A/N: I'M SORRY TO ANYONE WHO READ THE ORIGINAL SHADOWS ON THE FRONTIER. I JUST WASN'T HAPPY WITH THE WAY IT WAS WRITTEN. I FELT THE STORY WOULD HAVE MUCH MORE POTENTIAL IF IT WERE WRITTEN THIS WAY. THE STYLE OF THE STORY IS DIFFERENT. DON'T WORRY CLARY IS STILL BAD ASS (IF NOT MORE SO) ALONG WITH THE REST OF THE GIRLS. I JUST THOUGHT THE STORY WOULD RUN A LOT SMOOTHER THIS WAY.

DON'T HATE ME TOO MUCH; I DIDN'T KNOW I WAS LOST.

P.S JADEWYCH YOU'RE JUST AWESOME

THANK YOU EVERYONE FOR READING!

"At fifteen life had taught me undeniably that surrender, in its place, was as honorable as resistance, especially if one had no choice."
― Maya Angelou, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings

SURRENDER

SAN FRANCISCO, 1849

It's hotter than hell right now, but Luke's got me outside, teaching me how to fire a weapon and defend myself. I imagine I'm so sunburned that my skin matches my, stubborn, tumble weave of fiery red hair. I even doubt you could distinguish a single freckle on my burnt skin and that's saying something, since they're so dang noticeable.

Sweat drips down my forehead, threatening to drown my bright green eyes, but I'm unbothered. Sweat in my eyes is nothing compared to Luke's powerful right hook so I stay focused. I dodge and swing, deflect and kick back and forth 'til he feels we've trained enough for one day. He doesn't go easy on me just because I'm a fifteen year old girl. Luke always says that going easy on me won't do me any good in the real world. He says I should know how to fight someone faster than me or stronger than me. The world won't go easy on me, so I best be prepared.

As frustrating (and painful) as it all is, I know he's right.

Luke has been training me ever since I was a kid. He's not my father by blood, but he sure as hell feels like it to me. I know he's got a yearning for my momma too. Hell, even the blind could see that. Leave it to my momma to be the only one who can't.

People say I look just like Jocelyn. We got the same red hair, though hers is a few shades darker, and the same green eyes. Other than that, I feel that's where the similarities end.

My momma is gorgeous and curvy. I'm cute and flat. She has this air of confidence and prominent beauty. I got a chip on my shoulder and a freckled scowl.

Distracted by my thoughts, I don't move quickly enough and I get clipped in the chin. It's not the first time I've been hit by Luke (It's not as abusive as it sounds) but it still stings like a foul bitch and my sunburn isn't making it any less painful.

"Focus, Clary" he urges.

I hate getting hit in the face, even if it's just a simple love tap, so Luke knows to quickly get on the defensive. I now have him backing up, doing his best to deflect my advances. He swings his left arm out to block me and exposes that side of his face. I fake like I'm going for a body shot but at the last minute, my fist changes course and lands solidly on his cheek. He falls on his ass and I pull out my pistol and aim at his head.

"Surrender?" I ask.

"Damn, Clary. You didn't have to punch me so hard," he scolds as he rubs his cheek.

It isn't the first time I've bested Luke. At first he'd get all proud-like and praise me for being his big-little girl. But I guess the novelty has worn off since he just complains about how hard I hit him.

"The world won't go easy on you, Luke. You better expect pain and learn from it or you may as well pick out your own tombstone if you can't handle it," I repeat his words back to him. He scowls at me and it has me grinning from ear to ear. "Surrender?" I offer again.

"Yeah, yeah, I surrender. Now get that revolver out my face."

I holster my gun and we both walk to the fire where my momma has started cooking rabbit.

"You two enjoy marking each other up?" Momma asks.

I nod cheerfully which causes her to frown at me.

"Don't look so happy about it Clary. If fighting didn't keep you from being a defenseless little girl, I'd forbid Luke to teach you such things."

"But it does, Momma. You said it yourself, San Francisco ain't safe anymore. It's become a Boomtown with all this gold those 49ers are finding. And those lover boys you say snatch up young girls like me and sell them to whore houses, are rolling in with the rest of those crooks. It's for the best that I know how to fight." I argue.

"You're right, Clary. But you need to take it more seriously."

"I do!" I say loudly.

"Calm down you two. Daylight's fading and we don't need anyone to come across us," Luke reminds us.

"How much further 'til we make it to Idris, Luke?" I asked only out of habit.

We'd left San Francisco about three weeks ago and had been travelling ever since.

One day Momma just couldn't deal with all the newcomers in our town. Our small town went from hundreds to thousands before I could even take notice. Then parlors and brothels started getting built. Gold miners started giving me lust-filled looks. So she packed our clothes and necessities and bought a small wagon and tied it to our family horse. Momma didn't want to finish raising me in a boomtown and she said the safest place for us was Idris: The City of Glass.

Idris' law enforcement is real strict there. They don't let in any crooks or killers and Momma says they have a way of telling if you are or not. Luke even says that they have this thick wall of glass that's bulletproof (Which I find hard to believe. Nothing is bullet proof) and it surrounds the entire city.

"Two days walk," he answered with a smile.

I returned the smile with much enthusiasm. We'd been walking so long, I didn't think we'd ever get there. We were getting close. Finally! Once we get there I'm not gonna' walk or ride a horse nowhere. I'm sick of travelling.

"Good," Momma whispered. She hesitated before she continued to say, "Once we're in Idris, I don't want you fighting or shooting anymore, Clary."

"What!"

"And no more trousers for you, young lady. It's about time I see my daughter in petticoats."

You can say hell no to that! I'd rather walk barefooted on a trail of hot, broken glass all the way back to San Francisco than to put on a stinking, frilly dress.

I stand up to walk away. If I stay anywhere near my momma, I may be tempted to hit her.

"Where you going?" Luke asks.

"To go pee," I growl out.

I find me a decent bush and pull down my trousers and do my business. Just as I have my trousers fastened, I'm grappled from behind, causing my sunburn to scream in protest.

"What the fu—"I start to holler but a huge sweaty hand clamps down on my mouth. I start to gag as his fluids coat my lips, but I gather my wits and chomp down on his hand 'til I taste blood.

"Ugh—You nasty little bitch!" My attacker cries as he shoves me harshly to the ground. I hit my head and feel dizziness building behind my eyes, but I'm not on my back for more than a second before I roll away and jump to my feet.

I face my attacker who's about a foot taller than me. His ugly face is twisted in shock since I haven't run away screaming. He breathes out a stupid caveman like chuckle as he sizes me up and I fight the bile rising in my throat due to the putrid odor.

He's big but he's out of shape. He also seems to be mighty dense, I think as I stare at his goofy grin. This should be fun.

The caveman finally decides to make his move and rushes towards me. I easily circle around his huge body and with all the force I can muster; I kick him between his legs. The point of my boot splits his ball sack with a satisfactory tearing sound.

Before I can even do a victory dance, my heart damn near shatters at the sound of my mother's scream.

"CLARY! RUN!"

Like hell, woman! Family doesn't leave family behind.

I reach for my pistol, but as soon as I feel the cool metal against my palm, everything goes black.

…

It feels like I've been run over by a wagon trail when I come to. I open my eyes, but my damn vision won't clear. I try to massage my temple but I realize my hands have been bound behind my back. I'm all disoriented and I'm hurting all over. A sun burn is the least of my troubles.

"By the Angel, I feel like shit," I groan out.

"She's lady like ain't she?" an unfamiliar voice chuckles. It's a smooth accented voice that would sound exotic if it weren't for him mocking me.

Bastard.

"It's a shame we can't keep her, Raphael," another stranger laughs. "I'd love to show her what manners look like." His English is broken as he speaks and not as beautiful as the first speaker.

We must have been attacked by Mexicans.

"If it's anything like that voice you got, Screech, I'd like to be blind folded ta boot, thank you." I spit out with what I hope is an enormous amount of sarcasm. But on the inside I'm screaming: Please don't rape me, please don't rape me. Hell, kill me, but just don't rape me!

The exotic voice, Raphael, chuckles.

"You stupid bitch!" Screech yells out.

My vision clears just in time to see him cock back his arm to strike me. I look him dead in the eye without flinching. If I'm gonna' get hit, I ain't gonna' show him any fear.

At the last moment, Raphael deflects the blow.

"She is merchandise Julio. You break it, you buy it. And for the price Camille is getting for this beautiful lady, you could not afford it.

Julio jerked a stiff nod in acceptance.

As they spoke I took in my surroundings. We were still at our campsite. The family horse was missing and our sacks were thrown on the ground, their contents spread over the grass.

My gaze rolled over those useless items as I was only interested in finding Momma and Luke. Finally my gaze landed on Luke's figure and I wanted to scream. He lay face down in his own blood. Fragments of his skull and brains had dotted the area.

Luke! I cried on the inside.

All I wanted to do was scream and cry 'til there was no oxygen left in the world. But Luke had taught me to never let the enemy know your weakness. Don't let them know your emotions or thoughts. Keep them guessing. It's how to survive.

It didn't keep Luke alive, my mind said to me without my permission. Damn it, get it together Clary.

I let my gazeroll over Luke's dead body as if he were dirty laundry on the floor.

The shock Raphael and Julio were experiencing over my lack of reaction was so severe, I could almost feel it.

I could almost hear Luke's chuckle. 'That's my girl,' he'd say.

Damn you Luke for dying.

The two Mexicans eyed me uneasily as my eyes roamed the grounds for my mother. It didn't take long to find her near one of the Mexicans horses. She lay unmoving, but unlike Luke, she wasn't in a pool of her own blood. But the angle of her body disturbed me. It looked unnatural and made her body seem broken. I felt my heart shatter all over again. They probably snapped her neck.

If they make the mistake of letting me live, I swear on the Angel, I'll kill them and anybody else responsible.

I turn away from my mother's body and look Raphael in the eye with my 'I'm bored' look and ask with a matching voice, "If you're gonna' kill me, think you boys can get on with it already? The suspense (pun intended) is killing me."

"No me gusta esto, Jefe. Esta niña es insensible," Julio complained. "Sólo había matado a su familia, y ni siquiera se inmutó

"Pussy," I muttered just as the caveman who attacked me before showed his face. It took all I had not to burst into fits of laughter, but I allowed a smirk to cross my lips. He waddled over to us, red-faced, sweating and holding his junk.

"Callate lo ceico!" the caveman shouted.

"Mateo, calmate," Raphael said to the cave man in a soothing tone. The caveman locked his jaw but still glared murderously at me. My smirk stretched wider across my face.

Raphael turned to me then, and eyed me with curiosity. "Do you surrender?" he asked me.

I tried to fight the shiver that threatened to wrack through my body. Raphael's question echoed my own when I had bested Luke. His choice of words made me wonder if he had been watching us then.

We stared at each other another moment. I wanted badly to tell him to eat shit and kill me already. But if I did that, how would I ever exact my revenge?

"Do you surrender," he repeated.

In that moment, I was certain he was watching us the whole time. It was his turn to smirk.

"I surrender," I said with my chin lifted proudly.

I had captured a glimpse of Raphael's smirk falter just before I saw the flash of his boot as he kicked at my head. For the second time that day I was rendered unconscious. ….

We were only two days away from Idris. We were only two days from safety only for Momma and Luke to be murdered and for those rat bastards to turn me back around and take me right back to San Francisco. I can't wait to kill them. I've sworn on the Angel that I'd kill them, I'll make it happen.

I woke to a heavy hand dragging across my bruised cheek.

"Wake up now, Hermosa. You're home," Raphael cooed.

"Home?" I asked in my groggy state of mind.

"You bruised her face," a woman pointed out. She spoke softly but there was and undertone in her voice that I picked up on. She sounded livid to me.

I tried to evaluate her but my eyes refused to focus. I suppose too many hits on the head can do that to a girl.

"Put her to sleep," the woman ordered.

What? What does that mean? Put me to sleep? Do I get to die now?

But before I could ask any of my questions out loud, the big, ugly caveman brought his sweaty palm over my nose and mouth. This time, there was a chloroform drenched cloth in his hand and it did not take long for the blackness to take over my vision.

I woke up beneath a white duvet on a four poster bed. Wrapped around one of the posters was a chain that stretched out into a rusted metal cuff. Can you take a lucky guess at whose ankle was trapped in the center of that cuff? Yep. Yours truly.

Before I could even build up the proper amount of anger/fear at being chained to a bed inside a brothel, the duvet slipped from my torso and my anxiety peaked.

While I was unconscious, some bastard had the nerve to change me into the world's girliest damn corset ever created. It's pure white with white roses sewn into the fabric.

I'm pretty damn sure this is silk. The corset dived low over my torso and sent my breasts damn near up my nose. Matching thigh highs were fitted over my pale, short legs and looking into the vanity I saw that someone had painted my face with eye shadow, mascara and lipstick. It wasn't extreme like most women seemed obligated to abuse, but it was enough for me to definitely take notice. My crimson curls cascaded down my shoulders in stylish waves, resembling trails of fire against the white of my "clothing"

I gasp out loud at my own reflection. I look like my mother, prominently beautiful and worldly.

I looked beautiful.

I was never self-conscious and I was always happy with my looks, but I had always compared myself to my mother and I never fooled myself into thinking I was beautiful. No, I was never Jocelyn beautiful. I suppose I did my best to not look like her. But now that she was d—gone, I was proud to look like her. Not saying that my momma ever dressed like this nor would she ever appreciate me wearing it…

I hated to admit it but I almost felt grateful to whoever transformed me. Then I remembered that I was molested out of my clothing as I lay drugged into slumber and forced into the skimpy outfit of a whore. Fear spiked through me as I wondered what else may have been forcibly removed while I was unconscious.

I pressed a hand to my middle between my legs but felt no soreness. A sigh of relief blew past my lips just as a curious hum announced another's presence in the room.

I whipped around to see a woman whom I could only describe as majestic. She had beautiful blue eyes that were as clear as glass and a curtain of scarlet hair that was flipped over one pale shoulder. She was slender and taller than me, though that was never rare, and I couldn't guess how old the woman was.

Late twenties, perhaps? Hell, thirties...forties? The woman had an ageless air about her.

Over all the woman was a lovely creature to look at, but I couldn't help but feel this eerie presence of cold calculation emanating from the woman like a bad odor. I sensed that this mystical woman was an extravagant manipulator to a substantial degree. It was obvious this being before me was nothing to toy with.

We stood there, meeting eye to eye, for only half a second, but all the while we sized each other up. I decided I admired the woman's strength in character, but knew instantly to keep my guard around the glassy eyed lady.

"White suits you very well." the woman spoke in a soft, airy voice. Her voice strangely reminded me of the backbone of a gentle windstorm, tickling throughout the endless atmosphere

"You'd almost look like an angel if you weren't playing with yourself," she taunted in her polite tone.

It felt like fire had just whipped across my face as I felt my blush creep over my cheeks. I wanted so badly to cuss' the old hag 'til my tongue fell off, but there was a smarter way to go about this.

"I wasn't playing with myself, though it's none of your business."

"Checking for bugs then? Our customers can often be unhygienic," the woman mused.

I paled instantly at her implications. The bitch must've seen fear in my face because she threw her head back in a theatrical way and laughed at me. "Do keep calm, little Angel; no one has touched you since your pretty red head has been sheltered under my roof."

"Your roof?"

"Yes, my roof. I am Madame Fey also known as your Queen. Dare to call me by another title and I'll have those pretty emeralds snatched from your sockets and wear them for earrings," she threatened in a friendly tone.

I could only inwardly gape at this woman. I had already shown her my fear at the thought of losing my virginity to some stranger, I could not let her see how bothered I was by her evil insanity.

"I don't care what your name truly is; from now on you are called Angel. I hear any other name cross those sexy lips of yours," Madame Fey lowered her voice and stepped intimately close to me.

Ugh, floosy alert.

I wanted to cringe away from her intrusion of my personal space, but I stood my ground without so much as a flinch.

She angled her face so that her lips hovered over mine, "I'll rip them from your face and use your filthy whore blood for lipstick."

It took everything inside of me to not reach out and strike the bitch, so I settled for sending her my fiercest death glare. Humor twinkled in Madame's blue eyes.

"I'm sure you can use all the make-up you can get, Madame Fey," I told her politely.

For a moment, I saw rage leak through her cool exterior, but as quickly as it arrived, it disappeared.

If there was anything I was certain about Madame Fey, it was that she'd be my first obstacle. She would be my first step towards fulfilling my sworn oath to the Angel. She would be the first to die.