Dillon felt that post-orgasmic relaxation evaporate like morning dew as a spurt of temper kicked up red hot sparks inside her.
“His brand? Do I look like a cow?”
Top ripped off another gut-busting laugh, and a few seconds in, Athena walked up with a huge glass of bright green juice.
“What's so funny?”
Top's laughter dried up at the sight of the juice, but he dutifully took it and grunted at Athena in thanks. Bikers, at least the ones all around her, seemed to communicate using differently toned grunts, like gorillas.
“Show Dillon your brand.”
Top delivered his order, put the glass to his lips, tipped it back, and sixteen whole ounces of liquid disappeared. Dillon must not have disguised her look of astonishment because Athena gave a giggle.
“Crazy, isn't it? I'm convinced he's part snake. He doesn't even swallow, just disarticulates his jaw and down the hatch it goes. I don't think he even tastes it.”
Top shuddered in disgust and put the glass on the table. “Oh, I taste it alright. Christ on a cracker, did you add dog shit to that one?”
“Of course not,” Athena snapped tartly. “It's the same juice I make for you every day, but I crushed up the horse pills your doctor gave you because I know you've been struggling to choke those down.”
“Thanks, darlin’.” Dillon saw the admiration plain on Top's face for a split second before he was back to being the gruff president of a biker club. “Now, go on. Show Dillon your ink.”
With a proud smile, Athena lifted the hem of her tank top all the way up to just below her ribs, turning in a slow circle so Dillon could get a good look at the beautiful, lacy tattoo with flowers done in vibrant pinks and oranges, and an incredibly realistic looking locket between her breasts that Athena had to pull her bra up to show off.
The words, 'Property of Raid' were clearly inked into the metallic looking surface, and Dillon couldn't believe Athena was okay to be permanently marked as property. Ugh.
“Calling it a brand is total biker lingo, and a really lame word considering the beauty of what it stands for,” Athena declared. “I was seriously offended to be likened to a cow, right up until the moment I realized Raid designed this for me himself, and he told me why he picked my favorite flowers in my favorite color.
“He took his time to find the perfect design to suit me as an individual and described it in detail to the guy who does all the ink for the club.
"Before Raid framed it, he used the stencil to incorporate elements of the tattoo on a feminine cut I wear when we all ride out, and it's one of my prized possessions.
“Saint designed Ripley's brand, the same way Roar did for Ever. It's unique to the story of how we all fell in love.” That did sound so much more romantic and special than the word 'brand' implied.
Athena lowered her shirt and tipped her sunglasses down to peer over the frames at Top with a suspicious hike of her brows.
“Why are we talking about brands?”
“Just came up in conversation,” Top answered in his casual way.
Athena snorted like she didn't buy that for a second. “Yeah, right. You're doing the thing, aren't you?”
“What thing?” Top gave off the air of a harmless, completely innocent man.
Athena cocked out her hip and folded her arms across her chest, “The same thing you did you me, Ever, and Ripley—while she was at the hospital with Saint, who had a bullet hole in his gut—you fussy, meddling old man.”
“Fussy? You are calling me fussy?” Top pressed his hand to his heart as though Athena were harshly accusing him of an unforgivable sin.
“Yeah, yeah. Me pot, you kettle. I came here to watch my man get sweaty and to get in some early morning delights before he takes off with Ruckus and Gee. So move it, fussy pants. You're in my seat.”
Top heaved himself up out of his purloined chair with a deep chuckle, but Athena's sassy attitude didn't deter him from lifting up the floppy edge of her hat to press a fatherly kiss to her forehead.
“You think about what I said, Dillon,” he said with a decisive nod and sauntered back inside.
Athena's chair squeaked in protest when she threw her small body down into it, and before giving her full attention to her husband, Athena pinned Dillon in place with a direct stare.
“Whatever Top said to you, it comes from a good place. If he didn't like you, he wouldn't say anything at all.”
Dillon must have made the appropriate noise and expression to convince Athena everything was fine, but inside, Dillon was back on rocky ground.
What were her intentions? She was here spinning her wheels, availing herself of the protection offered by the club, but what happened when she no longer needed it?
Dillon already knew she wouldn't be going back to live at her house in Dallas, so did that mean she was staying here?
Dr. White seemed to have encouraged her to get involved with Nasa, but shouldn't she have been encouraging Dillon not to make any big decisions—such as jumping into a relationship—while in the middle of a high-stress situation?
Dillon's next appointment was scheduled for tomorrow, and she didn't know how to talk to Nasa about her uncertainties without making it sound like she had regrets about what happened between them in the basement.
She definitely had no regrets about that, but everything Top had to say made Dillon give some thought about what direction she was heading.
Nasa put down his sledge hammer and looked over at her.
He said something to Damon, and then Nasa crossed the field to her, all sweaty and glistening, muscles bulging from exertion, staring at her with his intense, penetrating gaze.
Dillon braced herself to come up with an excuse for whatever Nasa saw, but all he did was extend his hand and say, “Let’s go inside before you get a
