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  Sons of Justice 11: If Love Was Real

  Marianna has been told all her life that love isn’t real. It seems the only way to prove otherwise is by taking a chance and risking a broken heart. When it feels this good, it’s worth the risk and the pain. She questions whether what she has with Flame, Slova, Cast, and Yani is real. Especially as they so easily leave her without claiming guardianship.

  But that issue becomes the furthest thing from her mind when her brother is being hunted by killers, and she holds the only power to save him and the rest of her family. She didn’t count on the sneaky, manipulative lies of one evil man, or his ability to overpower her mind.

  When all else fails, it’s the love of her men that saves her, proving to Marianna once and for all that love indeed is real, and she’s been blessed times four.

  Genre: Contemporary, Ménage a Trois/Quatre, Romantic Suspense

  Length: 62,659 words

  SONS OF JUSTICE 11: IF LOVE

  WAS REAL

  Dixie Lynn Dwyer

  

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK

  SONS OF JUSTICE 11: IF LOVE WAS REAL

  Copyright © 2017 by Dixie Lynn Dwyer

  ISBN: 978-1-64010-806-6

  First Publication: November 2017

  Cover design by Les Byerley

  All art and logo copyright © 2017 by Siren Publishing, Inc.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  If you find a Siren-BookStrand e-book or print book being sold or shared illegally, please let us know at

  [email protected]

  PUBLISHER

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  DEDICATION

  Dear readers,

  Thank you for purchasing this legal copy of If Love Was Real.

  Marianna has led a life of sacrifice. She was forced to give up opportunity after opportunity for scholarships in college, for music careers, for success in business and on her own, because she put her family first. They took advantage of her sacrifices, her love and willingness to help. They brainwashed her to believe that love was not real, but a fantasy little girls created to seek happiness only to be disappointed.

  She almost fell for it all, but true love has a way of sneaking up on people sometimes, and ultimately her true destiny will lead her to figuring it all out, and possibly learning that love is in deed real.

  May you enjoy her journey, it’s a hell of a ride.

  Happy reading.

  HUGS!

  Dixie

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  People seem to be more interested in my name than where I get my ideas for my stories from. So I might as well share the story behind my name with all my readers.

  My momma was born and raised in New Orleans. At the age of twenty, she met and fell in love with an Irishman named Patrick Riley Dwyer. Needless to say, the family was a bit taken aback by this as they hoped she would marry a family friend. It was a modern day arranged marriage kind of thing and my momma downright refused.

  Being that my momma’s families were descendants of the original English speaking Southerners, they wanted the family blood line to stay pure. They were wealthy and my father’s family was poor.

  Despite attempts by my grandpapa to make Patrick leave and destroy the love between them, my parents married. They recently celebrated their sixtieth wedding anniversary.

  I am one of six children born to Patrick and Lynn Dwyer. I am a combination of both Irish and a true Southern belle. With a name like Dixie Lynn Dwyer it’s no wonder why people are curious about my name.

  Just as my parents had a love story of their own, I grew up intrigued by the lifestyles of others. My imagination as well as my need to stray from the straight and narrow made me into the woman I am today.

  Enjoy If Love Was Real and allow your imagination to soar freely.

  For all titles by Dixie Lynn Dwyer, please visit

  www.bookstrand.com/dixie-lynn-dwyer

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  About the Author

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Epilogue

  Landmarks

  Cover

  SONS OF JUSTICE 11: IF

  LOVE WAS REAL

  DIXIE LYNN DWYER

  Copyright © 2017

  Prologue

  “Leave me alone!” Samson yelled at Marianna.

  She swallowed hard and looked from him to the four guys laying around on the expensive black leather couches next to her brother. They were a bunch of wiseass punk kids who thought they could do whatever they wanted to do. Her brother was heading down a one-way street to his grave. Her mom was home, worried sick about him, along with her Aunt Stella. Here Marianna was on a Friday night, tracking him down at a party in the middle of some upscale neighborhood and a large estate in a cul-de-sac. She didn’t know who owned this place, but when she pulled up, the cars were parked from the bottom of the street to the driveway. It was an open house party it seemed, and more people were coming and going as she walked right through, no questions asked.

  There appeared to be all types of people there. Upscale, wearing suits or dress clothes like they were at a cocktail party and then came here, and others in jeans, dressed casually, but designer. She blended right in with the dress she wore but pulled the light jacket tighter, feeling strange walking into someone’s house she didn’t even know, and to a party she wasn’t invited to, in search of her stupid brother. She was tired of trying to be his keeper, and of trying to keep this small family together when she had such a full plate of responsibilities.

  She was surprised that the cops hadn’t been called yet. It was nearly three in the morning. She got the tip from a friend of hers who was working down the block at a local department store. She said she saw Samson hanging out with Billy Jack. She pulled her light jacket tighter as she peeked into a room, a study or something, and found Samson leaning back on a couch with some other guys, and all drinking beers. She narrowed her eyes. He was sixteen. What the hell was he doing here and drinking beer, appearing drunk? She reached out and gave his arm a shove.

  “Come home with me, Samson. You’ve been gone for over a week. Mom’s worried sick and so is Aunt Stella.”

  His buddies chuckled, one of them looked drugged out.

  “Hey, Samson, who’s your friend? She’s fucking hot,” one of the guys said to him as he looked her over like the kid had game. She was twenty-five, did this idiot think he had a chance with her a
t sixteen?

  She was shaking and trying to be strong, but kept looking around them to make sure no one came up behind her. The last thing she needed was a situation, especially as five drunk boys who obviously thought they were king shit, looked her over, giving her a creepy sensation. She snuck in here, too, trouble for being here uninvited needed to be avoided. After all, she basically just walked into this house party looking for her brother, and now it seemed as he pushed her hand away, he was not coming willingly.

  She saw people of all ages, even older than her hanging out at the party. Why would a bunch of teenagers be here and drinking no less? She had a bad feeling and she needed to get him the hell out of here quickly.

  “Samson, now, come on. I’m taking you home.”

  “Leave me the fuck alone. Get out of here. You don’t belong here!” he yelled at her, and then guzzled down more beer from the bottle he held in his hand.

  The music was blasting and she was disgusted and angry. He was drunk, and he didn’t know what he was saying or doing. Who the hell even owned this damn house anyway? There were people all over the place.

  She grabbed his hand. “Get up. We’re going,” she said to him, and pulled him up from the couch by his ear. She couldn’t leave him here. It had been more than a week since he’d disappeared, and her mom was sick with worry. “No, bitch! Leave me. This is my family. My crew,” he stated, and she shook her head.

  “I’m your family. They aren’t your friends or family, they’re bringing you down. Now let’s go.” She grabbed his collar and started to drag him from the room. He wasn’t a small kid. He was almost six feet tall and she was five-feet-five, and despite the heels pulling her off balance or the dress she wore under the light jacket that hugged her shapely figure, she was determined to get him out of here and back home tonight. She was so angry and he was too drunk to have the strength to resist her. As she pulled him down the hallway, people were laughing and having a good time, looking at her drag her brother through the hallway and outside when there was some sort of commotion. Multiple cars were pulling up in front of the upscale home and private neighborhood. The houses were pretty big, middle class neighborhood, too, but from the looks around the cul-de-sac, it didn’t seem like anyone else lived in the other houses.

  “Oh shit. Let me go,” he said to her, drawing her attention away from the SUV with the dark tinted windows. As Samson straightened out his jacket, men began to get out of the SUV. Men who looked important, or at least to these people as other young guys ran to greet the three men. “Get out of here, Marianna!” Samson yelled at her and gave her a shove.

  She grabbed him by his ear, losing her patience, and started pulling him down the front walkway.

  “You’re pinching my skin. Damn, Marianna, that hurts!” he exclaimed.

  “Shut up. I’m tired of this crap. Of coming to drag you out of these parties, and being worried sick about you. A whole damn week passed, Samson. A week! Mom is worried sick, physically sick over you, and that just isn’t right or fair.”

  “What’s going on here?” one of the guys asked her and looked her over, her jacket undone, and then looked at Samson. Samson tried pulling free. “Nothing, Mexa. Nothing.”

  “He’s going home,” she said to the guy and continued to walk. She saw the guy called Mexa squint and then tilt his chin toward some of the other guys. They immediately grabbed onto Sampson, and she released her hold.

  “What are you doing?” she demanded to know.

  “Honey, we just want to know what’s going on,” he said to her, and again looked her over, licked his lips, and then stared into her eyes. Her eyes were a hazel green but they stood out, practically glowed against her tan complexion, and she often got compliments about them. This man stared into them and then over her body.

  She placed her hands on her hips, not even realizing that when her jacket came undone and she was dragging Samson along, that the top of her dress lowered, a button coming undone, and exposed more cleavage than she intended, as the dress already dipped low in front. She was out on a date when she got a call about her brother. Not that it was a good date anyway. The guy was like an octopus, all hands, and she went home, too angry to go to bed, so she started cleaning things up and didn’t even get dressed when she got the call.

  “First of all, I’m not your honey. Secondly, that’s my brother and he doesn’t belong here,” she stated firmly. The guy widened his eyes at her as if shocked at her showing him disrespect. She walked over to the two guys holding Samson.

  “Get your ass in the car now. I’m taking you home,” she told Samson.

  “I’ll just leave when you leave to go to your apartment,” Samson countered.

  “No you won’t!” she yelled at him. Sampson pulled from her grasp and headed back to the house.

  “This is my family now. I’m staying here,” he said, and when she went to go after him, this guy, Mexa, got in her way. He placed his hand on her hip. She tightened up immediately, feeling on guard, especially as she looked at his waist and saw the gun.

  “Why don’t you let him be? He’s just going to take off on you.”

  She eyed him over.

  “Who are you, and what do you care?” she demanded to know.

  “Mexa?” She heard the deep, hard tone, and then looked up and saw some tall, older man in his forties or so with jet black hair and dressed in black dress pants and black dress shirt. He stared at her and four other men flanked around him as he walked up the sidewalk. She wasn’t stupid. Those were guards, and they were armed.

  Mexa smirked.

  “It’s just a minor situation, sir,” Mexa said to him.

  “What’s the situation?” The guy asked, eyeing Marianna over.

  She smoothed her hands down her hips as his guards looked at her with interest. She got a bad feeling in her gut.

  “What’s the situation? Who is this?” he asked.

  “This woman came here for her brother. Apparently, she isn’t happy that he’s here,” Mexa said to the guy.

  That guy walked closer and stared down at her.

  “What’s your business here?” he asked.

  She gulped. “My brother doesn’t belong here. He’s sixteen. Took off a week ago and my mom’s worried. I heard he was here and I’m taking him home,” she told him, but she lowered her tone, feeling like this guy had some sort of power or control or something, and she didn’t need to piss off some killer criminal. She just wanted her brother to get his shit together and come back home.

  “You said he’s sixteen. He’s a man, made his decision,” the guy said to her. It shocked her. Who was this guy thinking that a sixteen-year-old belonged at a party drinking beer with a bunch of much older adults?? No one even saw her come in there.

  “He’s a kid, and he doesn’t belong here. How is he supposed to support himself? He isn’t going to school, he doesn’t have a job. My mom is worried sick. He belongs home and not hanging out at some party with much older people doing who knows what,” she countered, eyeing him over.

  He exhaled and just stared at her. At her lips, her eyes, and she felt a little intimidated, hell, a little interested. He was an attractive man. He also seemed a bit dangerous and the fact he had guards warned her to get out of here and away from him as soon as she could. She looked away from him to see her brother walking back into the house with two of the men.

  “Hey, he’s coming home with me,” she said, and the guy raised his hand up for her to stop walking toward the guys and her brother. She did immediately.

  “Come inside. We’ll talk and see if we can work this all out,” he said to her.

  “This is your house?” she asked him.

  “A friend’s. Come on. Mexa, give Miss?” He stared at her.

  “Marianna Cord.” He smiled and nodded.

  “Give Miss Cord and I a few minutes to talk about her brother. Have Samson drink some water and sober up,” he said, and Mexa bowed his head and then let her and this guy Press walk into the hous
e. His guards stopped any people from approaching, but people did call out to him and he gave a nod.

  They walked down the opposite hallway she had found Samson and his “crew” lounging in. He opened the office door and it was quiet, upscale, and filled with mahogany wood and shelves of books and pottery.

  “Have a seat. Please,” he said, and motioned with his hand for her to sit down.

  The guards remained in the room and Mexa leaned against the desk.

  “A drink, Marianna?” Press asked as one of his guards poured some brandy or whatever into a snifter.

  “No thank you, Press. I just want to get my brother out of here and home where he belongs. It’s three o’clock in the morning,” she said to him.

  He squinted at her, then his watch and widened his eyes. “Indeed it is. So about your brother, I understand your concern. I can assure you that when he comes here with his friends he’s safe.”

  She snorted and crossed her arms in front of her chest.

  “Safe? He’s sixteen and shit faced, at a party in some rich guy’s big house with who the hell knows who. Safe isn’t exactly the word I would use,” she countered.

  He sort of glared at her and she caught it before he softened his expression.

  “My friend who owns this house allows some young men like your brother to stay here instead of in some drug houses or with gangs. It’s his way of trying to keep them out of trouble.”

  She looked at him uncertain whether she could believe him or not and whether this friend of his had ulterior motives. Was he some pervert or something? She didn’t dare make any accusations, after all, the man who owned the house was this guy’s friend and this guy had guards with guns around her right now. She needed to play this cool and get her brother out of here.