Ch.1

Walter stared hard at the girl who, out of all his children, resembled him the most. Her skin was distinctly darker than it should have been, not the dark brown of his Mexican heritage, but not the soft peach of her mother either. Her hair came together as a mixture of reds and mahoganies, his and Elenor's combined. The strangest part though, her eyes, were neither his nor her mother's. The strange pewter coloring of the irises was almost an exact replica of his son, Mac. He continued to stare her down, but instead of crumbling like most people did under his intense gaze, she stared back unrelenting. So she's stubborn like Mac too.

She'd learn better.

Walter tried to decide where he'd put her that would make her useful. He didn't know what to do with girls. He didn't understand them, didn't see a use for them past fucking. This one was too damn small, wouldn't do any good in the canyons. And she was too damn young to put in the bar; she'd get herself raped before the week was out. He'd gotten plenty of women pregnant, but he'd only fathered useful children, boys as far as he knew.

Until now.

"Mac!" Walter called out, looking away from the little girl, but not missing the sharp flinch her body did at the sound of his voice.

"What?" The gruff voice of his second oldest echoed from the back of the bar.

"Get your ass out here you sorry piece of-" Mac appeared before Walter had finished his insult, which pissed the older man off a bit. He always liked degrading his kids, made them more respectful.

"I'm here old man, what the hell do ya want?" Mac, at sixteen, already stood near six foot and had distinct muscle layout from working in the canyons and the mechanics garage. The teenager's eyes flicked to the unfamiliar girl standing awkwardly in the center of the Luna Mesa, with her arms wrapped around her middle. Walter could almost see the violent heat filling his son's eyes as he leered at the girl. It was the same look Walter got himself before he wooed some unsuspecting bitch to warm his bed for a while. It was a look that was purely animalistic, one a predator would get when spotting prey; and the girl had the intelligence to look a bit scared and take a step away from her half-brother.

"This is Charlotte," Walter introduced, motioning with his hand for the thirteen year old to step forward. She did so hesitantly, regaining only the two steps she'd taken backward, while Walter watched Mac look up and down her budding female form.

She was a delicious looking thing, Walter acknowledge, letting his own gaze drift over her again. Too young for him, but he could see the potential in her. She had a willowy body, long legs and arms, her stomach was lean, breasts tight, large enough for the men to know that she wasn't wearing anything under her tank top when she should have been, but not large enough to fill a hand. Yet. She had a good ass on her too, tight, like the rest of her, and filling her jean shorts very well.

"That bitch Elenor here too?" the teen growled finally, sending a lewd smile to his new half-sister before turning his attention back to Walter. It was then that the patriarch decided where this girl's use would lie.

"No, dropped the girl and left." The girl flinched at the mention of her abandonment, "Want you to take her with you. Teach her something." Mac flicked his blue-grey eyes back to the girl; her head was down now, hair covering her face.

"Teach her huh," Mac scratched his chin thoughtfully. It was clear on his face exactly what he wanted to teach her. Instead he snapped, "Hey, bitch, go in the back and get two of the shirts hanging up on the rack." The girl jerked, staring up at Mac with wide, fearful, eyes.

She didn't move more than that.

"What's wrong with you?" When she still didn't move, he growled, stomping forward and shaking the little girl by her arm, "How the hell are you supposed to be useful if you don't fucking do what I tell you?" his patience was wearing thin, not that he had much to begin with and instinct should have told the girl that she should obey. Charlotte whimpered, loud in the silence of the bar. Turning her head to Walter she saw the man, supposedly her father, stand, back against the bar nonchalantly drying glasses and watching the pair interact. The two of his sons that lived in Cainville, Mac and Rick, got along well enough after Rick had established dominance over the younger boy-much in the same way Mac was doing now. There was someone younger now, giving Mac the opportunity to assert his own authority over. Walter wasn't much worried about his son hurting the girl too bad, but he was within reach of the baseball bat under the counter if things got out of hand. Mac jerked her up against him again, drawing her identical eyes back to him.

"We're gonna try this again," Mac started taking a deep breath through his nose, he had Charlotte pressed so close to him she could feel the words rumbling against her breasts. "Go. Get. The shirts. Now!" He threw her back, in the direction of the backroom. The girl scurried away quickly, anxious to put distance between her and the vicious boy and vaguely aware of Walter chastising Mac's attitude.

Walter waited for the girl to be out of the room before he started in on Mac. He wasn't harsh, just indolent. "Be nice to her. Girls' just scared and confused. Her mama just dropped her in Hell with a man she's never met, only just being told that that strange man is her father." Mac snorted, most of Walter's women did that after a while. His and his half-brother Rick's moms' did the same thing when they were nine and fourteen. Walter, unappreciative of the dismissal, set the glass and towel aside, snatching Mac by the back of the neck. Mac's face collided with the wood bar surface, jarring and painful but not inflicting injury, before the boy'd even realized what was happening. "You listen and you listen good boy, you do right by her. Watch out for her and keep your grimy hands offa her." Mac struggled under his father's significant weight and Walter felt he should sweeten the deal for Mac a bit. "You do all that, you can have her. You can lock her in a fucking cage for all I care, just wait a few fucking years." Walter released his son with one more, well deserved, face-meets-bar.

Mac rubbed his jaw, giving a reluctant nod to his father as the girl returned holding two plaid buttons up shirts.

"Here," she murmured to Mac, holding out the shirts. A forced smile curled his lips, first at Walter as a distinct fuck-you to the old man, and then to her. He took the red shirt, pulling it on over his wife beater and nodded to her.

"Put that one on, I'm not listening to you bitch about your skin burning." She did what he said, watching patiently for her next command. When Mac headed for the bar entrance, she followed cautiously, looking back at Walter who only gave a short nod that she took as an approval. When the pair was out of the bar, Walter gave a smirk at their backs. The girl was quiet, which would suit Mac fine, which gave Walter less to worry about. It was the mouthy ones that Mac usually beat. What he worried about now was that Mac might actually fall in love with the poor girl, she had fight in her. When she'd stared him down, it had been hard to miss. They'd be good together, do what he told them without pause. Walter laughed to himself, in the quiet of the bar, he wondered if promising his only known daughter to one of his sons was sick. After a brief moment of consideration, Walter realized;

He didn't really care.