Wren’s voice dropping to a ridiculous mockery of Ghost’s voice would have been funny any other time, but not today. Now, as Pen pictured what she’d gone through, he felt sickened by his own selfishness.
If he hadn’t been such a bastard three years ago, maybe he could have convinced Wren to stay and let Perdition keep her safe. Instead, he’d chased her off, and she’d had to bear the burden of the consequences alone.
“I swear to god, I almost threw up on him, and part of me wishes I had. But nooo, I just waited right where he told me to until I found the balls to poke my head out of my little mouse hole.
“I thought he was talking to Nasa about honoring the deal they’d made, but then I heard a woman’s voice telling Ghost she deserved better for everything he’d put her through. I just… she sounded like Ever. Strong, you know?
“She wasn’t afraid, and it made me think about you, about how bad I wanted to come home, so I dug deep and found some balls big enough to get me through.
"I’d stashed my backpack right across from where I was, and I had my hand around the strap when I heard the gunshots. Then there was a dog going crazy, Patti shouting about the cops coming, and I… I panicked a little.
“I dropped the backpack by Nasa’s stuff and ran out just in time to get lost in the herd of women leaving the shelter.
"It was the second hardest thing I’d ever done to just stand there across the street and wait, surrounded by cops, Nasa literally within shouting distance.
“But by the time Ghost called to tell me I was free, Nasa and his woman were gone. Ghost said he’d gotten what he came for, and there would be a car parked in a lot three blocks away with the keys inside if I wanted to leave.
“The cops were still everywhere, and one of them walked me to the car. I just got in and left. I didn’t know if anyone would call this number or give a shit about me after everything that happened—”
Unable to stay quiet for a second more, Pen cut her off, “I give a shit, Wren. I’ve spent every day since you left kicking myself in the ass for being such a moron.
"You risked everything to come to us when Ghost took Saint and Damon, and then you were just fuckin’ gone. I have been looking for you. I've spent every goddamn day since you been gone, looking. I want you to keep driving. I want you to come home. You hear me?”
“Yes,” she hiccupped, her breath stuttering over the line as she tried to get it together. No lie, Pen’s eyes were burning, and there was no one to see the moisture he wiped off his face.
He turned around and put his back against the door, sliding down until his ass met the floor to sit there
“You remember how to get here?”
“I do.”
“Good. You keep comin’, baby. We’ll figure everything out when you get here. You’re almost home.”
Her breath hitched hard, but her voice was steady when she said, “I'm on my way.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
“You are never going to believe this!”
Dillon looked up to see Nasa heading toward her with a maniacal look of triumph on his face. He had the tablet he'd downloaded Ghost's drive onto in his hand, and she could practically feel the energy vibrating off him.
“You decrypted the drive?”
“Yes, finally,” he groaned, putting his tablet down to reach for her hand. “How does it feel?”
Nasa carefully cradled her palm in both of his, as though she'd broken her wrist, not gotten a tattoo. The dragon was made of black and blue wires and computer circuits, the precise lines stretched from the tip of her fingers, across the back of her hand, and twisted around her wrist all the way up to her elbow. In his talons, the dragon carried a shield with an inscription Dillon had trouble looking away from for very long. In simple letters, it read,
I am Nasa's treasure.
A week after they'd come back from Dallas, Nasa came to her and said he wanted to talk to her about getting his brand. She asked him for time to get used to the lingo of Biker Land regarding 'property,' and a few hours later, he'd come back with two designs.
One for a tattoo, the other for the pattern he'd have embroidered on her Dragon Scale vest. The feminine biker cut claimed her as 'Property of,' and her tattoo marked her as treasure. A compromise to bridge the traditions of Nasa's people while honoring Dillon's feelings.
That same day, she'd gone with him to The Boneyard and endured the pain of getting Nasa's brand with a goofy smile on her face.
He didn't have any more room on his arms, so he'd had the artist at the tattoo shop create a mechanical tiger. Her elegant face was twisted in a vicious snarl, crouched protectively over the skin she had clenched possessively in her claws, and the words permanently carved over his heart.
Property of Dillon.
“It's still a little sore, but not bad. How's yours?” Dillon slid her hand under his shirt, up over the taut muscles of his belly, and up his chest to carefully cover the tiger. When she spread her fingers just right, her ink lined up with what he'd already had, in purposeful point of connection.
“Feels good,” he rumbled, leaning in to snatch a kiss. “Like I got a sunburn.”
A door slammed violently somewhere inside the compound, hard enough to make the wine glasses hanging above the kitchen bar rattle.
“That sounds
