Amusement colored Veracruz's gaze in an instant, as though he knew what she was trying to do.
“What bodies?”
Nothing in the entire world pissed her off more than being treated as though she were stupid, or too fragile to handle the truth.
Logically, Veracruz was probably trying to be kind, maybe even trying to protect her, but she needed to know.
God forbid the cops got involved and she didn't know the story being told.
“I shot a man in the chest and my dog mauled another man to death at my order. I'd like to know what happened to their bodies.”
Dillon added a 'please' as an afterthought, watching Veracruz lose a bit of his mirth.
He looked at Nasa, for permission or advice she wasn't sure, but that simply would not do.
“I appreciate that you came to help me. Yes, I had a meltdown and what you saw freaked you out. I have issues, but I'm not so fragile you need to ask permission to speak to me like an adult from someone who is neither my lord, nor my master.”
Nasa folded his arms over his chest to give Veracruz a shit-eating grin and said not a word, letting his buddy dig himself out of his own hole. Veracruz shrugged and told her the truth.
“We cleaned up the mess, dug your bullet out of the one guy's chest, and took the bodies to a crematorium for disposal.
"I had Matt and Kris deliver their colors to a local hangout—no, they weren't seen,” Veracruz told Nasa with a hint of affront. Granted, Nasa was staring at him like the guy had grown another head.
“Their colors?” Dillon asked in confusion.
Nasa gave his sleek leather vest a tug, waving his fingers at the patches that proclaimed him Treasurer of Perdition MC.
“Every MC has their own name and logo, colors that identify them as members. It's a priceless item that holds value only to the club and its owner because every man who wears their club colors earned it.”
Veracruz nodded in agreement, using two fingers to tap the spot on his own chest where Dillon's bullet had found its mark on the dead Leviathan.
“You put a hole through their gang logo, which is about as big a 'fuck you' as it gets.”
Dillon swallowed the saliva that pooled in her mouth, hoping she had enough control to keep her breakfast from making a reappearance.
“I was aiming for a lung.”
“You most definitely hit one,” Veracruz confirmed proudly.
It was starting to set in now, the shock of having taken a life. No matter how evil he might have been, no matter what he would have done to her with that huge knife he'd had in his hand, she'd taken his life and used her dog to kill his buddy.
It was something she'd discussed extensively with Joshua Warren. He'd told her this would happen, the shock that would come once she accepted she was no longer in danger, that her survival instinct had won out.
Dillon couldn't accurately say how many hours Josh spent training her to protect herself. To use Elka inthe same manner Dillon might use her gun to defend herself.
“It's you or them, Dillon. When your life is on the line, you use whatever you have on hand to make sure you're the last bitch standing. If someone is coming at you with the intent to hurt you, you use a gun, a knife, your dog, you use a damn rock if you have to. Whatever it takes to survive.”
“Dillon?” Nasa's stern voice cut through her thoughts, and she focused on his too handsome, too scruffy face instead of the shock.
She'd asked for the truth, and if she broke down again or puked, she would forever more be seen as a victim by these strong men—someone who needed to be handled with kid gloves.
“I had clothes and a silver case in my truck. I need it.”
“Your Bronco is parked downstairs in the garage, stuff's in the back,” Veracruz told her as he crossed his arms over his chest.
“It's a pretty distinctive vehicle and my suggestion would be to at least paint it before getting back on the road. I know a guy—”
“I'll take care of it when we get back to the compound,” Nasa rudely interjected.
Hostility flared between the two men, making Dillon's heart skip a few beats. Uncertainty had her shifting in her chair to allow her an easy exit if she had to suddenly leap back out of the way.
Veracruz didn't seem put off at all, smirking at Nasa knowingly as he hooked his thumbs in his belt loops and rocked back on the heels of his huge shit-kickers.
“I think Dillon made it clear you're not responsible for her, Nasa. Did you even ask her whether or not she wants to go back to Austin with you?”
Nasa bristled with aggression, moving to stand toe to toe with Veracruz.
“Back the fuck off.”
“Big brother giving you attitude again, Sarge?” A big, beefy dark-haired man with beautiful olive skin came strolling into the room, sucking down what looked like a protein shake.
He wasn't classically handsome, but there was something absolutely striking about him.
This guy was a bit shorter than Veracruz, his shoulders were wider, his body just as thick and heavy with muscle.
In the bright lights of the kitchen, Dillon got a good look at his eyes, and was startled by the exotic yellowish gray circled in a jagged edge of emerald green.
He wore the same leather vest as Nasa, but other than that, the three men couldn't have been less similar in size or appearance.
“Always. I was just about to ask this nice lady whether or not she wants to go home with you degenerate fuckers.”
The newcomer gave a dark chuckle and tipped his shaker bottle at Veracruz, shooting her a wink.
“Better than sticking around here to re-up with the B-team. Our clubhouse is way cooler than yours.”
“Is not!” Veracruz retorted hotly.
“Is so. You don't even have a game
