Chapter 1.

Sam POV.

Boy, don't I love getting transferred. I also love sarcasm… hence the last sentence. According to the defense attorney and jury of New York, I am mentally incompetent and unable to get through daily life without using aggression and violence. That is the reason I got transferred.

Oh, I'm sorry. My name is Sam. Sam Manson. Oh, you want to call me something else? Go ahead, as long as you are all right with dying a slow painful death.

Anyhow… I am a private detective. I used to work in New York, but since I kind of almost burned one of bastards alive in the office who tried to rape me, I was transferred. Shocker. To the other fucking side of the country. Seattle.

Don't get me wrong I love Seattle. It is dark and gloomy and perfect for someone like me. You see, I'm an ultra recylco vegetarian and a goth. But the hassle of going through all of it is just… not what I need right now.

Me. Well, I'm about 5 foot 2 and have a very high metabolism, so I don't gain any weight. Ever. I'm 108 pounds and I'm 21. I have short raven black hair and lavender colored eyes. I know that may be weird. Deal with it, ass hat.

People find me frightening because of the piercings I have on my face. Also because of my makeup and tattoo's. And that I am pale. Also, because I wear all black and combat boots. I've been told by those few that will actually say something to me, that I am not very appealing to look at, but I would be if I wore colors, got a tan and was nicer. Go to hell.

People don't like me. I could care less, since I despise the entire human race, except for my grandma. I hate attention. I hate people and I hate being socially connected.

Back to my story… when I was younger I was generally a normal kid. But when I was 14, Mr. asshole, who is better known as my son of a bitch stepfather Carl, sold me to a prostitution camp thing.

I don't really know the professional term for the hellhole, but long story short, there are guys who pay to get in and they get to do anything they want to you. Literally. When I was 17, I escaped and let's just say I got even, and I made sure it was the longest experience of pain Carl would ever have. That's when my excuse of a mother started loathing me.

Anyway, that is also when I started to hate men more than all the others, too. And my mother disowned me. I hate her, lots. My grandma

So, about a week ago, ego loaded cock head William, had me go in his office to do 'paperwork', which then led to him shoving a knife through my pants. Can't lie, it hurt.

I used my taser on him and then locked him in his office and lit it on fire. He burned for a while, till security heard the smoke detectors. They got him out, unfortunately with only a few major injuries.

They couldn't afford to fire me, since I am the best detective in the business, so they just moved me cross-country.

I pulled up to the apartment building on my motorcycle, my gorgeous 848 Ducati superbike. I love this damn bike. I pulled the helmet off my head and grabbed my sort of large bag.

I travel light. I have my black leather motorcycle bag with my phone, Mac book pro, my charger for that and my phone, deodorant, makeup, passport, credit cards, license, a key to my safety deposit box, which I order and filled like two days ago, hacking equipment, like 2 grand and a few change of clothes.

So earlier when I said that my grandma was the only person I could stand. Yeah, well, she is in the hospital, so he already gave me all the money in the will. Since it is going to me. Her husband was a great inventor and made millions of dollars, so that goes to me. So I am filthy rich. But, You would never know that unless I told you, since I'm not a spoiled bitch who flaunts her money.

I buy good quality clothes from like target or whatever and wear them till they are literally in shreds. Brand names are stupid, like Hollister. I have one pair of shoes, a belt, a motorcycle bag, a messenger bag, a leather jacket, and a few shirts and pants. Plus a swimsuit and some lingerie.

I walked to front desk and set my bag on the counter top. The lady at the front were staring at me like I just killed her famiy.

"I want a 1 bedroom apartment with a full size kitchen and bathroom, utilities included, washer/dryer access, a parking spot and on the 8th floor. Is that available?" I said to them.

"Uh… let me check that for you… Ms.?" She said slowly and then scanned a card.

"Manson, Sam Manson."

"Alright Ms. Manson. We have the room you described, but judging on your appearance this room may be a bit pricey. Are you sure you wouldn't like a more affordable suite?" she said and showed me the price. It was 500 a month.

"Here is for the next 4 months."

I laid down my two thousand dollars and grabbed the card out of her hand and walked to the staircase. Once the lady comprehended what had just happened she called after me.

"Ms! The elevator is over there."

"I prefer stairs." And slammed the door to the stair well.

When I arrived to the room, I set my stuff down and went back downstairs and moved my motorcycle to the parking space I was assigned. On my way back to my room, at least 9 people walked past me and stared at me. I wanted to murder them, so I guess it showed on my face.

Okay, so that is the start. I will try to update in the next 3 or 5 days. I have an idea of how Sam and Danny are going to meet, but if you have any ideas or suggestions that would be great.

Kay, thanksbye.