically crushed her in his embrace.

  “I'm fine, I promise,” he reassured her.

  “FINE? There are bullet holes in the back of your cut because that mother fucker shot you! How are you not bleeding out all over the place?”

  “Yeah, he shot me. Shot me in the fuckin' back. Dickhead!” Nasa winced when she reached under his shirt to touch the smooth, unbroken skin on his waist.

  “How?”

  “Dragon Scales,” he told her smugly. “Bought it for everyone after our first hostile Leviathan encounter and had a second set of leathers made to cover it.”

  Confused beyond measure, all Dillon could say was, “Dragon what?”

  Nasa took her hand from under his shirt and pushed her fingers into the leather over his heart. “Feel the ridges? Its ceramic disks layered over one another to make a lightweight ballistic vest, strong enough to stop an armor-piercing round at ten feet away.

  “That fucker shot me point blank, and all I felt was a dull thud followed by his boot on my ass, shoving me down the stairs. I’m gonna buy so much stock in that company when we get home.”

  Something clicked then, the pressure of her fear and confusion, her anger at him for continuing to antagonize Ghost into shooting him, the stress of everything that had happened in the last ten minutes or so...

  The floodgates opened, and the tears she'd been holding back for weeks exploded out of her in a torrential gush of emotion.

  “Whoa, easy. Don't cry, Tiger Lily. I'm here; we're okay. I'm with you.”

  Dillon came undone, clinging to him like a barnacle as the tears just poured down her cheeks. She could barely hear him speaking over the sound of her sobbing, and a few minutes later all hell broke loose.

  Police came busting through the front door; Elka went wild, barking and snarling like crazy.

  The cops were shouting, Nasa was shouting, Patti was trying to be heard, and Dillon couldn't do a thing but hold on and cry.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  It took an eternity for the whole mess to get sorted out. The cops made everyone come outside for questioning despite Patti showing the detectives the video footage of what went down.

  Nasa was on his knees on the sidewalk, hands cuffed behind his back while he was vigorously questioned as a potentially hostile suspect.

  The bomb squad showed up with their dogs and equipment once Nasa shared the part where Ghost said one of the women had a backpack full of C-4.

  All the women who'd come to take refuge in the shelter were terrified, huddled up in a tight knot across the street, clinging to their kids or to one another while their eyes constantly roamed around looking for their abusive spouse to materialize and drag them off by the hair.

  In short, it was a clusterfuck of epic proportions.

  The only tiny bright speck was the fact Rain had joined in on the call and was trying to help calm things down.

  Her partner, Preston Quaid, had some serious prejudice against bikers, though, and was struggling to believe Dillon didn't have Stockholm Syndrome or was covering for a violent gang member.

  Dillon tried to be reasonable and understanding, trying to look at it from Quaid's perspective. Answering an emergency call from a shelter for domestic violence victims, finding Dillon in the arms of an enormous man wearing a leather vest that clearly marked him as a member of a motorcycle club, bawling her eyes out in a place where two other bikers had previously broken in after killing a woman.

  It looked bad, but the video surveillance should have cleared everything up and made it obvious Nasa wasn't the problem despite his appearance.

  Unfortunately, Detective Quaid couldn't wrap his head around the events as Dillon and Patti described them.

  “Look, whatever hold this guy has on you, I promise, he can't hurt you anymore. Tell me the truth and we'll get him out of here. You'll never have to see him again.”

  The patronizing tone Quaid used dry humped Dillon's last nerve, and it must have shown on her face, because the athletic, attractive, well-groomed detective suddenly looked surprised and uncertain.

  “I'm not sure how many different ways I can say this, but I'll try again, one more time,” Dillon bit out, her fist wrapped tight around the leash Patti dug up from somewhere for Elka.

  “I own this building, and I came here today with my boyfriend—who I definitely want to see again when this shit show is all over—to update the security system. He's a registered private investigator in Austin and specializes in digital security.

  “I wanted to make sure this place was as safe as I could possibly make it for all the women who come here seeking shelter, so I asked him to help me because of the recent attack.

  “If you quit standing there giving me shit about my man’s appearance and make one goddamn phone call to the Austin Police Department, you can confirm his club is comprised of nonviolent do-gooders, and the status of his PI license is valid.

  “You'll also be able to confirm he does business with the cops, the FBI, the DEA, and ATF. He is not beating me, or threatening me, or hurting me in any way, and I don't like the assumption that because he rides a motorcycle and wears a leather vest to say he's part of a club, he's automatically a violent person.”

  Quaid opened his mouth again, probably to argue Dillon was upset, hysterical, or whatever else women were when they were wrong, but was saved from looking like an even bigger asshole when Rain lifted her hand to silence him.

  “Preston, I've worked with Dillon before. She's nobody's victim and would never be with a man who beat her. Back off and make some calls like she said to verify his status.” Her partner scowled but put his notebook away and stomped off toward Nasa.

  One of the uniforms standing guard shared something with Quaid that made Nasa smile slowly, and it wasn't a very nice smile.

  Whatever the uniformed officer said made Quaid curse, but he uncuffed Nasa in rough, jerky motions and waved a belligerent arm.

  As soon as his wrists were free, Nasa headed straight for her. Dillon turned to meet him, walking right into his open arms. Nasa bent his head and touched a kiss to her throat, his fingers buried in her hair to keep her close.

  “They finally confirmed I am who I say I am, but Detective Jerkoff over there still thinks I'm a one-percenter. Duke is in the crowd of rubberneckers, which means Tobias is around here somewhere. This'll all be over soon, and we can go home.”

  Dillon nodded, turning her cheek to Nasa's chest, scanning the crowd across the street to see Duke in deep conversation with an old man in a ratty baseball cap while both of them watched the show.

  Finally, the bomb squad guys came out and gave the all-clear, which made Dillon's shoulders drop from around her ears.

  “Thank god.”

  The news vans would be pulling up any second now, and all Dillon could think of was Ghost had taken away the safety of the shelter. Now all the women huddled up on the street were in danger again.

  “Detective Bolton?” Dillon called out wearily. Rain stepped into her field of vision, and Dillon lifted a hand to point at the women.

  “The shelter will foot the bill to put them all up at a hotel, but they need to go now before the news crews show up.”

  Thankfully, Dillon didn't have to explain why. “Patti has already talked to everyone, and they know a hotel is an option, but every single one of them wants to go back inside the shelter. They don't feel safe anywhere else.”

  Dillon sucked in a ragged breath, shocked to hear it, and unbearably relieved at the same time
. The address wasn't a secret anymore, the news crews would see to that, and all her fortifications, all the money she'd spent on the extra security measures would only go so far. Ghost made it perfectly clear, there was always a way in if someone wanted it badly enough.

  “I'll need all our stuff back,” Nasa reminded Rain.

  “You'll be allowed to take everything but the guns,” Rain answered, lifting her chin as though daring them to argue.

  Nasa didn't argue. He answered in a calm, reasonable tone, with facts no one could refuse. “You have no reason to keep them, especially as Dillon and I both have permits to carry.

  "From the videotapes provided to you by the owner of this private establishment, you can clearly see they haven't been fired; therefore, you have no legal right to keep them.”

  Rain tried to come up with some way to refuse. Dillon watched the mental struggle play out in the other woman's gaze.

  “You sound like a lawyer.”

  “Licensed and registered with the BAR association,” Nasa told her with a triumphant chuckle. “I got tired of people telling me their word was law, without any actual legal precedent to back it up. So, we'll need our personal effects, Detective who lied about calling my woman to tell her two murderers might be coming after her.”

  Rain's cheeks mottled with mortification, and so unprepared to be called on the carpet, she had no comeback to defend herself.

  “Why lie about something like that when it was so easy to trace the phone records?” Nasa pressed ruthlessly. “It couldn't be that you were trying to hide just how much of a coward you are, covering your own ass to avoid another run-in like the one you had as a rookie, swinging Dillon's ass out there by scaring Patti into not getting Dillon involved sooner, could it?”

  “I'll get your things,” Rain said stiffly, her shoulders hunched up around her ears as she spun on her heel and walked off.

  Dillon tipped her head back to look up at Nasa in confusion, tired beyond comprehension, “That's all it was? She's a coward?”

  Nasa's expression softened, his gaze gentle and apologetic. “Luckily so. I dug around in her personal and professional life and found out a friend of hers in the department arrested a Leviathan for a drunk and disorderly back before you came to Dallas.

  “The charges got bumped up to possession with the intent to distribute once the cop found a butt load of heroin in the guy's saddlebags. That cop, his partner, Rain, and three other officers were called to an active shooter scene, which turned out to be an ambush.

  “The Leviathans killed the officer who arrested one of theirs, the cop's partner, and one other guy. In the incident report, there was footage from one of the officer’s body cameras that showed all the uniforms except Rain exchanging fire and trying to get out of there.

  “Rain ducked behind the squad car after firing only three rounds. The only reason she wasn't kicked off the force was because she was still a rookie, and one of the wounded cops fell down right next to her. While everyone else kept fighting, she kept pressure on his nonfatal wound.

  “There's a notation in her file that says she transferred out of that precinct because the rest of the guys didn't trust her to have their back anymore. But she kept her nose clean after that and got the highest scores on her tests out of all the guys gunning for a gold badge. That one incident wasn't enough to get her benched forever.

  “She didn't want Patti to press charges because her name would go on the report, and the Leviathans might have targeted her. She said it was more important to protect the shelter from possible retaliation—and that was probably true—but it also benefited her.

  “So, she lied about calling you immediately after responding to Patti's distress call because you would have insisted on pressing charges.”

  Outraged but too exhausted to do anything about it now, Dillon only shook her head in disbelief. “You're goddamn right I would have insisted.”

  Nasa hummed an affectionate sound, cradling her cheeks in his enormous hands while he pressed a warm kiss on her brow.

  “That's because you, Tiger Lily, are a badass, and I love you.”

  Even as his declaration melted her insides to warm, mushy goo, she remembered the last time he'd said that.

  “Nasa?”

  “Mmhm?”

  “If we're ever in another situation like today, and you tell me you love me but what you're really saying is good-bye, I will kick your ass after I set fire to your file room.”

  His breath huffed over her forehead as he laughed, but there was a solemn understanding in his bright blue eyes when he leaned back just far enough to meet her gaze.

  “Understood,” he rumbled softly.

  “I want a Dragon Scale ballistic vest.” Her demand was met with a slow, devastatingly handsome smile.

  “It comes with a rocker declaring you Property of the guy who bought it for you.”

  “Define, 'property,'” Dillon haggled, even as her entire body hummed with satisfaction.

  Nasa didn't answer immediately, looking at her with a penetrating, soul searching stare,

  “Property, as in, the most precious treasure in my universe, that I would do anything and everything to keep safe. Even handcuff in a germy bathroom despite knowing what pain it would cause you.”

  Amazed and feeling a little lightheaded, like she'd had too much beer on a hot day, Dillon shook her head.

  “I didn't like it, but there wasn't anything in that germy bathroom that could hurt me. You made sure I was safe.”

  She knew he would have responded, but a uniformed officer came up to them and cleared his throat, holding up a navy-blue backpack with the NASA space center logo emblazoned on the front.

  “Detective Bolton told me to bring this over.”

  Dillon opened her mouth to say the backpack wasn't theirs, but Nasa reached out and took it with a nod. “This was in the bathroom with the rest of our stuff?”

  “Yes, sir,” the officer answered. “It was on the floor beneath the sink, so I just packed everything back up inside.”

  “Appreciate it,” Nasa said gruffly. When the officer backed off to go about his business, Nasa scanned the area around them.

  “That's not ours,” she said quietly.

  “Ghost likes to leave shit for me with my name on it, but since he was already out of the building, I'm guessing the woman he sent inside left it sometime after you busted free, and she probably left something else. We'll check it in the truck.”

  “I want to go home now,” Dillon told him, beyond ready to get the hell out of here.

  Nasa slung the strap over his shoulder and looped his arm firmly around her waist. “Me, too.”

  *****

  After a brief power struggle with Detective Quaid, Nasa made it clear he was done. Dillon wanted to go home, and by God, they were going the fuck home. End of, no more posturing cop bullshit, they were gone.

  Dillon said her goodbyes to Patti and told her she'd be in touch soon about what to do next. The reporters had finally shown up, drawn to the call of a possible bomb threat the way sharks were drawn to blood.

  They literally made their escape moments before questions started being flung around like grenades.

  Safely ensconced in his BOT, Nasa wanted to see what was in the backpack Ghost's accomplice left, but it felt imperative they get on the road as soon as possible.

  Duke and Tobias fell in place behind them, and the first hour of their drive back to Austin was spent going over the details of what all went down over the phone. Unsurprisingly, the two commandos were pissed at having missed all the action and even more pissed they hadn't had eyes on the front door to apprehend Ghost.

  When they stopped to gas up and get some water, Dillon finally unpacked the contents of the backpack, handing Nasa all the items he'd been divested of, piling her stuff up in her lap.

  “This must be the thing she left,” Dillon said nervously, carefully holding up a shiny black case meant for sunglasses. “The bomb squad guys would have made sure
it wasn't some kind of explosive, right?”

  Nasa felt the paranoia of not being able to say with absolute certainty it wasn't a bomb collide with the certainty they wouldn't have been given the backpack unless it was clear.

  “We can give it to Duke. If it is a bomb, I'll only feel slightly bad about letting him open it first.”

  Dillon primly wrinkled her nose at him. “I'd feel bad. Don't suppose you have an app on your phone that detects C-4 and stuff?”

  “I do not.”

  But wouldn't that be a neat app to design? There would need to be a sniffer plugged into the phone, specifically calibrated to detect all forms of explosive materials of course. He could design one, easy. The patent on the design alone would rake in some serious cash.

  “So, we risk it?” Dillon asked.

  Truth be told, if it was a bomb, Ghost or his accomplice could have set it off as soon as the cop handed Nasa the bag.

  On the other hand, Ghost made it clear—right before he shot Nasa in the back—he was sticking to his word, and he had.

  All of them walked away from their encounter, some slower than others. So in theory, it wouldn't make much sense to send a bomb along with them for later.

  “Yes,” Nasa answered, but he still took the case and walked over to the empty end of the parking lot, away from Dillon and the fuel tanks, just to be safe.

  He cracked it open slowly, and when nothing exploded or shot out from inside, he opened it the rest of the way.

  Nestled on a bed of black velvet, lay an intricately crafted glass wand. Silver and black veins swirled through the length, and when Nasa took it out, he realized it wasn't a wand.

  “What is it?” Dillon shouted from the truck, and in a bit of a daze, Nasa turned around and silently walked back to let her see for herself. “A pen? Why the hell would Ghost give you a glass calligraphy pen?”

  After a thorough search of the velvet lining, Nasa found a thick slip of paper tucked behind the padding. The message was written in swirling loops and elegant whorls of black ink.