Addicted

Chapter 22

༻!TW!༺

✧blood

✧Swearing

⛧Enjoy

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Harley

Oliver coos, reaching for my hair. I tug it out of his little fist, wincing as a few strands rip out.

He's proving to be a fairly easy child to take care of, except he has this thing with hair pulling. (Definitely didn't get that from me. I don't know why you're looking at me like that.)

Puddin comes in and picks up Ollie, settling him in his arms. "Go get some rest, love," he says. "I know you're trying to take care of him more than you did for Lucy, but it's making you tired all the time. Take a nap. I got him."

I look at him gratefully. He leans down and presses a kiss to my forehead, putting a blanket over me. I watch him walk away, drifting off to sleep in minutes.

A few hours later, I wake up. Get out of bed and scream when I see what's on my bedroom floor.

Puddin lays there in a puddle of blood, Oliver still clutched in his arms. No. No, this can't be happening. I drop to my knees, not caring about ruining my pants, and try to pry Oliver out of Jack's dead arms, sobbing so hard I couldn't breathe.

A knock on the door startles me awake. It was a dream? I throw myself out of bed, and thank fucking god the floor is clean and empty. Whoever it is knocks again. "Come in," I call, still a little shaky from the lucid dream.

Frost, one of the higher ranked henchmen, calls out, "are you decent, miss Quinn?" I nod, then realize he cant hear a fucking hear nod. "Yes," I call out. He pushes the door open and beckons for me to come with him, so I do, following him to Puddin's office. As I get closer, I hear Ollie fussing. I push open the door, a bit worried, then I see that the office is a damn mess.

Diapers (clean), half full bottles with cold formula inside, and paperwork covers Puddin's desk. He's trying to rock Oliver, but all he's doing is fussing and refusing to fall asleep. He looks up, relieved and slightly guilty looking.

"Harls. Thank god. I know I told you to sleep, and I'm sorry for waking you up, but this kid is fucking impossible to take care of. Or am I just a bad father?" He wonders. A moment's pause, then he snaps, "Shut up. Eat shit."

I look over immediately. "Not you," he mumbles, embarrassed.

I laugh gently and take Oliver from him, swinging him gently from side to side, singing in his ear as I do so. Puddin's eyes widen as Ollie quiets down and starts cooing, playing with my hair. I walk back over to my Mr. J and kiss him gently. "You are not a bad father," I assure him. "Sometimes, a baby just needs his Momma. Oh, and, kinda random, but can you make sure our outside perimeter security is tight and up to date and all that jazz? Weird dream," I say quickly.

"I'm sure it's nothing- but just in case."

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