Chapter One

Ace of Hearts

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Why hadn't Rose screamed?

It was inexplicable that she hadn't thought to actually scream. After all the things she'd been through during her childhood, Rose's first instinct should have been to scream, scream loud and long and as hard as she could. And the scream had been there. It had been there, waiting, just waiting, coiled like a diamond-back rattlesnake waiting to strike with its intoxicating poison. That scream, the scream of warning, that scream for help, for something or someone, anyone or anything to come to her rescue, it had been clawing its way up from the pit of her stomach to her throat, reaching for her mouth so it could escape between her clamped shut lips. She should have screamed – so much could have been averted if she'd just opened her mouth and let that scream out, let it free.

But she hadn't. Because something in his eyes had pierced her, growled like a rabid, mindless beast, snarled silently at her to keep quiet even as he shushed her aloud, gently caressing her cheek with the gleaming, razor thin tip of his knife. He's traced that blade along her thin, ice white scar, the one that started at the tip of her chin and rose straight up along the side of her face, like a pathway along her cheek, to disappear into the forest of her long, auburn hair, beneath the bangs covering part of the right side of her face. The ultra thin tip, the blade that was sharp enough to slice through bone or time or steel, had kissed her skin, leaving a stinging trail of blood droplets along her skin before he'd flicked out his tongue and licked up the ruby bubbles of blood.

"Delicious, doll," he whispered. The grip on her throat was almost tender, the thumb brushing against her fluttering, butterfly pulse. The look in his eyes was as blank as a doll's, emerald glass gaze.

A burgundy drop trailed down her face to stain the collar of her white tuxedo shirt. Her boss was going to be pissed that she'd gotten it dirty this way. Hell, he'd be pissed that the Joker was putting his hands on her at all, much less ruining her favorite outfit. But if she wasn't hurt, he'd focus on the expense of buying her a shirt that was no longer carried in stores. Focusing on that problem now was helping to keep her calm. Call her a bimbo, she didn't care. It worked.

The clown freak from Hell's worst nightmare, with his purple gloved hand cupped around her neck, leaned in and whispered softly in her ear, "Shhhh... don't speak. You'll spoil the surprise, beautiful. And we can't have that, can we? No, we can't let that happen, no. No. Don't say a word, pretty... lady."

She knew better than to speak. She knew men like him. Her father had been one. Her brother had been one. Her adopted father had been one. She'd been married to one for a year. She knew not to speak, because if she spoke, he would take it as a challenge. And with that knife point tracing through the top couple layers of her face, she knew exactly what screaming would get her. In her line of work, she couldn't afford to become anymore disfigured than she already was, or worse, blinded. And she most certainly didn't want to die.

"What are you doing here, anyway, pretty... lady?" He asked. She didn't respond, and the hand that had her by the throat tightened fractionally. She could feel the restrained power of his grip through the leather gloves. With enough pressure, he could crush her wind pipe, and she'd suffocate. He could snap her neck, as if her bones were made out of the most delicate porcelain.

From the way his piercing, absinthe eyes slashed from her face to her throat, she knew he'd felt the heavy thump of her suddenly pounding pulse. He knew she was frightened. A drop of cold sweat rolled down her left temple, tickling her cheek. He lunged forward. Only through years of self-inflicted training – torture, actually – did she manage to keep from flinching or, worse, shrieking. His tongue flicked out and caught that tiny bead of sweat, lapped it up. He pressed closer, the hard, unforgiving line of his body bruising her with its tension. He murmured in her ear, "Cold sweat. Fear sweat. I like that in a woman. Fear is so... amusing." His long, slimy, warm tongue traced the curve of her ear. Rose had to clench her teeth to keep from shuddering. "You're allowed to speak now, by the way. So answer my questions, pretty lady, or you can play kissy-face with my toys."

The tip of the knife was suddenly on the left side of her face, at the corner of her eye- the corner she'd drawn in eyeliner, a quarter of an inch away from her actual eye. Cat's eyes, her mother had called them. To give them an almond shape. To make the glittering green of her hazel eyes pop under the stage lights. The blade's crystal sharp point sank into her face. A line of blood caressed her cheek, dripped down her chin. It drew a crimson line down the ruffled front of her tux shirt, soaking through to her black undershirt. Damn it, her clothes. They were ruining her uniform- the uniform that helped her stay brave, the uniform that she hid behind to become a different person.

"Now, what's your name, beautiful?"

"Rose," she whispered. Her throat stung as she tried to swallow. He kept his cheek pressed against hers, his chilled skin as smooth as silk. His lips whispered against her ear as he spoke. The soft fabric of his suit jacket brushed against her bare forearm. She clenched her fists, hoping she wouldn't shudder. She didn't think he'd take too kindly to it. She didn't think he'd take too kindly to it at all. "And I'm not beautiful."

"Don't argue." His voice bit her like a rabid dog. After a moment, where she was sure he was waiting for her to flinch, he went on. "And that's not your real name, is it?" He breathed softly. "You're one of those débutante belles with five names and a rich father to give you everything you want, aren't you?" He met her eyes. Something behind her gaze shifted, and her emerald eyes darkened to midnight green, an absinthe-laced jade fire, dark flame. Her lush lips thinned and her entire body went still, all trembling ceasing. Her breathing slowed. She blinked, slowly.

"No," she hissed.

"No? Not daddy's girl?"

"You ever call me that again and I'll castrate you with my teeth and a cheese grater," she snarled, something hot singing through her veins. How dare anyone, especially this freak, make any comments or false observations?! She didn't feel his grip tightening around her neck. She didn't need air, didn't need to breathe. She didn't feel the constricting grip around her throat, cutting off her air, bruising the pale flesh. The Joker stared into those burning jade eyes, wondering what Daddy must have done to this little girl that she would risk dying, ignore his intent to strangle her, to threaten him. With something so deliciously violent, he added as an after thought. He didn't know the Mob had women who did things like that. And from the look on her face, he had no doubts that she'd actually do it.

He relaxed his grip on her neck, but he kept the knife at her face. Even if she didn't notice or care, he could still take out one pissed off little Mob princess. But those eyes... burning absinthe. Looking into eyes like those could intoxicate a man to murder. And hell, he was only one step away from murdering a person on his best day, anyway. But man, those eyes! If he did kill her, he'd carve out her eyes and put 'em in a jar.

"So, Miss Rose... what's your real name? Both of them."

Rose blinked, and all the fury spilled out of her as the adrenaline receded. In the vicious, burning wake of her dark rage, there was only ice cold fear. But how many times had she tasted the frigid dish called terror? You couldn't be scared all the time. Eventually, fear turned into something else – emptiness, white static, emotional snow, blankness behind the eyes.

She wasn't there quite yet. But she only needed a few more minutes. Then her walls would come up, and nothing could reach her. Nothing at all, except Diamond, Domino, and Danni.

"Rosaline," she replied slowly. She tried to focus, but the paths of her mind were full of mist and cobwebs. Her shields shivered on the fringes of her mind. The Joker's rictus grin stretched wide, and the blankness began creeping in behind her eyes. Her shields wavered, but her walls began rising up out of her subconscious. It was a slow shift- the Joker could see that. She still had room in her for fear.

"Rosaline what?"

"Rosaline Damundo." She struggled not to let her voice quiver. She also hoped he didn't know who the Damundo girls were, otherwise she'd be in serious trouble. Like, "breathing is no longer a requirement" trouble. Because the Damundo girls weren't just Mob girls. She swallowed again, trying to build her walls faster. But the heat of the man pressed against her, so at odds with the chill infecting her skin, made her almost disoriented. She was still breathing, now that he'd released his grip on her neck.

But the look on his face told her that he was still waiting for something, some more information, so she added, "Rosaline Psyche Damundo."

"What a lovely name," he breathed against her skin. The hair on her arms and neck stood on end. His breath was so warm, so at odds with his frigid touch. Hot and cold, fire and ice. "Beautiful rose of the soul. That's what your name means, doesn't it?" When she simply blinked at him, he grabbed a handful of rich, auburn hair and hauled on it as hard as he could, jerking on it violently, snarling, "Wake up, Rose!" She gasped as she let her walls sink back into her mind for just a minute. When she needed them, they'd come back. "That's what your name means, doesn't it? Beautiful rose of the soul?" She nodded mutely, feeling the throbbing where his hand was fisted in her hair. At least he hadn't cut her with his ice-shined knife blade. "Now, tell me, Miss Damundo. Why are you here, at the mob's meeting? Hmmm? Tell me, pretty lady. Are you a mob squeeze?"

Rose swallowed, her throat burning as it reminded her forcibly how dry it was. Staring into those jade eyes made her head spin, but she didn't dare look away as she replied, "I'm Mr. Gamble's attaché."

"Oh?"

"Yes – that's what he tells the cops, anyway."

"So, uh... what are you... really?"

She blinked, her lashes brushing against her cheek like black lace butterfly wings. The Joker could feel the silk of her eyelashes against his own cheek. He could smell the soft, clean scent of her powder makeup. He could taste her perfume, something with jasmine and fire. He could heart the fluttering, crimson silk hammer of her heart. She knew he could – she could sense it. So close, with her psychic shields being pounded upon by the brutal force of the Joker's personality and will, she couldn't help the link forging between them. And her walls were beginning to tremble, to sink further back than she wanted. Her eyes burned.

"I'm his assassin. And his whore. At least, that's my day job."

The Joker exploded into hysterical, wheezing laughter. He let go of her neck and pulled the knife away from Rose's face, giggling maniacally. For the first time in probably ten minutes, Rose could take a full breath. She wiped at the line of blood tickling her face with one black-gloved hand, not daring to look at anyone but the giggling freak in front of her. She tried to ignore the goons leering at her from across the hall. Their eyes were worse than the Joker's- not flat, but full of dark intent. Unlike the Joker, these men wouldn't just kill her. They'd do worse. She'd rather die than taste worst.

The clown was in a fit. Doubling over, he gasped for breath, still laughing like a loon. When he finally managed to get himself under control, he managed to wheeze out, "That's your day job?! Whore and assassin, a day job? Get outta town! What d'ya do at night?"

"I'm a singer and dancer. Vaudeville, cabaret. Show tunes. I've got my own show at the Queen of Swords." Rose fought to keep her stutter out of her voice. She didn't want to appear anymore frightened than she already did – not that her nearly stark raving terror wasn't obvious to someone like the Joker. But she didn't want to add the thought that had gone through her mind. She had her own show – with her two sisters, Sadie and Crystal, and their best friend, Danni. But she knew enough about psychotic killers to know that a) this guy was one, and b) letting them know you had family you actually cared about was a bad idea.

"Rose," the Joker murmured. He suddenly sounded embarrassed. "Rose, I'm not going to kill you. Or maim you." She blinked, relaxing against the wall. Her entire body ached from the tension humming through her, electricity in her veins. He grinned that scarred, twisted grin, and her stomach flipped. Why did she think he wouldn't lie to her? Everyone else except her second boss lied to her about practically everything. "Don't worry," he added, and then dropped his voice to a snarling growl as his chest rumbled with the words, "I'm a man of my word. Does that make you happy?"

She blinked, and the Joker saw that glazed, sleepy look in her eyes again. Something he'd said had pushed her into that uncaring state. He could see the walls of steel and ice and frozen blood and bone building inch by inch behind her eyes. What a fascinating creature, this woman. He wasn't going to kill her, not yet.

"Rose, you have to promise me something. And if you lie to me, I'll make you smile. I'll give you a pretty smile just like mine, and that, I know, you would not like. But I'm going in there. I'm going to proposition your boss and his buddies and then I'm going to get out because even a neutered dog doesn't like being kicked where his balls used to be, wouldn't you agree, sweetheart? And you have to promise, like a good girl, not to scream or get in the way. Do we have a deal?"

"Only if you take me in there with you," she whispered. For the first time, she found herself able to glance away from the Joker's face as she scanned the men behind him. "Don't leave me out here with them, or I'm dead, no matter what you do."

The Joker glanced at his men, and grinned. What an enchanting, intelligent young lady. She knew rapists, murderers, and psychos on sight. What a brilliant little thing. And she was more afraid of them than she was of him.

He didn't like that.

"Okay, pretty lady. You can come into the meeting with me, but if you don't want to die, then I'm going to have to... do... this!" He lunged and grabbed her, yanking her against his chest, so that his cheek was tucked against the side of her neck. He inhaled that jasmine and ambrosia perfume, and licked a long, slow line along the column of her throat. She shivered against him, and he whispered in her ear, "Do I turn you on, cupcake?" The knife was back to pressing against the line of her cheek.

"No man turns me on," she hissed.

"You a lesbian?" He murmured, disappointment tinging his voice.

"Nobody turns me on," Rose amended, and the Joker giggled as he marched her down the hall towards the meeting of the Mob bosses. What an enchanting girl, truly. She'd be a helluva lotta fun.

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Walking in three inch heels was hard on a normal day. Walking in three inch heels attached to character shoes, meaning the heels were tipped in smooth wood and shiny silver nails that slid on tile, was despicably difficult on a great day. But she had to admit that the hardest time she'd ever had walking was now, with the Joker's left arm wrapped around her narrow shoulders, his elbow cushioned on one breast, and his right hand holding that silver sheened knife to her already lacerated flesh. He kept his painted lips near her ear, so that his warm, moist breathing sounded in time to the pounding heartbeat in her head.

Rose swallowed hard, feeling the prick of the knife caressing the softness of her throat. One more ruby drop of blood staining her skin, a jewel to adorn the copper beaded choker around her neck. She blew out her breath, trying not to allow panic to set in. He'd said he wouldn't hurt her – but that didn't mean anything, not in Rose's world. Why should he tell her the truth? He was a psychotic killer, a madman dressed as a clown for Pete's sake. A deranged psychopath. She could see it in his eyes, in that blank absinthe gaze. She bit back the whimper trying to slither out of her mouth at the thought of what he might do to her after he finished with whatever business he had with her boss. But really, she thought, even if she died, it wasn't as if anything too all-new was going to happen. Except that there wouldn't be anyone to protect Sadie and Crystal. But no... no, that wasn't entirely true. Miss Dawes... Miss Dawes had promised to keep the girls safe if they came through for her. And Danni was there, too – Danielle Spinelli, who was impossible to scare and twice as impossible to kill, it hadn't remembered that earlier, when the Joker had grabbed her by the throat and slammed her against the wall, whispering softly to her while his knife played with her face. If she had remembered, she might have stopped fighting for herself and done something to get him to kill her. Passive suicide.

"Wanna see a trick, Rose?" He murmured softly, his lips brushing against her left ear like gossamer. She tried not to swallow again as the cream-soft mouth whispered over the shell of her ear. "It's a maaaaaagic trick-uh. Wanna see?" His corrosive, wheezing laugh burned the inside of her mind.

She pulled her lips into the gap between her top and bottom teeth, squeezing them between her pearly whites. A nervous habit, one her less-favored boss out of the two she had had tried unsuccessfully to beat out of her. She wasn't sure whether the correct answer to the Joker's question was yes or no. If she said yes, he might kill her. That might be the glorious magic trick. And if she said no, he might get pissed off (if his killing her actually was not the trick) and kill her for being a bad audience. Either way, death. Not what she wanted. Not because she was at all eager to keep on slogging through life, but because she couldn't trust Rachel Dawes to do Rose's job for her.

She squeezed her eyes shut, until the light filtering through her eyelids filled her vision with a browned-out static of pink and green lights. One thing she did like about life – the light show behind her eyes. It soothed her. Helped her relax, keep calm. Make decisions.

"Yes," she whispered. "Yes, please, Mr. Joker."

"You're not begging me, are you, Rose?" He drawled, and yipped like a dog. His affected panting in her ear made her flesh try to crawl off her body. She bit her lip to keep from shuddering. "Like a little dog?"

"I don't beg anyone for anything."

She could feel the muscles of his face stretching into a macabre grin, and that wheezing laugh brushed against her cheek. The grip on her throat relaxed a little, and he feathered his leather clad thumb, cool to the touch, over her pulse. With the chilling shackle of his hand around her neck gone, the heat of his body through his suit and her working clothes practically scorched her. It was as if some insane wildfire was burning somewhere inside him, eating him up from the inside like some raging inferno. Burning away his sanity, searing away the thin veneer of civility most men tried to wear day after day. That devouring flame raged, she could feel it, hungering. Hungering for anarchy, bloodshed, chaos, destruction. She could feel that Dark Passenger, snarling and raving inside him. She could feel its teeth trying to rip through his body so it could be free of his mortal frame.

Darkness burned her eyes as she blinked against the heat spreading through her body. She needed to pull up her shields, break the empathic link her tension was trying to spin between herself and her assailant. She really needed to grab a hold of her Talent and beat it into submission so that it would crawl back into the farthest corner of her mind where it belonged.

Ace?

Rose fought every impulse in her body to keep from stiffening, gritting her teeth, clenching her jaw, anything that might give away the soft touch against her mind. Why was her sister calling her now? And why this way? Anger made her eyelid twitch, so she squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn't let herself show emotion. If the Joker saw her acting strange, he might get suspicious, do something drastic. Or even if he just wondered what the hell was going on, that could turn into a very bad problem. Schooling her expression, allowing liquid cool poise and calmness to wash over her, she reached out, projecting specifically to one person a very specific warning: Fear. Fury. Get out. Rose felt Crystal's hackles rise almost immediately at the bitter, black anger surging through the mind link between them. Her sister could sense Rose's intentions to block her out, hurt her if she had to, but the younger girl got the idea behind that empathic projection and beat a hasty psychic retreat out of Rose's head.

Rosaline swore silently, still keeping herself still. Crystal had almost gotten her killed. She couldn't afford to let anyone know anything about Crystal, or Sadie, or herself. Telepathy, mental domination, empathy: no one could know that the three Damundo girls had these respective gifts. Gamble would have them whacked, and if the Joker found out because Rose couldn't keep her irritation under control, she'd kill herself. That was it, the end. She'd do everything in her power to protect her sisters and then she'd find a nice, big bridge to jump off of and kill herself.

A sharp, jerking pain in her scalp and a stinging bite against her throat brought her back to the current situation. The Joker giggled, knife-sharp sound waves cutting at her. He murmured, his voice a high-pitched, mad laugh, "Pay attention, Rose. You're not listening. You wanna see a trick, you gotta tell me a secret." His voice dropped, hellish and dark as it rubbed against her skin like velvet bondage. She swallowed hard as he growled, low in his throat, "A dirty little secret, Rose. Tell me a dirty little secret. Tell me about... Daddy." He licked her cheek, a long, wet line that left a saliva moistened streak in her foundation and blush. The Joker could taste the pollen sweet face powder.

"D-Daddy?" She whispered, and the movement of her throat pressed the knife's tip deeper. A fresh line of blood. She was going to have to wash all the blood away. Where it dried in harsh, black and maroon slashes, her skin itched.

"Tell me about Daddy, Rosaline," he snarled. His voice, like tenebrous madness, hypnotic lunacy, sulfuric laughter, poured over her, drowning her in memory. In pain. In hatred and self-loathing. Her heart began clawing like a rabid tigress at her ribs, at her chest, screaming to be released. Her blood chilled, turning her veins to exquisite ice. Her mind spun, tornado fury inside, and she could feel herself sinking into the past. "Tell me all about your Daddy," he growled. Her knees buckled. Her eyes burned, pricked by a thousand needles. She cannot breathe past the memory. "What did Daddy do to you, Rose?"

"Nothing," she breathed, as the walls began surging up out of her brain. Her battered psyche hastily retreated, allowing her psychometry to shove forward, snarling and hissing as the part of her that was not part of her sought out the perpetrator that had brought about this mental breakdown. Mental shards of imaginary glass cut at her mind. Tenebrous mist clouded her vision. She shuddered inwardly.

Joker blinked, surprised. Nothing? Liar. And yet, he thought slowly, not a liar. She believed what she was saying. Those walls were back, that blankness in her eyes that said she'd disappeared behind her impregnable mental fortress. There was no getting her out now. She was safely secured inside her mind castle. How was he going to breach those walls of mental stone? He wanted her awake, conscious of everything. He wanted to see her eyes when he made his offer, when he showed the Mob bosses what he had up his sleeve and inside his jacket. He wanted to see those intoxicating absinthe eyes burn with the knowledge of what held her in its power: the Joker. But that couldn't happen if he didn't get her out of this trance.

He lowered his knife, looked over his shoulder to the men waiting for him. Three buffoons, three great and idiotic lummoxes that were still dangerous in their brutish, un-evolved way because of the evil that exuded from them. Stupid oxen, but oh so very dangerous to everyone, including themselves. She'd seen it – this Rose girl. How had she recognized the animal in them? Most people refused to see, much less know what they were looking at. Had she seen the human beast before? Fought it? Killed it? Or been conquered by it?

"What did Daddy do to you, Rosaline?" He murmured in her ear, and bit gently at her ear lobe. He nipped harder just beneath her ear, scraping the skin, leaving it reddened and tender, before he went back to nibbling on her ear. Apparently, just that little nip wasn't going to be enough to snap her out of this. So instead, he curled his tongue inside the thin, gold hoop hanging from the ear lobe. He tasted the sweet, tang taste of precious metal, savored it, rolling it around inside his mouth. Then, his tongue flexing, he ripped the hoop out of her ear. Spitting out the tiny metal ring, he latched onto the bleeding wound, tasting that delicious, ruby blood.

"Can I have my earring back when you're done?" She asked softly.

He blinked, swallowing the current mouthful of blood before releasing her ear from between his teeth. Mustn't get too greedy, he reminded himself. But she didn't appear phased by the fact that she had one ripped and ragged ear oozing blood down her neck, staining the copper choker and drenching the shoulder of the black undershirt and leaving a blooming crimson flower on her tux shirt that quickly spread into a stain. She blinked her glassy eyes the color of old Coke bottles. Was she in shock? Hadn't she felt that at all? Was she crazy?

What was with this woman?

"Knock, knock."

"Who's there?" She said. Blank. Empty. Static. Nothingness. The Joker's fingers itched to wrap around her throat, bring some life into her – right before snuffing it out, permanently. So he'd promised her he wouldn't kill her. So he was a man of his word. He'd just scare her a little. Choke her back into consciousness, ha ha.

"The Joker... daddy's girl."

That absinthe fire flared up in an instant. The walls crumbled. Her entire body shuddered. And her fist connected with his jaw, knocking him back a few steps. His goons rushed forward – a little late, boys – and he waved them back. She'd done what he wanted, she'd woken up. Massaging his jaw, he looked up at her, incredulous. She'd actually punched him. He hadn't thought she'd react to that taunt. He'd thought she'd been past caring. Apparently not. And had she knocked one of his teeth loose? Feeling around with his tongue as he straightened up, he felt one of his molars give a little as he wiggled it. Well, what do you know? Lucky punch.

He didn't know whether to kiss her, kill her, or leave her for the sport of his hired muscle. Well, okay, maybe not the hired muscle. They didn't deserve a tidbit like this. She had some fight in her. He liked that.

"Don't ever call me that," she hissed. Her breath gushed past her lips like blood from an arterial wound. He could see her pulse throbbing in her throat, see the way her eyes blazed like verdant hell. When she punched him, he'd instinctively lashed out with his dominant hand, catching the underside of her upper arm with his knife. The cut was bleeding sluggishly, staining the billowy sleeve of her shirt. Was that a man's shirt she was wearing unbuttoned over those sleeveless undershirts?

"That was sexy." Laughing at the look on her face, he added, "Wanna do that again? Or should I give you a spanking?"

It was refreshing to see the revulsion on her face and know she wasn't repulsed by him, the Joker, but him, the male. She hated everything male, didn't she? "Are you still gonna cooperate-tuh with my little... proposition?"

She bit her lip until blood came. She still hadn't said anything about the ripped ear or the cuts on her neck, which were no longer bleeding freely anymore. All she did was smooth back that disheveled, blood auburn hair. Gorgeous bedroom hair is what she had, after their little tussle.

"Yeah," she snapped. "So?"

"So c'mere, doll face. If you don't want your boss to blow your ass sky high, I suggest you get yourself snuggled back under my arm." He loved the look on her face as she slowly came forward, so slow that her long heels barely clacked on the tile floor. When she was within reaching distance, he grabbed her arm, right where he'd cut her, and squeezed. She didn't cry out, but he could in her burning eyes how very much she wanted to. He wondered idly just how much pain she could take as he hauled her against him, trapping her.

"There, now. Nice and cozy. Let's go talk to your boss." And he walked with her right into that room, leaving his morons behind just as that pompous prick Lau said, "... money is safe." The Joker's sick laugh knifed through her, and all heads turned towards Rose and the Joker.

"Rose!" Gamble leapt to his feet. "Who's this fu-"

"And I thought my jokes were bad," the Joker said, looking at Rose as if she were his co-conspirator. Maybe, she thought softly, she was. Breaking through her reflection, Gamble snapped, "Gimme one reason why I shouldn't have my boy here rip your head off. The girl's expendable."

The Joker noticed the other men glancing uneasily at each other, and felt Rose relax in his grip. He wondered suddenly if she'd really stop him from killing her. Calling her "daddy's girl," most definitely. He still remembered the thrill of that adorable threat about the cheese grater and his cajones. But if he slit her throat, here, now... besides drenching his sleeve with her blood, would anything else happen? Would the bosses react? Would she fight him if she guessed his intent? It would be a blast to find out, but right now, he had business.

"Rose, sweetheart," he murmured in her ear, nibbling on the ripped lobe. "Grab us a couple chairs." He let her go, and grinned as she did exactly what he said. What a good girl. "She's a good kid, Gamble. You should be a little nicer to her or one of these days she'll, uh, castrate you with a cheese grater... hahahahaha!"

Curling one hand over Rose's knee, feeling the silky fabric of her tight, black leggings against his wrist, he made absolutely sure she kept totally still. If she said fidgeted, he'd get distracted. He hated distractions.

"So," he said jovially. "How about a magic trick?"

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Next time, on Five Queens and a Joker:

Chapter 2: Wrapping her hands around the steering wheel and knowing she was going to despise the traffic, Rachel pulled out of her parking space. It wasn't until she hit her first red light that she saw the Joker playing card laid out on her dashboard.

Chapter 3: Something dark, her own Dark Passenger, perhaps, reared its head and blinked awake as Gamble glowered at her and the Joker. Like she'd asked to be kidnapped by a crazed, makeup wearing nut job with a thing for killing people. Like he was going to teach her a lesson about fraternizing with the enemy. She could feel that darkness, that part of herself that swam in blood inside her, starting to rise.

Chapter 4: She glanced in the mirror, and for a second bit her tongue so hard it bled when she saw the face of the man who had saved her from that monster of the mob- her angel's chalk white, painted face, his bright red lips, his dark rimmed eyes, the smooth leather of his plum colored gloves.

Chapter 5: Her thorns were showing, she thought idly, as blood began to well up where she pressed the knife into the Joker's throat. She wanted so badly to see his blood gush... she wanted blood, fountains of it, oceans of it. If everyone in Gotham City died, it wouldn't be enough blood to sooth her desire for it.

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okay, for the most part, I work this way:

- relatively short (2000-5000 words) chaps- sometimes shorter. I have 1 fic, 83 chs, & no chap over 400 words.

- lots of descriptions

- lots of sexuality (con or non-con, doesn't matter)

- character insight (I at least try)

- one or two main events/chap

- lots of shorter chapters vs fewer, longer chapters (helps keep me focused)

- more frequent updates (I try)

- review rewards (I'm more likely to update the more reviews I get, since I have to get up 3:30 every morning to write)

- Chapter previews.

So. What do you guys think? Do you like the fic so far? I'm still trying to pin down the Heath Ledger Joker – how am I doing? And this chapter (not counting the author's note, title, and spacer periods) is 5530 words long.