Straightening her sleek Asian party dress, Peyton prepared herself to walk into the party with her head held high and self control still intact. She would not break down again; she had been doing so well lately. Here we go, she breathed, and stepped into the moonlight, allowing the partiers on the front lawn to acknowledge her presence. She of course did not know these people but she wasn't here for them. She had promised Jesse and although they were barely on speaking terms she owed him so much more than her worthless life.

She pretended to ignore the unsurprising ogling of the male population attending the event, and the annoyed, challenging stares of their female dates. She huffed and rolled her eyes, for this was truly getting old. Peyton knew she was hardly an ugly girl, but really; Halle Berry she was not. Hard as she tried however, she could not ignore the piercing gaze of one said ogling male. But he wasn't ogling. Just looking. Looking straight down to the depths of her soul, it seemed like. His stare was asking her something. Why are you so broken? His impossibly dark, intense eyes devoured her.

Peyton could barely breathe.

It was as if he had screamed the words across the fucking lawn. She stared back trying to be indignant, which made his mesmerizing eyes crinkle with amusement.

"Audacious bastard..." She muttered, shaking her head angrily and marching towards the house. She heard him laugh out loud, as if he had heard her. His laugh was a peculiar thing. It cleared her head of every haunting thought and made her want him to do it again. She prayed she would not trip in her sexy, lethal heels in front of this dangerously intriguing stranger.

After what was only 15 seconds disguising themselves as an hour, she was pushing open the tackily decorated front door. She was not the type to mingle, she merely seeked to search out Jesse and let him know she was here, then she would proceed with her duties, as repulsing and degrading as they were. But what choice did she have?

She found him wrapped tightly in the stringy arms of Angeline and with great difficulty suppressed a snort. Aren't pimps not supposed to mess round with their whores? She thought sarcastically. She sure as hell had a lot of nerve considering she was in the same smutty boat as Angeline. He spotted her and practically pushed poor Angeline off his lap, standing to greet her with a much too enthusiastic hug. A hug which she did not return. He had sensed something was up and he was trying to negate it with fluffiness, she supposed. Whatever. Peyton knew she had had enough; she was tired of feeling cheap and disposable. There had to be other ways to make money.

"Peyton!" he boomed, "I was starting to think you weren't gonna show…"

The edge in his voice told her that was precisely was the was thinking and there would have been supreme consequences later. She tried not to glare at him and even managed a halfway decent smile.

You know I wouldn't pass this up baby, she replied in Spanish, thinking that perhaps if had spoke English her sarcasm would be too easily detected.

He grinned and was able to palm her bottom due to how close they still were. She pulled herself away from him, resisting the urge to knock lose a few teeth and shut herself down into work mode. This was what she called it when she attempted to close off all emotion, become numb when she was pleasuring all those brutish men. She had learned to perfect the art these last few weeks, coming to the end of her rope. It was almost too easy now. She was going…. going…. gone….

About fifty minutes later she was in one of the back rooms, on her knees, with yet another member pulsing in her mouth. Peyton bit back the desire to gag, but it was not her reflexes kicking in, she had learned to deep throat months ago. She was just so disgusted with herself. At first she was convinced that she was not like the other whores, who absolutely loved their jobs. Peyton was strictly in it for the money she so desperately needed. But when the weeks had turned into seven months she began to realize this was beginning to seriously affect her self worth. Or lack thereof. What would Lissa think of her if she was alive to witness this? Or Jonathan? He would have an aneurysm. Oh god, she thought, shutting her eyes against the tears. She would rather focus on getting Marcus off -one of her regulars- than start thinking about the only people she loved and trusted.

She looked up at him sexily now focusing fully on her work. Kicking it up a notch, she pulled back to flick her tongue fast over his tip then plunging him down to the deepest recesses of her throat, his testicles now touching her bottom lip. He grunted and groaned going on about how "her mouth was made to suck on him" and how she "liked the way his dick tasted, bitch", and she had to stop herself from biting off a good sized chunk and asking what he thought of it himself.

She felt him reaching his release and moved out of the line of fire, she didn't want to get semen on her pretty new expensive dress and she sure as hell wasn't swallowing filth. He collapsed back onto the bed and he pulled her along with him. She sat on his now limp penis and wondered idly if she should let him know beforehand that this was the last time she'd ever put her mouth on his grossly petite member, thank you very much, and he should enjoy this while it lasted. Nah. Peyton knew it was best not to mention it before she was outta there.

She got up, outstretching her hand in payment and he smiled lazily up at her.

"What makes you think I'm finished with you yet, SweetBottom?

"That's irrelevant Marcus, because I'm finished with you. Hand over my cash so we can both get on with our pathetic lives."

"I don't think so babe, I'm having too much fun with you… and didn't I tell you I was gonna get inside tonight, you ready for me?

"Not a chance in hell. I'm not fucking you or anyone else for that matter, I'm so sick of all of you. I'm done. Keep your fucking money, you disgusting cradle robber."

So much for keeping things quiet.

She didn't really expect Marcus to let her leave without a fight but she certainly was not prepared for what happened next. With speed she didn't realize he had, Marcus gripped her small wrist and yanked her against his chest so roughly it knocked the wind out of her. His breath was coming fast now, and blew into her face a smelly beer flavored air supply.

"You must be fucking crazy, you bitch, if you think I'm not gonna fuck your brains out tonight... call me a cradle robber… I don't give a shit if you're not eighteen yet."

"I'm fucking 14 your sick asshole! Let me go! You're hurting me!" she screamed and it was indeed true. Marcus was gripping her so tight Peyton could already feel the bruises forming. She knew he was surprised to hear she was in fact that young, she sure didn't look it, because his grip slacked. That was when she got fucking mad. She would not be hurt like this again by anyone. She lashed out violently with her fist and heard the satisfying "oof" as Marcus' breathe left him. He almost let her go too.

Damn.

Now all she did was piss him off. He snatched her shoulders as if to shake her but instead smacked her across the face so hard, the blow rang out like a firecracker and sent her off to la la land. She had to have been concussed. Fleetingly Peyton thought she heard someone snarl "you son of a bitch" followed by a sinister wet crack, and a bodily thump. She was really struggling to open her eyes now, and when she did, she was rewarded with the same deep brown pair as before, only now instead of them being curious and amused, they were furious and concerned. And that was all. She was unconscious.

…

When she woke up nearly a day and a half later, she did not open her eyes, for she heard voices close by. She listened to the muted conversation hoping to get some idea as to where the hell she was, and why. She knew the place was unfamiliar, because never before had she laid on a surface so soft and inviting; it smelled really good too, like cinnamon and the forest. Yum. She decided she was on a bed, because a pillow was propping her bandaged head up. Bandaged?

"I'm kind of having a hard time with this Jake." She heard a pretty female voice hiss angrily, "I mean you understand right? You show up Friday night or should I say sinfully early Saturday morning, carrying this suspiciously unconscious girl in your arms, looking guilty as hell, then drag me over here after I have to swear an oath of secrecy, and now you expect me to assist you with your little kidnapping scheme? Does that sum everything up?" Boy, she sure is feisty.

"Well yeah, that's the gist of it, yeah…" A male voice answered a bit sheepishly. How was it that she could immediately place that voice? And knowing the face that matched said voice made her want to wrench her eyes open and gape like a fish? But where the hell would she have met him? And fuck! What was she doing in his house? Was she in danger? No, she answered herself. Her gut told her there was nothing to fear.

"I know Em, I know how it sounds but… man, I think I'm going nuts…. I just… couldn't leave her there, not at that place, with those people. It was a fucking whore house Emily! I'm gonna kill Quil, that bastard as if I'd wanna spend my birthday at a place like that. Anyway, you should have seen what he did to her, whacked her across the face like a piñata at a birthday party." His voice darkened. "I should have crushed him like a fucking bag of chips. Stupid fucker. I was seeing red Em, I couldn't let him do that, I needed to protect her, couldn't even stop myself. Just look at her Emily, what the hell else could I have done, she needs someone, I could see it in her eyes, they're so sad, so alone. She needs me" His voice tender now. His large fingers stroked her small face in a gesture so soft and tender it almost brought tears to her eyes.

Wow. So horribly confused and touched and… in pain was she. Peyton was now feeling that powerful slap he had described, but how did she obtain it?

Then the memories came rushing back to her in a maelstrom of unpleasantness. Marcus! Marcus had beaten the shit out of her the other day! What a bastard! She thought.

"Thanks for cleaning her up Emily," "Jake" was whispering. "That's why I needed your help; I didn't feel right changing her or anything."

That caught Peyton's attention; this Emily had put her hands on her without her permission, that was unacceptable, she thought.

She had had enough of pretenting to sleep, she needed answers. She sat up quickly, surprising the both of them and leapt off the bed facing them now from about eight feet off, her body had instinctively taken up a fighting stance.

"Now I want to know who the fuck you people are, why you've brought me here, what you want, and what the hell gives you the right to take my fucking clothes off without my consent." She said all this in a snarling voice, trying to be as menacing as possible.

Nothing.

"I'd like to know now if you'd be so kind." She added, with even more vehemence. Peyton wanted them to be intimidated.

It was working, they were staring stupidly with wide eyes and slack jaws at the small framed 5"2' girl who had been in a deep sleep up until about 12 seconds ago. Sure, she was little but she knew how lethal she could appear when she really wanted to. Emily was the first to recover.

"you- you're awake! That's good! That's excellent. Yeah. Um, I know how this must look but I assure you we aren't kidnapping barbarians. Jacob here seemed to think you were in danger, and I can imagine, considering that bruise on your cheek. We just want to help you. My gosh, are you alright honey, that looks horrible. What happened to you? Did your parents know you were at that party? You should call them they must be worried sick. I'm sorry about changing your clothes while you were asleep but Jacob wanted you to be comfortable. Did you sleep okay? Do you need anything? By the way my name is Emily and I'm very glad to meet you."

Emily had said all this very fast and in one very long breath. Now it was Peyton's turn to stare. She knew she wasn't in a harms way but it was still unnerving just the same. These people were… helping her. She put two and two together quickly. Jacob had probably walked in the room in time to see Marcus bitch slap her and for some unfathomable reason intervened. When she blacked out he had picked her up and taken her into his home, and with the help of sweet, pretty Emily, had taken care of her until she woke up and acted like an ungrateful little wretch.

It was a mark of the strength of her ignorance to the idea of the world being full of decent people, that she had such a hard time believing they had been so kind to her.

When she found her voice she opened her mouth to respond but couldnt decide what part to respond to first. "Er… thank you very much for helping me. I think I'll be fine actually. Just a little pain but not unbearable. Don't worry about the changing thing I'm very grateful, and yes I slept the best I ever had last niight. Can you tell me where I am right now? And could I have my dress back, I'll leave after that, I need to get back soon anyway." She hoped that covered everything.

"Wait. What? No way. I don't want you going back there. It's not safe for you." Jacob finally spoke up, and loudly. She wished he didn't say that though. Now she would have to be rude.

"That's not really for you to decide, however much I appreciate your help." Peyton's voice faltered toward the end of her sentence and she realized that she really ought to be sitting down. When her body swayed dangerously Jacob reached out, fast as lightning, and grabbed her by the waist, steering her to lay back on the bed. He regretted it instantly. She already expressed her discomfort with unconsented touching.

She was so struck by the tenderness of his hold that she forgot to be upset. "Thanks" she whispered. And she was asleep again.

When she woke the next time she was only slightly confused, for she still hadn't figured out why finally, for the first time in her life she was being given a break. That was something to ponder later, when she was out of here. The thought was not a pleasant one because leaving here, when she was convinced now that no one wanted to hurt her, where she needn't worry about catering to perverted scumbags no longer, seemed like an extremely foolish thing to do.

She crawled reluctantly out of the heavenly bed and proceeded to what she thought was the living room. Emily was sitting on the kitchen counter, and Jacob on the couch. Emilt was talking to a very loud voice with a peculiar expression. It was one of amusement, annoyance, and maybe love? How the hell would she know about that?

"You're up." She heard Jacob say softly.

"Yes."

"Do you need anything?"

"I'd like to clean up a bit… so I can be on my way"

"Everything you need is already in the bathroom, down the hall to the left" he answered, in a rather clipped voice.

"Thank you" she said, and walked into the bathroom.

There she found a towel, wash cloth, soap, shampoo and conditioner, resting on the top of the closed toilet. These people were really taking care of her.

She took her time in the shower, using up almost all of the products, trying to scrub away all the crap she had to endure. She washed her long hair vigorously massaging her scalp till her head hurt. She ignored the way the black die ran all over the place, ignored it when her hair became tangled and unruly again. She was trying to erase all her memories, very few of them were worth saving.

When she stepped out and peeked at her refection in the large mirror, she was glowing-more than usual-, due to all her scrubbing. She thought she looked kind of ethereal. Unreal almost. Sorta creepy. Her skin had always been a perplexing color. Sort of a warm golden tone, it gave off the impression that she was glowing from the inside out. She had gotten rid of all the black die and now her hair was back to its unusual tint; copper, but darker, like an old penny, with a few hints of bronze. Her curls were stunning, not ringlets nor waves, they were similar to the wild ivy, growing any which way it pleased, creating a timeless beauty. Peyton just thought they were a hindrance to her; completely unmanageable. Jonathan had been in love with her hair, always tugging on it affectionately, stroking it when she was upset, telling her how freaky it was, but in a "totally bitchin' way". She smiled when she thought of him, wondering what he had been up to since she last saw him 3 years ago, if he was alright with his new foster mother. She missed her best friend with a passion that nearly brought her to her knees.

She shook it off and continued her scrutiny. Looking at her body, she truly wondered what the fuss was about. She compared herself to people she knew were truly beautiful, Kate Bekingsale, Shakira, Beyonce Knowles, and such. She could not, for the life of her, fathom why anybody would put her in the same grouping with such people. Looking at her breasts she was only slightly put out, they filled a B cup nicely, but in her line of work they didn't usually cut it. Her stomach was flat, tight and shapely. Her hips were wider than the average 14 year old girl, but only made her look more womanly. Another reason older boys and men found her so appealing. Her legs were defined, and appeared long even on her 62 inch body.

She snatched up the clothes Emily had rested on the toilet while she was in the shower. Jeans and a tank top. Fantastic! When she put them they fit pretty nice except the jeans rested lower than she liked on her hips and nearly covered her feet. As if she needed the extra help to trip. The tank top was a soothing emerald green, her favorite color. She dared one last fleeting look at herself, sighed heavily, and left the bathroom.

She was every bit as beautiful as all those big-time actresses and singers but looking in the mirror all she saw was a girl tired of being more trouble than she was worth.