Bar Money

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

A/N: I edited and updated this chapter and the part of the next. That's why there's no A/N's. I accidentally deleted them, whoops! Anyways, read on!

Fate. At this point in my life, I had nearly decided it didn't exist. However, that would just mean I had bad luck. And I didn't believe in luck. I couldn't. There was no reason I had so much bad luck. So it had to be fate, right? But if fate were a thing, then where in its sick, twisted mind was it taking me?

Sitting in the freezing car, headlights off and phone dying, these thoughts came to mind. When I was little, Valentine would have me sit in the car all night long. The first time almost turned into a large spectacle. Officers saw the headlights on and nearly shit their pants when they saw a nine year old girl sitting behind the wheel of the parked pick up truck. That was the last time we left our headlights on.

Now that I had matured and sophisticated into a young adult with a hint of viable breasts and a taught butt, I could be of use. Valentine would summon me inside when his opponents were drunk enough. Dressed scantily in jean shorts, a short flannel tied above my belly button, and bright read boots, I turned heads. What forty year old country hick wouldn't look at a twenty-two year old, relatively skinny girl dressed in that?

I groaned and rubbed at my arms. Checking the time, I realized only half an hour had passed since he entered the run down bar. This time, he had cornered me as I got out of the shower. He, already very drunk, threatened to never give me my clothes unless I agreed to drive him. The last time I called him on his bluff I ended up being thrown into the swamp outside our house. In Louisiana, he had no clue if there were alligators in there or not. Frankly, he didn't care. So of course I agreed. I always did.

I locked the doors again, but it didn't still my nerves. Valentine always chose secluded, unpopular bars. That was where the gullible, desperate men escaped to on Saturday nights. They wanted to get away from their wives without their knowledge, so they couldn't go to a popular bar, which was relieving for my generation, but not so much for me. The bar I was sitting behind at the moment was off a highway that stretched for miles in either direction, swerving between lagoons and green plant life.

I again checked my phone. This wouldn't have sucked so badly if I only had friends to call. Sure it was now nearly two in the morning, but wasn't that what friends were for? Simon didn't count. Simon went to bed at ten every night. He had no clue I went on these expeditions every weekend.

I looked to the right as a car passed. A police station was right next to this bar. That seemed so out of place. How did these guys even get home? It was comforting in the fact that no creep could come up and try to abduct me. Surprisingly, it hadn't happened yet - well, not before I went into the mouth of the lion den of course.

A rapping on the window made me jump so high I hit my head. My heart pounded in my chest as I spun around. Right outside of the window was a silhouette of a tall, menacing man. I scrambled into the passenger seat. "Go away!"

The man knocked again, harsher. I squealed in fear. This was his fault. This was all Valentine's fault. Instead of staying home and sleeping like a normal high school graduate, I had to go out bar hopping. I was the designated driver and the bait all in one, and now I'd be killed for it the summer before I went to college. I kept telling myself that I just had to go a few more times and I'd be free. I'd have enough money to go to college soon. My waitress job was paying well, and these trips, though I hated admitting it, did help. If I could just get a couple more thousand, he'd send me off to college and make extra money some other way. But damn him, he was getting me killed.

The man produced a flashlight and shined it inside the truck at me. "I don't have anything worth your value. Fuck off!"

Then the light turned on his face. My heart nearly stopped, but it was for a different reason than I had been expecting. Before me stood a man in uniform. He had his badge pressed against the window. FBI.

I nearly choked myself. Slowly, I leaned over into the driver's seat to both get a better look at his badge and his face. It was one of those faces that made your hands sweat and your stomach fill with butterflies. His jawline was perfectly sculpted. His golden hair and golden eyes shined in the moonlight. I could feel my stomach tighten.

His badge seemed official. I wouldn't know. However, if somebody was going to pose as a officer around here, they would know not to use an FBI's badge. We didn't get many of them.

I rolled down the window and he shut off his flashlight. Now just the lone, flickering yellow light lit the area. He was hard to see. I didn't know what to say. He looked around. "Can I help you?"

He frowned, like that was a silly question. "No, but maybe I can help you. Do you realize you're parked in the boss's spot?"

I paled. I had assumed this was something legal related. "There's eight cars here with plenty of field of grass left to park. I think he'll have space."

The FBI agent snorted. "Sweetheart, I know this owner. You don't want to mess with him. He's got some magic voodoo that will make your car disappear."

"Maybe you should look into that, agent," I emphasized the word. He chuckled warmly, clearly missing my curt tone. Or maybe he voluntarily ignored it.

Gesturing to the front, he said, "You do know where the entrance is, right?"

I huffed indignantly. "No shit, Sherlock, it's probably where the tacky neon sign is flashing. I thought they only pick the best of the best for you FBI."

He leaned into the car a ways, and his scent washed through the vents. I forced myself not to inhale sharply by leaning back some. I had my knees pressed to my chest, and he was casually leaning in the car with his musky hot scent like he owned the place. Prick. "You're too funny, Red."

I folded my arms on top of my knees, resting my chin to my hands. "It's Clary Fray." I decided to simply provide him my middle name instead of my last. If he was a smart agent, maybe he'd find out my real name. He smiled, and I swore I'd never seen a prettier smile.

He tipped his nonexistent hat. "Nice to meet you, Clary. Special agent Jace Wayland. Call me Jace." He outstretched his hands. I didn't shake it, and he let it drop. "Can I ask why you aren't inside?"

I rolled my eyes. "Can I ask what an FBI agent is doing so far into Louisiana's swamp lands?"

He smirked. "My friend runs the joint next to us. Sometimes I give the new recruits a butt whipping. Or teach them how to analyze a subject."

I felt my phone buzz. I ignored it. Now I was interested. "Is this that moment where the girl falls for the cliche pick up line and asks you to analyze her? And by the time you get it wrong you've spun some word magic to make her jump you anyway?"

Jace's eyes raised in smug approval. "You tell me." He paused and looked me over. "Not very social, though that could be because you're near a middle aged bar. However your sarcastic comments tell me your defensive about something you're hiding, which is never good in a social situation. Your outfit is screaming 'attention seeking whore,' but that's not the case with you. This car isn't yours so I'm guessing your here with somebody. There's no white woman young enough to be your mom in there, so it's a father or uncle. It's your dad or you wouldn't be here. A woman in her twenties still tied in with her dad isn't too uncommon in this town. You don't have much money, not enough to get away from him. Your relationship is forced at best. Your mom probably isn't even in the picture considering your bra doesn't fit you right. Judging by the paint stain on your chest, you're an artist. And, of course, you're on the wild side when the chance occurs, though I doubt it does often. That's my own personal statistics of redheads, for you. Did I miss anything?"

I couldn't speak. My brain was trying to process all of what he said. He described me to the T. He said things even Simon didn't know. I blinked repeatedly and muttered, "Never do that again. Please."

Jace laughed. I leaned closer to him, trying my best to do what he did. It didn't work. All I could manage was that he was a young FBI special agent. "You can't be older than thirty. How did you become an agent so quickly?"

He snorted. "Thirty is old for us, sweetheart. I'm twenty four."

I blew out a breath of air and nodded. My phone buzzed in my pocket again. I cursed and saw two messages, one angrier than the other, both from my dad. "Well, Special Agent Jace Wayland, it was a pleasure talking to you, but I have to go."

"Where?" He scoffed.

I shoved the door open, rubbing at my arms. "To flirt with men my father's age."

I began walking to the bar, but he followed. "And why not me?" He sounded genuinely upset that I'd choose the crappy bar over him. I didn't blame him there.

I sent him a wink. "Because I have daddy issues, remember?" Jace snorted. He grabbed my arm, and I whipped around. His eyes were sparkling in the moonlight. "It'd make my job much easier if you didn't come in with me. In fact, don't speak to me at all. I'm not doing anything illegal either." My father is, but he could find that out himself.

Without another word, I slipped from his grasp and entered the bar. I got a drink first, and then I made my way to the poker game going on. My father was at the head of the table, laughing and waving his drink in the air. Three old men downed shots of whiskey like they were nothing. I eyed the competition.

The man with a mustache was too angry to be tampered with. The two other men seemed drunk and happy. I sauntered up to both of them. "Boys, how're we playing?" The bald man hollered and shook his hands in glee. The bigger man wrapped an arm around my waist, resting dangerously close to below the belt buckle.

"Better with you around, doll face," he snickered.

"Hey, Val, where did that ace come from?" Mustache demanded, causally, but in a poker game, nothing was casual. I was worried about him. I supposed he really didn't care for sluts, go figure. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Jace sipping a beer, waiting, watching. Analyzing my every move.

"I had it the whole time," Valentine scoffed. He looked at me. "What's your name, darling?" I mentally barfed as I told them my name. Valentine nudged Mustache. "She ain't your type, you're gay, am I right?"

Mustache didn't look amused. He glanced over my body for half a second before focusing intently on his - and Valentine's - cards. "Sure, a real knockout. Now put your money in."

Valentine and Mustache put their chips in the middle. I leaned over and whispered into the bald man's ear. "You can do better than that, can't you?" I said to to the other, "I have a good feeling about this one."

I eyed their cards, and when the time came, I tugged at my ear, telling Valentine to proceed according to theirs. Mustache had already folded. After he won that round, I decided to make my move on the bald guy. "Go for it all and I'll give you double the reward." His hand moved directly in the middle of my shorts. I giggled and moved them away. "Man up."

He grumbled and threw in all his chips. The bigger man's eyes connected with my form sitting nearly on his lap. He grew jealous and did the same. Valentine smirked. The mustache man looked suspiciously at me and then Valentine. He put in half.

I looked up. Jace was still watching us. I sighed and looked away. Why couldn't he just leave? My cheeks heated up. This was embarrassing enough. I didn't want to be here at all, especially not with this old creep.

I turned my attention back to the game. I gave my dad the signal, but Mustache man wasn't folding. The big guy stood from the table. "You're a bunch of pricks. But look who's winning tonight, fellas?" He tugged me against his chest. I leaned further into him. He smelled like beer, BO, and jerky. I almost gagged. But mustache's hand wasn't anything to worry about. I jerked my head in a nod. And then, Valentine won.

"Hey, she's cheating. You just looked at his hand!" The bald man shouted. Valentine collected the chips.

"Pay up, boys."

"You're a fucking cheater, Val. I'm not giving you shit!" Mustache stood from the table.

The big man paid his part, though. "I'm taking this sweetie around back either way. Deal with this through Val."

Mustache man grabbed Valentine by the throat. The big guy practically picked me up by the waist, taking me toward the back rooms. I tried to pry his hands off me. They never got to actually do anything with me. I never let them. It was always over by that point.

"You didn't win," I protested.

"I don't care," he slurred into my ear. His lips started placing kisses down my neck, towards my chest. I groaned and placed my hands on his chest, shoving him away.

"Valentine! Valentine!" I shouted, craning my neck to see him taking one to the face. I gritted my teeth. "Dad!" He didn't even glance over.

My heart squeezed painfully. He didn't care. All he cared about was his damn money. He was going to let his daughter get used like a piece of meat just to get a thousand bucks. When the two men beating him up threw him outside of the bar, the door didn't open again. He didn't come after me.

I screamed, "Get your hands off me, you dick!"

"Stop bitching and I'll make you feel real nice," he growled as he slammed me against the wall. My head pounded. Black faded into my vision. I kept hitting him, but he didn't feel a thing. Who would with that much beer in his system? When my head hit the wall again, I was about ready to give up.

But then all his weight was lifted away from me. Thrown, really. It was there one second, and then the next he was beside me, pressed against the wall by a strong, familiar forearm. I crumpled to the ground, clutching my throat and gaining control of my breathing again. In the back of my mind, I remembered what was said in an animalistic growl.

"Get out now and I won't call your wife about you assaulting a child."

Jace's voice was angry. He shoved the men towards the door, and he left running. Jace crouched in front of me.

"That bastard," I choked, eyes closing as tears began to prick at my eyes.

"He's a pig. My friend is picking him up right now."

I shook my head, looking into his golden eyes. "I'm talking about my dad." Jace deliberated what to do for a moment. A tear slid down my cheek. "He's a coward."

Jace's arms circled around me. The warmth in his touch surprised me. I hugged him back, hard. It was like he was my life raft from a sinking boat. "Come on."

Jace helped me into his car. The truck was long gone. Upon seeing its lack of appearance, I started crying harder. Jace ran a hand through my hair. He placed me in the passenger seat of his car and leaned over so he was level with me. "Breath for me, Clary."

I nodded, taking a deep breath in and a deep breath out. I did this three times before opening my eyes. Jace's golden ones immediately locked with mine. He smiled slightly, a smile that brought a fresh breath of air. "He left me. He...he left me."

Jace grimaced. "Does it surprise you?"

I snorted and wiped at my nose. "No, it doesn't." I shook my head. My vision was submerged in red curls until Jace pushed them gently behind my ears. At this caring gesture, I had to ask. "Why are you doing this? There's no federal crime going on here."

He tilted his head as he examined my wrist. A red ring was forming the shape of a hand. "You've caught my interest. More than the usual poker partner." I snorted at that. He grinned and then sighed. "So why are you doing this?"

I shrugged and shivered in the cold. "I need money for college. I need a place to live. I need food. And a waitressing job pays about half of that."

Jace sighed. "Come on then. My friends are going to want to meet you."

"Why?"

He walked around the car, pounding the hood. When the car started, waves of heat hit me. I smiled slightly. "She's in need of an artist. Nude portraits and all."

My eyes grew wide. I coughed, brushing hair away from my eyes. "She?" Of course he had a girlfriend. Even if I 'caught' his interest, it didn't mean he wasn't already taken. I snorted and looked out the window.

Jace had the audacity to laugh. "My adopted sister? She's the chief here. Her sketch artist bailed on her after they slept together. Quite a fun story."

My head whipped around. "You could have phrased that better," I muttered. It wasn't like I liked the guy. He was just doing his job, and I admired him greatly for that.

"You're adorable," he grinned, shaking his head as he pulled into the station. "Are you any good with portraits?" My cheeks burned.

I've already drawn and redrawn yours in my mind.

I didn't realize I said that out loud. Jace put the car into park and winked. "Thanks, Red."

"Shut up," I growled, jumping out of the car as soon as I could. He met me and led us to the door. His smug smile didn't drop. The station had ten or twenty messy, abandoned desks. Two officers had the big guy from the bar sitting at a desk. The girl was standing, lecturing him with a harsh, firm tone. The guy looked at Jace and me and flinched. He looked away glumly. The male officer, whom I assumed was Jace's friend, looked up from his desk and paperwork.

"Is this her?" He asked. Jace nodded. The black haired and blue eyed beautiful boy didn't offer any cushion. "Do you want to press charges?"

I frowned, hesitating before I said, "No."

He nodded and stood, pushing the big guy to the back of the station. I looked at Jace. "Isabelle, this is Clary." Isabelle walked to them. She was tall, beautiful, and intimidating. I shied away, but Jace's hand on my back pushed me forward. Isabelle looked me up and down. "She's an artist without a job."

Isabelle crossed her arms over her chest. "Any schooling?"

I shook my head.

She frowned. "Give her a chance, Iz. A few courses don't cost much. She'll pay you back, won't you?"

I nodded and smiled slightly. "If not, you've got the FBI to mess me up."

Jace snorted and slung an arm around my shoulder. Isabelle shrugged. "You get one chance. I'll describe the person to you."

It all caught up to me at once. I wiped at my nose and eyes, settling down in the seat where the big fat guy was just being questioned. Jace handed me a pencil and a shading pencil. Isabelle gave me a notebook. When I took a deep breath, I finally realized that this was my one chance at getting a real job. I didn't know the pay, but I knew it was more than minimum wage. Depending on that, I could get my own place, start over, and maybe even go to college. If anything, I could take art lessons on the side for a while.

"Ready," I said. Isabelle nodded. She started throwing out features to me. Most aspects of it were easy. After I got the first person down, she scanned over it quickly. Isabelle seemed impressed.

"That was to see your skills. Now I'll describe a real person like a witness would, which can be confusing." She didn't lie. Sometimes, she'd leave parts missing. Other times, she'd double or even triple back on her descriptions. It took a while. The nose was wrong, she insured. His ears weren't connected, even though she previously said they were. "Lastly, ask them for any obvious mutilations, birthmarks, or significant features." She described a tattoo. When I finally finished, she smiled. "If you'll take some courses spanning a few weeks, we'll take you. They are etiquette classes and a few things to sharpen your skills based on a person's description, though you've done well."

I stood up and stuttered, "A-are you sure?"

Isabelle and Jace both laughed. "I'm sure." She paused. "Could you start tomorrow? Unofficially, of course, but if you do about two or three weeks, it will pay for your classes. "

My heart pounded. "What will I make once I've had the classes?" The number she threw out there brought tears to my eyes. "Absolutely. Thank you, both of you. You have no idea how much I've needed this."

Isabelle looked me up and down. "I think we do," she giggled. Jace shoved her shoulder and motioned to the back.

"Don't you have fatso to deal with?" He growled. Her comment didn't bother me, not after hearing about the money I'd be getting. I looked to Jace, unsure how to thank him properly. Following instincts, I threw my arms around his neck.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" I said as he hugged me back with a warm chuckle nuzzling my ear. I kissed his cheek and hopped back to my feet. He had a full smile on his lips. "Do you do this for every girl you save?"

Jace laughed. He sat on the desk, and I stood expectantly in front of him. The sparkle in his golden eyes made my heart pound and my cheeks heat up. "Only the ones whose numbers I want."

I grinned and sent him a flirty wink. "You're the FBI agent. Shouldn't be that hard to find it out for yourself."

Jace raised an eyebrow. I giggled and began to walk away. Then, his hands grabbed my hips and turned me around. A squeal escaped my lips. "You're paying for that one, Fray."

He pulled me close against his chest. My hands flew to his shoulders. His eyes searched mine. "Will this do?"

Jace tilted his head with a frown, and I took that opportunity to bring my lips to his. It took him by less surprise than I'd imagined. He smelled and tasted of minty freshness mixed with scotch and a hint of whatever it was Jace smelled like naturally. It smelled far better than beer and sweat.

His lips responded almost immediately with his keen reflexes. I wound my hands into his hair, and he tightened his grip on my hips. A soft tongue ran along my bottom lip, and I opened my mouth to meet him again. One of Jace's hand traveled lower to rest over my jean shorts. I grinned into the kiss, and he tugged on my lower lip.

I pulled away first, senses heightened and mind fresh. I sent him an impish smile, and he returned it. "Your outfit certainly does work for you."

I rolled my eyes. "Call me, Special Agent Wayland," I walked backwards a step and winked. Then, I walked out the door and called a cab. Only time would tell if he could find me. I really hoped he was good at his job.