Owned by Dominic (Possessed 1)

“Okay,” he yawned.

“Leprechauns, castles, good luck, and laughter. Lullabies, dreams, and love ever after. Poems and songs with pipes and drums. A thousand welcomes when your dreams come.” He was asleep before she’d finished.

Twenty-three

It’d been two weeks since Dee and Jax were nearly taken from him. His son woke from nightmares once in a while, and anyone new to him, he was leery of. But for the most part, he was beginning to move on and didn’t hold on to Dee like a lifeline anymore.

Since that night, Dominic has had trouble sleeping himself. Flashbacks of the scene he’d walked in on crept into his subconscious when he least expected it. He tried to keep them to himself, not wanting to worry Dee, but she’d known almost immediately and gave him shit for not telling her. Now when they occurred, she held him like he’d been the one to be taken, beaten.

Deidre was the strongest person he’d ever met, constantly amazing him with her resilience. She had a few nightmares of her own, and it was always about what could have happened rather than what did happen. At first he worried she wasn’t dealing well, but he watched her like a hawk, especially when she thought she was alone. Nothing seemed to bring her down. After they’d left the hospital, she had one long, hard cry after Jaxson had woken from a nightmare, but it seemed as if she purged everything out of her in that moment.

Case kept a close eye on her, too. Between the two of them, they were confident she was all right mentally. She startled easily with loud noises, which relieved him a bit because that meant she wasn’t just ignoring what she was feeling.

He was relieved that no one was seriously hurt. Larry and Angela had been knocked out and locked in the basement of Larry’s house when two of Creed’s men had gone to find them after the whole mess was over with. He’d felt horrible for not sending someone for them sooner because in all honesty, his mind and heart were on Jax and Dee. Thankfully, they’d both been fine. Pissed off but fine.

A knock on the door had him jumping form his chair in the living room as Dee and Jax were in the kitchen making something...they wouldn’t tell him what.

Shock ran through him when he opened it.

*****

When Dee heard a knock on the door, it took everything in her not to stop what she was doing, grab Jaxson and hide him. She was coping fairly well, but her only real fear was the what could have beens rather than what did. She had a hard time letting Jax out of her sight. He had gone through hell and was still dealing with it.

“Deidre!” she heard Dom call just as Casey came in the back door.

“Coming,” she called back. “Watch him?” she asked Casey. At his nod, she went to see who was there.

She wasn’t more than ten steps into the room when a voice she hadn’t heard in nearly a year caught her ear. A voice that used to sing silly songs to her. A voice that could sooth with the softest lullabies.

“Mam?” she whispered, almost too scared to believe it was real.

“Oh, a stór.” She cried, holding her hands to her mouth.

Dee was speechless. She had no words for the emotions going crazy inside of her. So much had happened, and she’d learned so much more. A thousand questions ran through her mind in about a second, fleeing as her mam’s arms wrapped around her in a tight hug.

Tears ran down her face in a steady stream. “You’re here,” she breathed out, closing her eyes. Needing to savor the moment.

A clearing of throats had her eyes popping open and anger replacing everything else she felt. “Get the hell out!” she hollered when she saw Brock standing in the doorway. No way she wanted him here; she couldn’t be in the same room as him. He’d nearly killed Casey and could have killed Jaxson.

“Now wait a minute,” her mam tried to soothe.

“No. He shot Casey. He hurt Jaxson. He could have killed them. He has to leave.” She looked to Dom hoping he’d back her up.

As he walked towards her, she could see it on his face, he was going to make her listen to reason. “Don’t you dare, Dominic,” she warned him.

“Princess,” he growled right back wrapping his hands around her shoulders.

“You don’t fight fair,” she hissed.

“Listen to them, please,” he asked.

“You knew they were coming?”

“I knew Brock was.”

“Fine.” She wanted to stomp her feet but figured that might be a little too adolescent for her. Looking at her mom and Brock she told him, “Speak.”

He looked as though he wanted to laugh, but instead he told her why did what he did. He’d been hired years ago to keep tabs on Bradshaw, to find out who and where his guns came from and went to. He was instructed that if there was ever a time where he was given the job of killing someone, to injure them and then let them escape. That up until that day on the highway, he’d never had to make the decision before.