Author: Furyan Goddess
Title: Saving Grace
Fandom: KAG/Taylor
Rating: NC-17 for violence, talk of murder, murder, blood, domestic violence and most importantly sex.
Pairing: Taylor/OFC
Summery: Taylor meets a woman that needs his help and he needs her money.
Archive: At VX all others ask.
Feedback: Yes. I take the time to write, you take the time to read it, feed it baby
Author's notes: This isn't going to be very long but it keeps haunting me.
Thanks to Helen for beta. I'm very nervous about posting this. I've never written anything quite like this. If you have any major issues w/ this, PM me. Don't post in this link.

There are 4 parts to this and it is completed. Feed me and you might get them quick :)

1 The Meeting

The sting of gun powder. The metallic sweetness of blood. Scents he was so used to that he felt almost comforted by them. A few death rattles, choking or gasping for that last desperate breath. Sounds that could lull him to sleep.

So why did he feel like retching? Why did he shake with the need to turn that gun on himself and end it all? He hated it. Hated himself. Hated the lifestyle that made him into a killer.

Somewhere in his life, he made a wrong turn. There wasn't much of a choice, he knew. Benny and Teddy had seen to that. Just like they saw to it that Matty stayed out of the life. Matty's replacement? That was Taylor.

And he just made it easy for them. He grew and learned to fight. Learned how to kill. He grew more. Lifted weights. Fought and fought until the only thing he knew was pain, death and muscle. Then? Then, it was too late to be anything else.

It's how he'd lived his life for as long as he could remember and now he felt old. Older than his thirty-three years told him he should. When he looked in the mirror, all he saw were the faces of the dead staring back at him with empty eyes. He remembered every single one of them and they haunted him with every breath he drew. They haunted his dreams. Night after night. He could hear their cries for mercy. For one more chance to make it right and escape the clutches of death.

He never gave it to them because, in giving them life, he'd kill himself. The mob was funny like that. You did what you were told, when you were told and HOW you were told or someone like him would be sent out to clean up the mess.

He was a mass murderer.

A serial killer.

A hit man.

Fifty-eight people. That's how many he'd killed. He kicked the ever living shit out of ten times as many. All for Benny and Teddy and they'd turn their back on him in a heartbeat for no good reason at all. Just for looking at them the wrong way.

Taylor needed to get out. Soon. Before he got himself killed or ended his own miserable life. He was sick of the life. Sick of the death. Just sick of it all.

With a tense roll of his shoulders and a deep sigh, he bound the body of number fifty-eight, Tony Fresco, and with little thought, disposed of it as usual. In a dark, watery grave.

Taylor didn't really know what Tony did wrong for the order to come down and, right now, he didn't really care. All he wanted to do was wash the blood off his hands and sleep for a week. Too bad sleep eluded him as of late and the blood seemed to have stained his hands forever.

The medicine didn't help him sleep either. It just left him more groggy and still unable to sleep.

Guilt.

That's what kept him awake at night. He needed to get rid of the guilt and constant stress in his life. He needed to get away.

Soon.

He took a deep drag from his cigarette, blew it out and squinted against the sting of smoke and bitter January air. No one would find the body for a few months, if he was lucky. He was always lucky. So far.

Something crunched the snow off to his left and he spun around, gun in hand, ready to defend himself by whatever means necessary. Instead of another cleaner, he found a woman.

She blinked at him as her mouth formed a perfect O. Her eyes were huge. And green. The color of spring grasses. Fathomless. He grunted and put the gun away. He wondered how much she saw.

Would he have to kill her now too?

Taylor may be a killer but so far, he'd avoided having to take out a woman.

Would that change tonight?

-

She had decided to go for a walk. Crazy, she knew. It was the middle of winter and cold as hell but the fresh air helped clear her head. She wanted to leave.

Run away.

Die.

It didn't matter but she just wanted to be gone. Gone from her husband's controlling hand. From his abusive hand. She was sick of living her life in fear. Every waking moment spent wondering if she'd live to see the next day. Every month dreading the day her period would come.

When she'd see the blood, she'd smile with relief and then weep because she knew he'd blame her and beat her again.

It was her fault. She'd slipped away one day, slipped past his guards and got herself the contraceptive shot but that only worked for three months. Her time was almost up. She'd have to find a way to get out again.

She'd been lucky that she continued to bleed afterward. Most would think the opposite but when she bled, she got a bit of a reprieve. And it hid her deception. One she was sure she'd die for. She was due in a week and her nerves were frazzled thinking about it. Would it come? Would she finally get pregnant with the baby he was so desperate for?

She knew she wouldn't be able to hold off much longer. She only hoped that if she had a child, it would be a son. He'd blame her for a girl. Women were weak and stupid in his eyes. They were meant for sex and breeding. If she did have a boy, she'd try her damndest to keep him from turning out like her husband.

It still amazed her that he could be such a male chauvinist and live in New York in 2008.

She was startled by a man standing, looking out over the river. Did he work for her husband? Was he sent there to kill her? She'd almost welcome it at this point. At least she'd be free.

He was big and looked mean but she knew looks could be very deceiving. Her husband looked like a nice man. Acted the part to perfection. She knew better. So did her ribs.

-

"What are you doing here?" He snarled at her. A riverbank late at night was no place for a woman, especially one as well dressed as she was.

"I was, I was walking. Did he send you?" She asked in a whisper, "Are you going to kill me and throw me in the river?" She was visibly trembling as she looked up at his massive form.

Taylor frowned down at her and shook his head, "Did who send me, Lady? I have no idea who you are." He ground out, irritated to be caught unaware. He was slipping in his vigilance. Another reason why he needed to get out before he got caught daydreaming by the wrong man.

Her question hit too close to home for him and it made his gut clench. He knew he looked like a killer but seeing the fear in her green eyes made him wish he didn't. Almost.

"If he didn't send you, then who did?" She asked quietly, still looking at him.

How did she know what he was? Was it that obvious to others around him? Was he that transparent? When had he given up on trying to blend in? Her gaze made Taylor feel uncomfortable. Naked.

"I'm here by myself, woman. Leave me alone before I do kill you." Taylor warned her before he turned to leave.

"You'd be doing me a favor," she muttered as she turned to go the other direction.

Taylor sighed and clenched his hands into tight fists. He should just let her walk away but he was always doing something stupid. Like helping out a woman in a jam. This woman was in a major jam. He could see it a mile away.

But still he spoke.

Swallowing a curse he gritted his teeth, "You need me to do you a favor?" he asked quietly.

She laughed bitterly, "Yeah, kill my husband." She said it flippantly but it was obvious to him, she meant it.

Taylor turned the full strength of his chocolate eyes on her and she shivered. "Does he hit you?"

She nodded and looked away, embarrassed that he guessed. She didn't understand why she found it easier to admit that to stranger by the river, at night, when she'd never told anyone. Ever.

Taylor saw the shine of tears before she turned her face from him.

His heart pounded as he silently bitched himself out. What the fuck was he doing? Just walk away, Taylor, but he couldn't now. It was already too late. He could never sit back while he knew a woman was being abused. "Does he cheat on you?"

Again, she nodded but this time, she met his eyes.

"Do you love him?"

She shook her head, "I thought I did, once. I was young and stupid and he's a very convincing liar." There was no way to miss the condescending tone she used. No way to miss the underlying bitterness and exhaustion she had in her voice. She was approaching the end of endurance and soon, if she didn't get out, she'd give in to whatever pressure he was putting on her.

Taylor took a step toward her hoping that he could lend her some of his strength. Give her some hope. "What's your name?" He asked and purposely pitched his voice as low and nonthreatening as he could.

She didn't hesitate before she gave it to him, "Grace."

No self preservation, Taylor thought. She was the kind to trust too easily and tried to believe the best in people. No doubt that was how she ended up marrying a monster.

"Gracie," Taylor whispered huskily and cupped her chin in his large hand. "What's in it for me?"

Her laugh was strained and brittle but she maintained eye contact and that surprised him. She had some spirit left inside of her. She was willing to fight and that was what he was looking for. "I have nothing to give you. I'm worthless." She placed her hand over his and pouted. "I have nothing," she whispered again, truly sorry she couldn't offer him money.

Taylor didn't believe her. Not for a minute. If anyone was worthless, it was him. "What about him? He got something I'd like?"

Taylor pulled his hand away but she wouldn't remove hers from his. Before he realized it, their fingers entwined and the stood there, holding hands. He looked down and noticed how small and delicate hers was against his oversized, scarred up paw.

"He's got money," she volunteered with a wobbly smile. This had to be a joke. Maybe a police sting set up. Was she really talking about having her husband killed with a perfect stranger? She didn't even know his name. He could be an undercover cop. Or maybe he did work for her husband and when she returned tonight, he'd finally kill her.

Taylor's voice was full of interest when he spoke. Money. He could always use money. "Enough to disappear forever?"

Grace sucked in a deep, cold breath, "Yeah, but he won't give me any." She felt a quick flare of anger and her eyes snapped when she looked up at him. Her husband knew if he'd given her money, she'd run. So she got an 'allowance' to keep up appearances and make it look like she was the much loved wife of a millionaire.

Taylor unknowingly tugged her closer to share his body heat with her. "What happens to all that green if he dies?"

She shrugged and frowned. "I don't know. He won't show me his will. Probably think's I'm too stupid to understand it anyway." She said bitterly and stepped closer to Taylor. "Money matters are a male thing and women needn't worry about such matters."

Grace couldn't remember how many times she'd heard those exact words from him. Just repeating them make her sick to the stomach. What rot. How could she ever believe he was a good, caring man? Maybe she was stupid and now, she was standing in the freezing cold as snow started to drift down. Holding hands with a man she was sure was a killer. And she felt safe. Safer than she has in a very, very long time.

Taylor snorted at her words and shook his head in disgust. He could never figure out how and why women got themselves in to such messes. "Find out and then meet me back here in two days." He told her then let go of her hand and turned to walk away.

"Wait!" she cried and took a few stumbling steps after him. He turned, raised a brow and waited. "What's your name?"

He thought about giving her a fake one. He knew he should. He knew this could be some kind of police sting. A set up, but Taylor was a sucker for a woman in distress and he, against his better judgment, gave her his real name.

"Taylor."

Grace smiled, "Thank you, Taylor."

With a quick nod, Taylor turned and got into his beat up van that smelled of blood and death and drove away. He didn't really need the money but hell, he could always use more. The more money you had, the easier it would be to make people look the other way.