A/N- If it weren't for Katy, (MrsKatyCullen and MKatyCee) This wouldn't exist. Thank you for pushing me, girl.

And thank you for your continued support. It means a whole lot!

Have fun on your trip, love!

This story is a bit, um...er...a bit dark, but bare with me. I wholeheartedly believe in HEA's :)

Disclaimer: These characters belong to Stephenie Meyer.

"Angie, you should be out there. Before he returns. He's going to go ape shit finding you here instead of out there," I said, warning her that Emmett wouldn't be happy finding his number one working girl in the house and not out working.

"I don't feel good, Alice. I've been vomiting all day," she answered, sounding really tired.

"Take some Pepto and just leave the house. Come back in a few hours and pretend things were dead."

"I did, Alice. Nothing is helping. I'm exhausted and I just want to sleep," Ang said, lying on the ratty couch crouched in a ball.

Sick or not, Emmett wasn't going to give a rat's ass about Angela sitting – or lying around his house not making him any dirty money.

I sighed loudly and pressed my hand to her forehead. "You don't have a fever, Ang. Are you…" I stopped myself before I let the words come out of my mouth.

Angela wasn't stupid enough to mess up, was she? Emmett wouldn't be happy about his top money maker and youngest piece becoming pregnant.

The look of terrifying scare was plastered on her face. "I didn't mean to, I mean, I did everything right. It must have been faulty. I don't even know yet, Alice. He keeps all the money. It's not like I have the money to even find out." She whimpered.

It was nearing two in the morning and Angela still hadn't left the couch, in her hurled u-position. I knew he would be home soon, and I had a feeling things would be taken out on me. For the most part that is how things worked.

If Emmett were unhappy with something or someone, he would take it out on me. Whether it was a brutal beating, a mental one – which was rare – or scalding hot lighters or burning cigarettes, I always took the fall.

I wouldn't say that I would be happy if it were anyone else enduring this pain, but it was emotionally draining. I was stuck though; I had nowhere else to go. After my car accident and remembering nothing from my "previous" life, I had nowhere else, no one else. I had to stick it out until I could find a way out of here.

Since I wasn't allowed any of the money, nor any means to live without him, I wasn't sure how or when that time would come, but I would keep my hope. It was all I had.

I was sitting in our bedroom at the time I heard the door slam.

"Why the fuck are you just lying around doing nothing while everyone else is busting their ass you dirty little whore," he shouted to Ang, drunk as ever.

"I'm sorry, sir. I don't feel well. I'll make it up to you tomorrow," she whispered just loud enough for me to hear.

"You bet your fucking trashy ass you will. And you won't see a penny of it for a week."

I knew that now I was about to be greeted the drunken jerk, and I mentally prepared myself as much as I could.

Would he tear my clothes off and demand sexual favors? Would he burn me until I blistered and bled, or maybe slice me with his choice pocket knife? I never knew. I sat on the edge of the bed as anticipation got the best of me. My insides turned to rock as my outsides shimmered in a cold sweat. I can handle it. I always did.

He charged into the bedroom and slammed the door behind me without looking at me for even a second before slipping his belt off in an animal fashion and dropping his pants, and stepping out of his shoes. He ripped his ratted flannel-type top off and tossed it on the floor before coming towards me like a cougar, waiting to charge its next poor victim. I sat there still as stone, waiting for whatever was to happen.

He stood above me, whipping me once in the back with his belt. "Turn around," he demanded in a drunken slur.

I always did as he said. I wondered often what I was like before my nearly fatal accident. Was I so submissive? Did I take shit from dirty men? I would never know, or it seemed that way.

Emmett slammed his body forcefully into mine suddenly and continued his brutal motion while he occasionally tore at the skin on my shoulders, his belt wrapped around my neck in an almost deathly grip.

Just as he finished what he wanted to achieve, his body fell on top of mine. "You run these girls and I expect more of you. Don't disappoint me again. Angela just lies on the couch all fucking night, heh."

"Y-yes, sir."

His body fell off mine and he was almost immediately in a drunken, coma-like state.

I hated what this man did to me and the other girls here, too, I hated what he did, but I didn't hate him. I couldn't explain it, I didn't even understand it. Maybe I wasn't capable of hate. I didn't know. My amnesia blocked everything. As soon as he faded into his coma, I made myself as presentable as I could, running my hands through my spiky black hair and made my way back out into the living room to check on Angie.

"Are you alright, Ang?" I asked.

"Yes. I just. I just want to go home," she sobbed.

"Let's head over to the store, the twenty four hour one. We'll steal you a test." I suggested and she silently took me up on my offer, nodding once in agreement. I think she wanted to know just as well as I did. If she were pregnant, she'd either have to take care of it or get out of Emmett's as fast as she could, no looking back.

There were girls coming in at this point and we just walked past them all like it was normal for any of us to be leaving at this time of night – morning.

We walked to the drug store that was well over two miles away and headed straight to the feminine isle before I sneakily tucked a box into my pants and headed over to the medicines, grabbing a bottle of Pepto.

"You've got a few dollars, Ang?"

"Yes," she mumbled.

We hurried over to the gas station across the street and snuck into the restrooms that were outside of the building and I helped her read the instructions, making sure she took the test correctly.

Positive.

Shit.

This was either a blessing in disguise or her worst nightmare. It depending on whether or not she would toughen up and go home to her parents. It was the right thing to do regardless of her end decision. She did not belong here, living her life as a sixteen-year-old prostitute.

"You have to go home. You cannot allow him to force you into anything, Ang. You know he will, hell, he'll take care of it himself," I warned.

Men loved the idea of getting intimate with a girl barely legal. She was very pretty and in the clothes that Emmett insisted on us wearing, men couldn't resist her. One night alone, she brought Emmett back twelve hundred dollars after being out just for less than six hours.

I've tried to get her to go home. I cared for her the best I could, while trying to keep myself alive and breathing as well, but there was only so much I could do. I could have called the police, but I was far too scared of what would happen to me if I did that, he would know it was me. None of the other women were treated like me and they all got some sort of compensation.

I on the other hand had nothing. I had to sleep in his bed and service his every need as well as the other men he "assigned" me too. He took every penny like he owned me. I was a leashed dog without a way out...yet.

"I know, Alice," she answered back after a few moments. "But my parents. They probably hate me by now. Or think I'm dead."

"Angie. Go home, they love you no matter what. You do not want him to find out. You don't want him to make the decision for you. You need to be able to live your life...go back to school and make something of yourself. This is not the life for you, it's not the life for any of us."

I tried to get her to understand. I was pleading with her to make the right decision. She had to go home. Even if home wasn't the right place, she needed to go somewhere safe. Whether that be a woman's shelter, or back to her parents, she needed out of this lifestyle.

We returned to the slum house just before four in the morning, everyone sleeping tucked in their stained beds and cockroach-filled rooms. I peeked into mine and found Emmett in the same position as when I had left and felt instantly relieved. I climbed into bed as quietly and as slowly as possible so that I wouldn't wake him. I didn't need another lashing tonight.

I silently sobbed myself to sleep, wishing I'd remember something, anything, like I had every night the entire time I'd been here. And like every night, I didn't sleep. Most of my sleep came during the light hours, when I knew that Emmett would be at the bar, before coming home and seeing the girls off.

His snore was disgusting; it was wet sounding and non-rhythmic. It made me want to crawl out of my skin. I sat up to look at the man that had controlled my life for so long and noticed something shiny glaring from the floor. His gun was sitting in his cheap holster, lying on top of his jeans.

It was in the moment that I knew what I would eventually do if I had no way out. I wasn't sure if I'd be able to kill a man, though, but deep down I was almost cetrain I'd be able to kill him.

If I had no other options.

I must have drifted off right as the sun was rising, only sleeping maybe twenty minutes. What I woke to was the end of a searing hot hammer claw shoved right against the crook of my collarbone. The pain was unbearable, but I had to take it, if I didn't, he'd find something else to torture me with.

"Where did you run off to in the middle of the night, bitch? I let you lie in my bed and you think you can just take off whenever the fuck you feel like it," he sneered.

"Uh...uh...I'm sorry. Angela needed tampons, sir. The house was empty of them," I said through the horrific pain of the knife-slicing burn of the hammer.

"Next time she, or anyone else uses toilet paper at that time. Got it?" he shouted.

I nodded my head in understanding.

"'Scuse me?"

"Yes, I understand," I answered aloud.

I was Emmett's Queen, of sorts.

However, I wasn't treated much like one. He owned me, my body and the few things I had. I guess I was the unfortunate one that had to deal with all of him. If he was angry with someone else, I got the wrath of it. On the rare instances he was happy, I got more wrath, though it rarely included my physical pain, unless of course you considered rough sex physical pain. I found that that was more of an emotional pain. I did my best to survive anything that came my way.

I distinctly remember the time that Emmett came home from the casino, winning a large amount of money. He took me into his bedroom and treated me like I was his servant. I fed him chocolate and Johnny Black Label until he was obliterated and he had his way with me. That night in particular was devastatingly hard for me. I think anytime that Emmett was in one of his good moods was actually harder to deal with – if he came home sober, things were okay, but coming home in a good mood always led to top shelf liquor and a very drunk man soon after.

I did give myself some credit occasionally, when I remembered. I had to be strong in order to survive this place and I had to survive if I ever wanted to see a life outside of this nightmare...someday, eventually.

I had successfully talked Angela into getting on the train to go back home and when I got back, I saw Emmett sitting outside in the front yard. He was poking around in his makeshift fire pit in the front yard. He looked bullshit.

"Where the fuck you been? And where is Angie?" he asked in a drunken snarl. "You two have a lot of balls. Go to bed."

I didn't answer, instead choosing to do as he instructed and wait for what would come. It wouldn't be good. I knew that.

I sat on the end of the bed wearing a large T-shirt and the only pair of jeans I had that fit me. My flip flops were no longer white, but a dingy green-brown color from being worn often, while not out working.

Emmett didn't work me as much as he did the other girls, but I wished he had. If I were working more, I wouldn't be his little pet. I wouldn't be around nearly enough for him to beat me, punish me or put me through the pain I suffered almost daily.

I distinctly remembered the time that I made him fried eggs assuming they would be fine since he hadn't specified a certain kind. I couldn't have been more wrong. He was furious, he had wanted pouched. He took the hot frying pan and slammed me over the head with it before placing it onto my lower back, causing my skin to burn.

Him playing with fire outside scared me; his poker would most likely be my next punishment. I had a gut feeling he knew Angela wouldn't be back, and if that were the case, he also knew that I had a major role in her leaving.

After all, I had managed to get Jessica out of here only a few months ago. That led to me being handcuffed to the floor, arms strung up on the closet doorknob while Emmett kicked the shit out of me until I was bleeding and unconscious. I remember waking up slung to the doorknob with my head pounding. He had left me there for hours.

I must not have been anyone of importance since I had no relatives or friends claiming me after my accident, so I had nowhere to go, but if I died trying to give the other girls in this house a way out, then I would die doing the right thing. Half of them were far too young, even younger than I was, and prostituting themselves was hardly a lifestyle anyone should be living.

I'm surprised I wasn't dead by now.

I stared at the floor, waiting for Emmett to come out, watching as a stray cockroach made its way across the floor and to the wall, climbing up and making its way to the crook between the windowsills.

The gun I had seen last night kept haunting my mind. I thought about the ways I would get a hold of it. I thought about the many ways I could injure him, or even kill him. They were disgusting thoughts and so unlike the person I was now…or maybe always was. I was the mother hen here, or I tried to be, even when a few of the girls here were far older than I was. Most of them though, weren't ever bothered. They came and went as they pleased and only had to worry about handing over the money they'd earned that night to Emmett.

I heard the front door open and slam shut and I braced myself for it. Whatever was about to happen.

He came into his room with his stick still glowing red from the fire and didn't even think before he whipped me in the neck with it. He slashed my neck a good four times before mumbling a few non-legible words. Then he struck me in the head.

"Why would you keep your hair all fucking spiky? You look like a fucking circus performer." Whip.

"Where is she? Where is Angie?" Thwap.

"You fucking bitch! Answer me, Damnit!" Smack.

"Emmett, sir. Angela got into some trouble. She had to leave." I didn't want to say too much, but I knew he wasn't going to chase her down.

I tried to hold back my tears. I was usually very good at that, but sometimes a stray tear would slip and cause Emmett to continue. I was burning and stinging and the hard hits were echoing throughout my entire body.

This time was hard.

With each raise of his large hand, I could feel myself fight my body from quaking and cowering. Each time he spoke words, I could feel myself shiver from not knowing what would come next, only able to guess; I was usually right for the most part.

"It's still early. Get your skanky little ass out there tonight and bring me some fucking money," he demanded.

I scurried around the room to put something more appropriate for the job on and was out of the house in barely five minutes.

I was picked up almost immediately and the man headed straight for the slummy hotel that was a few blocks away.

The man was dressed in casual clothes. A pair of black slacks, matched with a white collared button-down. I glanced toward his left hand. Married.

I hated finding wedding bands on the hands of the men I worked for, I felt bad for their wives that were probably working their butts off with preparing tomorrows dinner as she tucked in their children and read them bedtime stories. Yet, their husbands were out messing around with prostitutes that may or may not be carrying some sort of disease that they would bring back to their families.

Emmett never allowed any of us to go to the doctor, so none of really ever knew if a slip up caused us to be burdened with a sexually transmitted disease. I was always as careful as I possibly could be.

The man asked me to take my clothes off and when he laid eyes on my naked body, he asked that I re-dress. My scars and new burns and bruises must have disgusted him. He brought me back to where he had picked me up and wished me well in a rushed sort of way.

If I didn't bring Emmett home some kind of money tonight he might actually kill me this time.

I stood in the entrance against a brick wall to a rundown empty building of an alley way awaiting some sort of business, hoping that something would come soon.

Maybe twenty minutes later, a beaten Honda came to a stop in front of me sneering nasty comments and asking me for services in demeaning ways. I couldn't pass them up though.

There were two boyish men, maybe in there early twenties and they asked only for head. I obliged and soon went home with a measly seventy dollars. It wasn't going to make Emmett happy.

I headed straight for the bedroom, counting the rapid beating of my heart and opened the door. I found him fiddling around with his gun that I had just recently learned he had before he popped his head up and held out his hand.

"Money," he demanded.

"Emmett, it was slow tonight. The one man I thought I scored told me to redress after seeing my bruises and burns." I spoke quietly, ashamed and scared that it would flare his temper.

And it did.

"Seventy fucking dollars? What the fuck is this shit, Alice? Get on the bed and don't move until I tell you to."

I lay there on the bed for what felt like hours, waiting what was to come next. It was late and I was mentally and emotionally tired, the day finally taking its toll on me.

The mental lashing and the physical and brutal punishments were really beginning to get fiercely old, and I was sure I wouldn't be able to take much more of it.

Emmett must have fallen asleep on his trusty recliner in the living room in a drunken state, completely neglecting me and my nights lashing, so I allowed myself to try and get some rest while I could.

"Wake the fuck up."

His voice vibrated through my body. He was hovering over me with a rusty old and blackened butcher knife. I sat up quickly before he told me to remove the skimpy tank top I had worn last night.

The knife's tip came down on my collarbone and he sliced quickly downwards, letting the blade come off me right before reaching my nipple. The metal was fire hot and I imagined that's why it had been blackened. He slashed me twice more, once from the end of my neck and towards my shoulder and again across his first slash, letting the kitchen tool linger to allow me to feel the scalding hotness of the metal.

I kept it together, but I strongly believed that I wouldn't be able to withstand any more pain from this man for much longer. Even if I had to take my own life, I would have a way out. It wasn't like anyone would miss me anyway.

When he left, I rushed over to the pile of dirty laundry and tried wiping away the blood as gently as possible, trying to avoid worsening the pain. All I was able to do was smear the blood, causing me to look like I'd just slaughtered a pig.

I tiptoed to the bathroom with the cleanest article of clothing I could find in the laundry and wet it, washing my fresh wounds carefully while wondering why Emmett chose me to batter constantly.

When I was clean enough and the bleeding stopped, I quickly and quietly returned to the bedroom and let myself sleep. There wasn't much else to do and he wouldn't be home until dark.

I woke up just as the sun was setting, shivering from the nightmares that played over in my head every time I fell asleep. Sometimes they were of random cars crashing and catching fire, others they were of Emmett brutally beating, burning, and slashing me. They weren't ever the same, and I'd never dreamed something that had already happened.

One of my dreams reoccurred and haunted me at least once a week, and that was saying a lot, with the little sleep I got.

A woman with beautifully wavy, long, brilliant blond hair and under the blood that covered the left side of her was a face straight off the runway. Her eyes sparkled an ocean blue and her rosy lips were full and perfect. She was perfect.

Her body lay next to me on its left side as if we were the sign of Pisces, two fish lying together in a circle, just waiting to die. We stared into each others eyes for as long as it took me to wake up. I always wondered if she was an aunt, possibly my mother, but I never had the dream until I moved here, to this stenchy, bug-ridden whorehouse. I never had the chance to ask anyone.

I heard the door slam shut and knew he'd returned from letting his steam release after the fire I'd caused last night. I quivered internally and sat up quickly; if he thought I got any rest at all after his torture he would believe it wasn't enough and it would cause another attack.

I wiped the sleep out of my eyes as I heard him trudge towards the bathroom and took in a few deep wakening breaths.

"Alice!" I heard shout from the bathroom. "Get our ass dressed and out of my house and do not come back until you've got some money for me!"

It was a bit disgusting to think that I was actually relieved to hear him say that, but because of the other things I would normally be doing, I was glad to be getting out of this place. Even if I wasn't able to pull off making money until much later, I'd gladly hide in a few tress all day until the sun set and the moon rose.

I dug through the pile of clothing trying to find something day-wearable, yet something that would translate to whore-worthy later at night. I hate my life. If I killed him…

I wound up in a wrinkled sequenced tank and a denim skirt with a small hole right under the ass in the back. I tossed on a pair of Angela's small-heeled peep toes she left behind and scurried out of the house as quickly as I could.

I had no money and nowhere to go. Whenever this kind of thing happened, as rare as it was, since Emmett liked to keep me on a short leash, I would walk as quickly as possible to the small park about a mile away that was lined with trees in the back that led to a small stream.

It was early enough that the streets were nearly clear from any walking passer bys or cars and I was glad that people wouldn't be staring today thinking, "That poor girl, or what the hell happened to her, or should we call the police?" It made me feel sick and twisted to be looked at that way.

I found my rock at the edge of the stream that was behind the trees and sat down, taking off my shoes and dipping my feet in the cool water before bending down and scooping some water up into my palms to splash on my face. The water had to have been as crystal clear here as it was in a beautiful spring I imagined.

I took my top off carefully and shimmied out of my shirt before slowly bending my legs to sit in the water. It wasn't deep, in sitting position it rose just under my navel. I sat there long enough to adjust to the temperature and I gently massaged my legs before lying down on my back and letting the shock of the water relax me into my state of quiet peace.

The water stung my fresh burns and slashes for a few moments until they adjusted and accepted the tender touch of the water as well.

This stream always made me feel like I was in my own personal therapy spa. The sound of the water rushing by my ears was like a white noise that relaxed me, the feel of the water skimming past my body was nice and light…gentle, and I thought of it as the feeling of love. I felt as though the water and this stream did love me, it never once let me down and it never hurt me.

I let my body linger in the water until the tips of my fingers pruned and my toes started to go a little numb before getting out. I sat on my flat rock long enough to let the excess water drip off my body and dry enough to redress.

Kids would make their way down here later on in the day, so I'd always make sure to be gone before them and their parents happily skipped down to the beautiful, quaint stream to enjoy it - hopefully as much as I did.

I shimmied my still dampened feet into my shoes and walked off, deeper into the trees until I found a small clearing before sitting down in an upwards fetal position against a dry tree. I held tightly onto my legs and tucked my head between my knees and my chest, before settling still.

I was back there, the woman and me; this time, a car behind her, and I could faintly hear the frantic shouts of a man calling for someone or something. My ears were muffled and my voice was missing, I felt helpless and I couldn't move.

The car was blue and sat on its side, the windows were shattered and the passenger's side door was open, lifted towards the sky that splattered us, and the darkened road with water that felt like pellets of ice smashing into my limp body.

"Rose, baby! Where are you?" I heard more clearly this time. I wasn't sure, but I felt like I knew his voice. I then saw two large boots come up behind her and scoop her up into his arms, her blood covering the ground she had once lied on. I couldn't lift my head to see his face, but I tried to beg for help, beg him to call for someone, anyone to help me, too.

I couldn't remember who I was with, where I was going, or even who I was.

I woke up suddenly from the shaken dream, feeling like something about that dream was a revelation of sorts, but something wasn't right, something was very wrong.

My hands hugged more tightly onto my legs and I rocked my body against my own accord while I waited for the sun to set.

Not being able to shake the odd feeling my dream gave me, I let my hands fall from their protective hold and I rose to my feet and wondered the forest, trying not to memorize every part of the new parts of my dream I could.

"Emmett?" I gasped out loud. I tried to remember what he wore on his feet and how big they were, the hands that lifted the limp woman up off the wet pavement and imagine them being his.

It would make a whole lot of sense if that woman I lay next to after a horrific car accident was his wife or his girlfriend, maybe even his sister? It would put a piece in the puzzle of my life in his house, him seeking me out and making my life a living hell for killing her, whoever she was.

I wouldn't "work" tonight, instead I would go back his house and examine the situation, even if it ended up in more torture. I needed to know, and if it was him…would I be able to help him or myself? Apologize for something I knew next to nothing about? I highly doubted that.

Emmett was a mean man; I'd never once seen him show any kind of kindness, remorse, hope, love, fondness, or even a simple likeness towards anyone. If I were to confront him, I could only picture it making things worse, possibly causing him to beat me to death at that point. Maybe my not remembering was saving my life, as shitty as my life was.

Right then, I decided I wanted a better one, a life one would want to live. A life someone could look back and remember, remember anything. Happy memories, sad ones, memories or turmoil and grief, and memories of love and respect. I was going to get out of there and I was getting out tonight.

I'd have to wait for the perfect time, but my life was about to move onto the other side of the road, one that wouldn't be pretty, but it would certainly hold much more than the one I was suffering now.

Emmett McCarty was going to die tonight, under my hands and my watch. I was going to shoot him and watch him as he bled out and make sure I saw each and every breath until his last one for putting me through all of the trauma he had.

I walked the streets for a good while before I would return to Emmett with nothing.