This story begins in the middle of Breaking Dawn, just as Bella is returning from her honeymoon. Lexi Cane travels across country to La Push after her cousin was murdered by a gang in New Jersey. She searches for her biological mother who is supposedly a member of the Quileute tribe.

This is rated mature for language, violence (it organized crime, of course there is violence), and sexual content.

Chapter One: Take it Or Leave it

I grumbled as I held the ruined newspaper over my head while I watched the water droplets fall to the oil-ridden puddles below. Like blood in water, the various colors swirled in the puddle. The September torrential downpour was unexpected and unwelcomed. The rain was coming down in sheets relentlessly, preventing me from continuing the seemingly endless drive to La Push. Even though I have been driving for over two years now, I would never be able to see the road in this weather. It felt like an omnipotent being was watching from above laughing. This slushy downpour was just another obstacle Mother Nature had put in my way. Should I have taken the multiple bad omens into consideration?

Maybe it wasn't meant to be? After my baby had overheated in Rapid City I shook that off as bad luck. I always made sure she had the finest antifreeze, oil, steering fluid, and gasoline to make her happy. I cursed at the grey, ominous skies of South Dakota as my baby coughed and choked on the side of the highway. In Wyoming, a damned stripped feline bolted in front of my baby forcing me to swerve onto the curb, which resulted in a blown out tire. The four-legged furball had added two freaking days to a five day long drive.

I felt nauseated after spending two hundred dollars on a new tire. The nausea lingered in the pit of my stomach still as I lounged on top of the tan blankets in the backseat. I have never had much money saved, so the two Benjamins I had to fork over placed a damper in pockets. I now made up for it by sleeping in my precious car. The 1967 Chevy Impala belonged to my father—well adopted father. We had built it together as a father-daughter project. He paid for all the parts, so I consider it mostly his car. My most fond memories of him are in our garage back in New Hampshire building this black beauty.

I smiled as I admired the interior of my most prized possession sitting in the parking lot of this gas station in Olympia. I sighed and I could see my breath, like a thick cloud escaping at my heavy exhale. Even though it was almost midnight the interior of the car was well lit by the streetlights as well as the reflection the light from the puddles surrounding. I decided to stop in Olympia for several reasons. First of all, the fact that it was nearly midnight and I was dead on my feet. Secondly, this apocalyptic weather was deterrent enough. I still had a significant drive ahead, which I shouldn't be doing in the dead of night in the middle of a storm. I suppressed the negative emotions stirring inside my stomach by reminding myself that I only had a three hour drive ahead of me tomorrow.

The annoyance turned into excitement as I mumbled to myself, "Tomorrow, you'll be in La Push."

I gripped the steering wheel tightly feeling the vibrations of the engine as I drove down the streets of La Push. I couldn't control the fluttering excitement in my stomach. As far as I know, my biological mother is Quileute. I came to Washington in hopes of finding her, and if I didn't, at least I got to see where she grew up. Maybe I would meet new people, perhaps even those she once knew.

I had nothing to lose.

I focused on my surroundings. La Push was tiny—consisting of a general store, a museum, a community center, a school, and a couple dozen houses. I pulled into the store's parking lot and got out. I double checked the handle, making sure I locked the car before I entered the store—all my clothes were in that car, not to mention the car was also my place of residence. I made an attempt to swallow the lump in my throat as my eyes darted over to the bored cashier leaning over the checkout counter. It was eleven in the morning on a Friday, so there weren't many customers.

I debated on how I would even start the conversation. 'Hey, I'm looking for my mom. I've never met her and I don't know her real name, but I was hoping you might have!'

Even in my head, I felt stupid thinking about it.

I didn't know where to start. I couldn't ask my adopted family because there simply wasn't anyone left who would know.

My adoptive mother died from cancer when she was in her late 40's, I happened to be seven at the time. My life had felt like someone had shaken it like a snow globe—absolute chaos ensued. My adopted father, devastated by her passing, picked up everything we owned and moved to New Hampshire. Jeanine— I thank any omnipotent-being that she is not related to me by blood— was absolutely hysterical because she was thirteen at the time. Unlike me, she had numerous amounts of friends that she was going to have to leave behind. Jeanine is now married since last month and is completely enthralled in her new husband. I swear that it's like I never existed to her.

I shook my head and figured to get a few essentials and mull over the future conversation with the cashier.

I sighed in frustration at the memory in the store. My heart had been pounding in my chest like a jackhammer from the adrenaline pulsing through my body. I remembered the doubt and uncertainty that churned in my head. What if my mother no longer lived in La Push? What would I do if my mother was dead? I had pushed those thoughts out of my mind and built up the courage to walk over to the cashier. As she scanned in the items I was purchasing my face grew hot and I had held my breath. I paid for my groceries and walked out of the store without saying a single word.

Now, my toes were buried in the wet, black sand on the beach as I stared out at the ocean. The water rushed by me and moistened the bottom of my jeans which I had rolled up to my knees. I looked at my legs in disgust. I hadn't shaved them in a week and now it looked like my legs belonged to a yeti, instead of a teenage girl. I took a "bath" yesterday (that is if a bath is defined as washing up in a stream at a park in Eastern Washington). The water was cold though, and I wanted to get it over with as soon as possible. Now, I would wait until no one was around before I pulled out my shampoo and started to bathe in the ocean. It was overcast today, so there weren't very many people around. I grabbed a plastic bag with my shampoo, conditioner, toothbrush, toothpaste, towel and a change of clothes then I took off as far as I could down the beach.

Once I was satisfied that everyone on the beach was too far away to realize what I was doing, I stripped down to my bra and underwear. I was already shivering and I hadn't gotten into the water. I mentally prepared myself for the freezing bath ahead of me. One… two… three! I took off into the water with my plastic bag. I allowed myself to squeal like a little girl until the water was up to my shoulders. My hands violently shook as I snapped open the lid of the shampoo and my teeth chattered together as I lathered the shampoo into my hair. By the time I massaged the conditioner into my jet black hair, my hands were no longer working properly because they had become stiff from the cold water. I was so relieved once I got most of the conditioner out of my hair. I dunked my head under the waves for the last time and when I resurfaced I realized I had an audience.

Two extremely burly, shirtless Quileute men stood on the beach probably ten feet away from my stuff.

Shit.

I knew that I wasn't going to last another minute in the freezing Pacific water, so waiting for them to go away wasn't an option I was willing to pursue. I had plenty of experience back home with pompous, cocky men, enough to know that any show of weakness was only going to make this situation worse. If I were to try to cover myself up, it would display my discomfort and only result in trouble.

New Jersey was where I had called home until recently. I had been staying with my adopted mother's nephew, Frankie. He was the closest thing I've had to a brother—he took me with him pretty much wherever he went, despite the fact he was older than me. Because of Frankie, the majority of people I hung out with were guys his age. Most of them were good guys; however, they were still guys.

Ignoring the glares they were directing toward me, I made my way back to my pile of stuff lying in the sand. I squeezed the salty ocean water from my hair as I walked toward the sandy beach. My heart was fluttering as if I had just sprinted a half mile as I gauged their reaction. I concentrated on controlling my shivering and chattering teeth as I wiped the sand off my towel. The two men stood like statues ten feet from me with their arms crossed as if they were offended with my actions.

My hands and feet were numb while that cold burning sensation radiated through my arms and legs. I made a point by glaring back at the two giants while I squeezed the water out of my hair with my towel, trying to see if I could induce any reaction from them. I was very glad that I was wearing boy shorts and a bra, both of which covered more than most bikinis.

I picked up a pair of jeans and slipped them on while mentally preparing for what I was about to do. I turned so I faced toward the choppy Pacific waters, showing my back to them said that I didn't consider them a threat— which was a bluff. I was scared out of my mind. I didn't care if they took my stuff or hit on me, what I was concerned about was my physical safety. I had no idea what their intentions were and they each had a hundred pounds on me.

I turned my head towards the cliffs on my left so I could watch them in my peripheral. They still hadn't moved. I pulled my shirt over my head and slipped into my jacket. I gathered my things in my arms, but before I headed back toward the more populated portion of the beach I stared back at the two unmoving men for several seconds.

I fell asleep wrapped in several blankets in the backseat of the impala. I had been exhausted after getting less than five hours of sleep every night since I took off from the East Coast last wee

Light laughter outside my window had woken me from my slumber, the sun was low over the horizon and my stomach rumbled loudly. I grumbled as I rubbed my eyes and climbed out of my car. The evening air was like a slap in the face after being wrapped in a warm blanket in my car. There were crowds of teenagers in the parking lot of the beach who were unloading things from their cars. I noticed that my impala stood out near all their vehicles. I was glad that my car was really dusty after the cross country trip, so that it stood out a little less than it would have two weeks ago when I last waxed it.

I was glad that I didn't stand out from these teenagers being eighteen myself since last month. It looks like they were having some sort of beach party. There were enough of them that I was confident that my presence wouldn't be questioned. Immediately, my eyes zeroed in on the copious amount of food that people were carrying toward the beach. There was no way I could pass up the chance of free food. I spotted a girl trying to unload a foldable table from the back of a van all by herself. I rushed towards her.

"Here, let me help you." I said as I grabbed onto the table and together we unloaded the table with ease.

"Thanks." The girl blushed as she pushed her glasses up toward the bridge of her nose.

"You're welcome." I smiled warmly at the girl.

I took in the contents of the van, which was littered with other tables and bags with unknown contents.

"Do you need any help with this stuff?" I asked politely.

I was hoping to gain a friend so that I wouldn't be completely out of place in the party.

"Sure," the girl smiled, "Thanks!"

I found a place to sit near the bonfire with an overflowing plate of food. I was surrounded by a bunch of white people. I wondered to myself where all these teenagers came from. I munched happily on a hot dog. Sometimes people would come over and talk to me mostly to ask me if I was Quileute. I would reply with a 'Yes', feeling a bit…weird… as I did so. I never had someone ask me that before. I made small talk with these teens and overheard enough conversations to figure out that these were high school kinds from a small neighboring town. Maybe I could check out this town tomorrow and look for a job. I also needed to fill up my impala on gas. I learned that it was about a thirty minute drive back to this town. It wasn't like I was going to find a job here in La Push. Where would I work?

The next day I didn't go to town because I realized that I didn't really know where it was. Also, I slept in 'til noon. The bonfire had gone until one a.m. I had stayed up talking to a guy who gave me his phone number, which was ridiculous because I didn't own a cell phone. The slip of paper with the boy's number was going to find a trash can soon. So that Saturday afternoon I walked around La Push aimlessly. During my walk, I found a restaurant on the edge of the town right next to the water. Other than that, my day was extremely uneventful. I had watched the sun set from inside my car a little after nine o'clock. I would have been out on the beach but there was another bonfire down the beach, where a bunch of Quileute people had gathered. I had a feeling that I wasn't welcome to this one. There were about twenty people at this gathering and my presence would definitely be noticed…

Tap…Tap, tap, tap… tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap…

I groaned and squinted because of the bright morning light. Someone was tapping on my window. I recognized him. He was one of the buff Quileute guys at the beach on Friday.

"Open the door." The man's statement was muffled through the glass. He had an authoritative tone in his voice. The vibe I was getting off him was clear:

Don't fuck with me.

I felt a scowl form on my face. Like hell I was opening the door.

I shook my head.

He sighed in frustration.

"What are you doing here?" He asked through the glass.

I sighed and threw my blankets off and opened the opposing door. I climbed out of the car cautiously, making sure that he didn't move. This way we would at least have something between us if he decided to attack me. I could jump back in and lock it if necessary.

"I'm looking for my biological mother. My adopted father said she was Quileute and I might find her here." I made a face, because I didn't have much to go off of, "He just said that she had me when she was young, so she put me up for adoption."

The man was quiet for a couple seconds before he said anything, "I know someone who might be able to help…" He paused, "…Billy Black, he's our chief. If anyone knew who your mother was, it'd be him."

He gave me directions to the Black's house, which was less than a ten minute walk from the beach.

"Good luck," He threw back over his shoulder as he began to walk away, "I hope you find what you're looking for."

His quick movements caught my eye.

I wouldn't call it a hobby, more of a fascination that I liked to watch the way people moved. Frankie and his group of friends used to take me to the mall on Fridays after school. I absolutely loved it there, but not for the clothes or handbags. I would never be able to afford any of it. A lot of different people go to the mall, some people wanted to be there, some people didn't. When I first started hanging with the group— I hated it. It was always crowded with strange people and if I wasn't careful, being vertically challenged at the time, I would get trampled.

The guys liked it because that's where the girls went.

After spending a couple months, sitting bored in front of the Cinnabon every Friday after school, I began to watch the people walk past. You could find out a lot about a person by the way they walk, how they hold themselves, and their posture. The way this Quileute moved was indescribable.

Like nothing I'd ever seen before.

His body turned fluidly, almost like he was walking on the air. I watched him closely as he effortlessly moved toward the tree line. There was no way to explain it.

In less than ten minutes I was standing in front of the door of the Black's house. I was taking deep breaths as if that was going to calm my nerves. I finally built up the courage to knock on the front door. I didn't have to wait long before an older gentleman in a wheelchair open the door.

"Hello… uh, my name is Lexi Cane. I was… um, I was looking for Billy Black?" It came out more like a question than a statement.

"Well you're speaking with him." He gave me a big smile before he continued, "How can I help you, Lexi?"

I immediately felt more relaxed in this man's presence and I let out a sigh of relief.

"Well… I was wondering if you could help me find my mother. She… um, she gave me up for adoption and I don't have very much information to look for her myself."

"Lexi, why don't you come inside and tell me what you do know and we'll start from there." He smiled before he wheeled himself around into the house.

I followed him inside and closed the front door behind me. He went into the kitchen where a half eaten piece of toast was laying on a plate on the table.

"Would you like any coffee or water, Lexi?" he asked politely as he motioned for me to sit down.

"Could I have some water?" I smiled as I took a seat at the table. Should be calling him Mr. Black or Billy?

He handed me a glass of water, "So, what do you know about your mother?"

"My father said that she was living in La Push when I was born and he was pretty sure she grew up here too. He said that she was Quileute. She had me when she was sixteen or seventeen. So we figured that she was born in 1972 or 1973… so she'd be in her mid-thirties now."

"Uhuh." Billy nodded his head, "Well I'll—"

At that moment someone came bursting through the door, stopping Billy Black mid-sentence. I turned around to see who had come in the door.

"Dad, I can't believe that she's—"

I was staring back at yet another shirtless, muscular Quileute man. He had stopped his sentence abruptly and was now standing less than five feet from me. My eyes scanned up to the khaki shorts and over his perfectly sculpted body.

My eyes locked with his dark brown ones and I couldn't help but gasp. I couldn't shake the sensation spreading through my body which started in my chest and radiated down my arms and legs to the tips of my fingers and toes. The sensation had left goose bumps along my arms and neck.

He looked like a deer caught in the headlights unable to move, unable to breath. It felt like minutes had passed by, when it was actually just mere seconds. My stomach did a flip and my heart was fluttering rapidly against my ribs.

Who was this man? What was happening to me?

His expression had changed from shock to awe. I would image it as a blind man seeing the world for the first time… not just that… it was the awe that a blind man would be experiencing if he saw the sunrise for the first time in his life. Then, he abruptly fell to his knees.

I gasped and unglued myself from my seat and jumped to his side. I was sure that he was just about to keel over. I knelt in front of him and grabbed his head in my hands, unintentionally running my fingers through his silky hair. His dark, smooth hair was tangled around my fingers and I could feel the immense heat radiating from his skin. It was like I was sitting next to the fireplace back in New Hampshire. The image of me sitting on my dad's lap while he read to me flashed before my eyes. I shook that memory away.

This man obviously had a fever. I remembered from my Health Ed class in high school that high fevers often resulted in hallucinations. This beautiful man could be very ill.

"Mr. Black!" I gasped as I attempted to look back at the old man, but I couldn't turn my head. The ill man had mimicked my actions and threaded his fingers through my jet black hair. I sat on my knees as I was unable to let my mind grasp onto the situation. The man with the fever was panting—short shallow breaths as his eyes locked onto mine.

"It's you…" he whispered hoarsely, "…I don't believe it…"

I had no idea what he was talking about but I never met this guy in my life, so he was obviously sick or something.

"Mr. Black! He's burning up." I shouted with impatience. Why wasn't Mr. Black doing anything?

My shouting seemed to have upset the guy because the admiration on his face quickly became skewed to pain and anger.

"No." He growled through his teeth and he shook his head furiously.

Faster than a blink of an eye he jerked himself from my grasp and pulled himself towards the door he had just came through.

"This can't be happening." He shook his head in denial.

All I could do was stare in shock while I sat on the kitchen floor as the guy darted to the door. He raced towards the woods lining the Black's property like a bat out of hell. The door still ajar from his fleeting escape.

What just happened here? I turned back to Billy Black who sat in his wheelchair, expressionless like a champion poker player. We didn't sit there for long before Billy spoke up.

"You want a sandwich?" he asked like nothing had happened.

I was about to yell at him, 'What? Are you asking me if I want a sandwich? Did you see what just happened?' But then I remembered that I was poor as dirt and I lived in my car. Whenever an opportunity arose before me- I'd take it.

So I smiled, "Yeah…I'd love one."

What do you think?