A/N: I do not own Moonshine, Caliban Leandros, Niko Leandros, or any of the characters so contained in the works of the Cal Leandros series. These characters are owned by Rob Thurman. I'm just borrowing the ideas for my own twisted games. I do not own the song used to start the chapter!

What would happen if Niko was not a saint, but a sinner? What if Cal was an abomination...but Niko was a monster? How would their lives be changed? It's a dark descent into the depths of depravity, dependence, hate, and abuse. Strap yourselves in tightly. It's going to be a violent ride.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Physical and emotional abuse, self-injury, alcohol abuse, victim complex, murder, torture, and overall misuse of Cal and total destruction of Niko's character.

Welcome back to round two, my friends! This story is a little slower on the pace, and it's pretty much an emotional roller coaster with Cal here, though the emotions are generally between shades of ticked-off, depressed, and panicking. Always fun.

Moonshine AU - Contra Bonos Mores
Part of the Malum in Se universe

Contra bonos mores: From the Latin; against good morals.
Malum in se: From the Latin; evil in and of itself, an act that is considered wrong to commit.

Chapter One: News

Tell me baby, what's your story?
Where you come from and
Where you wanna go this time?
Oh you're so lovely, are you lonely?
Giving up on the innocence you left behind...
-"Tell Me Baby," Red Hot Chili Peppers

I was changing the bandage on my burnt palm when Niko came home.

"I have good news," he announced, stepping into the cramped one-room flat and leaning on the couch that doubled as a bed that was currently tripling as my medical table as I worked. "I found us a place to live, and it's bigger than this closet."

"Nik, hate to break it to ya, but that's not hard. Shoeboxes are bigger than this dump. Now what's the bad news?" Good news always meant bad news followed, and I wasn't stupid. I looked up at my older brother.

Grey eyes met mine, the only way you could tell we were brothers; both of us had the same iron-grey eyes. After that, we were opposites. I had jet-black stick-straight hair: Niko had pale blonde hair that tended to go wavy on humid days. I had the pasty pale skin of someone who didn't see a lot of sun: Niko's olive-toned skin was currently tanned even darker than usual. I stood at a nice average height, annoyingly not tall enough to see over the heads of any crowd except one made of midgets: Niko was over six foot and had no problem looking over any crowd. I was slender and sharp-edged, with bony elbows I kept trying to knock off on doorframes: Niko was sturdily built and muscular, like a statue of a Greek god.

Oh, and Niko was completely, entirely human: I was half a monster so horrible the entire supernatural world feared it.

Nice to know I had something going for me, even if it was going for me in a way that was mostly straight downhill. With sharp rocks at the bottom.

Life's just nice that way, see?

Niko delivered the bad news without so much as blinking. "We'll have to pay for it with a favor."

I stared at him a moment. "Well, shit, sweetheart, did you have to screw us over so bad?" I drawled, and reached for the burn ointment. The marks on my palm were closed up, but the skin was still really thin and tender there. They'd been third-degree burns, and Niko had put them there. He'd held my hand to the red-hot eye of a stove to make a point so I would remember the lesson.

I remembered it alright: it wasn't my fault.

Remembering and believing were two different things, though, and I wasn't going to be the one to tell Niko that.

"I'll be sure to tell them you disapprove," Niko chuckled, and sat on the arm of the couch. His long long braid, thick around as my wrist, swayed against his back as he did. The couch creaked alarmingly, but Niko did not so much as wobble. "We're to meet them to go look at the place in a few hours. You're coming too. And we're picking up the car."

Our car currently lived in the car lot of our erstwhile not-human ally named Robin Goodfellow. The Goodfellow, he was a puck, a long-lived race of tricksters and con-artists. Not surprising, then, that he was a used car salesman. Niko and I had allied with him because he was ancient, strong, and knew a lot...and was happy to tell you all if you even looked like you might listen. Yeah he annoyed the hell out of me, but that's actually most people who talk, so...about the entire universe annoyed the hell out of me. Goodfellow just took it to an entirely new level of 'I seriously want to stab you to make you shut up.' When he wasn't talking I liked him pretty well.

"Why the car? Where are we going?" I asked, and set a gauze pad over the burn-marks. I had this down to an art, after a good seven months. The pink marks were really fuckin' tender, and I'd tried going without bandages and I'd stripped all the skin off about a month earlier and I wasn't making the same mistake again. I wrapped a light layer of gauze over that and reached for the vet-wrap. There was another name for it but I'd forgotten it. It was the best stuff for bandaging ever; it was waterproof, it stuck to itself, it was stretchy, and I could stick duct-tape over it and that bandage was going nowhere.

"The Bronx, and we need a place for the car. We're being impressive today, little monster." Niko reached out and used a single finger to hold down the start of my bandaging. He was the very soul of helpfulness today - he'd made breakfast, helped me with my chores, and gone to work. And now he'd found us a place to stay.

We were currently illegally squatting in the back room of an apartment owned by Lilith, the partner of Niko's coworker Marvin. Lilith was a succubus. She liked Niko, respected him, and was terrified of him, so we had one room set up to live in and the whole place smelled of snake and sex. It was way cheaper than a hotel, though - the place was free and Lilith was nice enough, for a flesh-eating demon who lived and breathed sex. She said I gave her the creeps, but she did the same for me so it was even. I was ready to get out of here, though. Sure, I loved Nik, but four months crammed into a tiny back room with barely any breathing room was about to drive me to fratricide. Niko too, and I knew that because I had more bruises than usual. The newest one was still sore, the one on my shoulder he'd given me last night.

"So I should be packing when we arrive, or I should find a shirt that's not too wrinkled?" I asked, winding my wrist up. Niko removed his finger and picked up the scissors.

"Bring your guns," he answered, and cut the vet wrap for me, then ripped me off a strip of duct tape.

I stuck it down and flexed my hand. There, all better. I pulled my sleeve down and hooked my thumb through the hole. I always more long sleeves, but my favorites were the ones with the thumb-holes and the extra-long-cuffs. Not only were they warmer in the winter, they didn't ride up on my wrists and expose the bruises on my arms. Niko grabbed me often and I was so pale every bruise looked like a disaster. Best to cover it up and not have to answer questions from Good Samaritans.

I rubbed at the fading yellow bruise on my cheek. "Cover this up too?"

Niko leaned over, curled a finger under my chin and turned my face to the light. "Mmm. No, it's almost gone." He brushed his thumb over it, a featherlight touch, and sat back. "Let's get ready."

We did. I got my Glock 30s, my shoulder holsters, my knife, and some extra magazines and a few odds and ends; pocket knife, boot knife, mp3 player, suntetsu. Niko had picked one up for me last week, and the little metal rod was pretty damn inconspicuous but packed a hella punch. I liked it. I hoped I got to use it. I found a light jacket to throw on. It was spring, and actually warm enough that I didn't need it since I wore long sleeves anyway, but walking around with guns on was a good way to get the NYPD to pick you up and take you away. Niko was also wearing a light jacket, and his fingerless gloves. The gloves were loaded, good fighting gloves. Niko also had probably about two swords on him, plus a good dozen throwing knives. Where he hid them, I had no idea - the man had any Vegas magician beat.

We set out to get our car. It was an easy walk, but Niko jogged it. I put in my earbuds, cranked up La Roux, and jogged along behind him. We lived a hard life and any chance to stay fighting-fit was taken. I couldn't outrun Niko but I could keep up for three miles, easy.

Robin was out with a customer. Maybe there was a God and maybe He didn't hate me. We retrieved our keys from Dorothea the secretary, and headed out. The green El Camino was old but it ran like a dream. Niko had been improving it since he'd bought it from Robin - Niko had a knack for any engine labeled 'old as hell,' and this one had been in good shape to start with. Our last car had been patched together with duct tape, baling twine, and Fix-A-Flat before Niko had ever gotten it. But the El Camino, well. I played with the radio, which was much newer than the rest of the car.

"Hey, I could hook up my mp3 player if I got a cord," I realized.

"You could, but you won't. If I have to listen to Savage Garden in the middle of rush-hour traffic, I will hurt someone," Niko retorted, casually ignoring the speed limit or the fact that whipping the car into the other lane like that was probably going to cause a wreck someday.

"Nickelback?" I suggested, innocently.

"Don't make me throw you out in front of a semi," was the answer. "Porcelain and the Tramps?"

"I think I have Nine Inch Nails and Black Sabbath," I answered, scrolling through my music. "Niko, who on earth is The Axis of Perdition and why are they on my mp3 player?"

"They're a British heavy metal-slash-industrial band and I borrowed your account to find the album I wanted." Niko answered, tapping his fingers along to the radio, currently playing Kiss. I sighed and left it on the oldies station. Niko popped on the brakes, giving the driver in front of us a series of blistering curses in Rom. I added a few of my own and flipped the bird at the driver. With a booted foot I shoved the large sword back under the benchseat, from where it'd slid forward.

"Won't your swords fit in the gun-rack?" I complained, leaning down to peer under the seat best I could, heart still pounding from the adrenaline. The very illegal gun-rack behind the seat, but hey, we liked our protection. It housed both a high-caliber Remington 700 rifle and a Mossberg 500 shotgun loaded with buckshot, and I'd thought at least two of Niko's swords.

"All but the broadsword. Typical. The saber and the longsword fit nicely." Niko shot across three lanes of traffic to his turn-off, and a chorus of honks followed him. I didn't mind - I was used to the aggressive way Niko drove. Traffic laws and general road etiquette were for idiots who couldn't do it right, obviously. I kept an eye out for cops, and watched the neighborhood pretty much degenerate as we drove. But just as I thought we'd be slumming it, Niko turned up to a nice respectable-looking street and parked by the curb in front of an abandoned volunteer fire station. There was a large black car also parked there, and as we got out so did a man dressed in a nice pinstriped suit. I slouched along behind Niko, and decided I didn't like the looks of this dude, a typical dark-haired Italian-American looking guy.

Niko and the man went off in a flurry of something that was probably Italian. Niko was a polyglot - every cussword in Romany, but conversant in Spanish, French, Latin, German, Greek, and apparently now Italian. He had mentioned something earlier this year about his next project being Chinese. Well, good luck to him. I spoke English, could ream you out in Rom, and tell you your pants were on fire in Spanish, but that was the extent of my ability to speak a foreign language. I definitely wasn't counting Auphe on that score - after all, only my monster heritage spoke that and it wasn't useful for carrying on any conversation except how I liked your organs smeared on the floor.

You know how they say the Eskimo have over a hundred words for snow? The Auphe have over a hundred words for describing how blood hits the floor. My monster ancestors, the Auphe, they're a cheerful bunch...happiest when they're tearing their prey to little kicking screaming pieces. And what do the Auphe hunt? Everything under the sun. Including me and my brother - at first because I was the key to their plan to retake over the world (yes, retake) and now because we'd thwarted than plan and had probably killed quite a few at the time. I wasn't too clear on that - I'd been too busy dying at the time after Niko stabbed me in the lungs with his katana. It was all for the greater good, though, and here we were, apparently buying a house with some kind of favor instead of money. Hot damn, we were screwed over. Maybe I'd get to tickle Mario's kidneys here with my steel-toed boots if he tried anything funny.

"Perhaps you'd like to take a look," Mario said, in English this time. "You and your fratello."

I looked at Niko, who would know if he was calling me a dirty name. "Indeed, my brother and I would like to see what we're buying, Signore Lucchese." Niko nodded, and followed along as the shorter man pulled out a fat ring of keys and headed for the fire station. I had to admit, the idea of living here was pretty cool. It was built of cinder blocks and looked sturdy as hell. Not to mention it was a fire station. Come on.

It was dusty as hell inside and there were no lightbulbs. I sneezed. "Revenants in the back," I pointed out.

Mario looked at me with eyebrows raised. "He can sense the mostro?"

Niko smiled, and it was pleasant and promised nothing good. "He is a monster. You're keeping an untidy house. This place is yours to sell and isn't condemned, correct? It won't go well with you if you lie to us. And my brother here can smell a lie."

"No, no, I assure you, it is for sale. I have the papers here, the contracts. Please, have a look." Mario pulled a folder from beneath his suit jacket and passed it over. Niko flicked it open and examined the papers within. I peered over his shoulder. They looked official to me. Niko rubbed a thumb over the ink, over the notary seal.

"And you will supply not only the property and the building, but also the contacts I want for renovating, provided we successfully complete this...favor to you and your family?" Niko queried, as he read over the papers.

I paid attention to the dark doorways at the back of the parking bay. Oh, hey, they still had a pole for sliding down from the second story, sweet! Let Niko handle the legalese, I'd watch out for the monsters.

"That is correct," Mario reported.

"Very well. What is your favor?"

"There is a particular object of some value that we wish for you to retrieve from the Kin."

The werewolf mafia? I glanced back at the conversation. Niko raised an eyebrow. "The Italian mob against the Kin. A unique situation. What object do you want?"

Whoa, back up. The Italian mob? Oh hell, we were fucked. No wonder Mario there was wearing such an expensive suit.

Mario described an ancient crown, passed down through centuries, that had very little market value but a hell of a lot of sentimental value. It was nameless as far as he knew, but he had a drawing, and he assured us that it would go to rest safe and sound in a museum once we got it. The problem, of course, was getting it. I made a note to ask Niko exactly how he'd tracked down this place and why he thought working with the Italian mob was a good idea. Much less screwing the Kin over. Both seemed like a good way to end up sleeping with the fishies. I heard the shuffle of the not-so-dead revenants and headed that way at a trot, pulling out my gun. Revenants looked and smelled like a decomposing human corpses, but they weren't human and never had been. With multi-jointed arms and slick moist skin and long thick tongues in mouths filled with jagged teeth, they were all inhuman and they moved like it, too. Fast.

Three of them. I slowed to a walk and fired off my Glock as I walked. Heads exploded with each step - I was a damn good shot, and pretty much the only way to kill a revenant was to sever the spinal cord. Exploding the heads was showy as hell and we were apparently trying to make an impression on Mario. The revenants dropped and I marched over, pulled out my six-inch boot knife and did a little extra stabbing. The smell was awful - ripe decay and the scent of old blood and death. I breathed as little as possible and headed back to Niko's side, pausing to scoop up my three spent shells, still warm in my fingers. Mario rooked impressed, especially after I smiled brightly at him. Niko hadn't moved an inch, but his smile was satisfied and pleased. He looked at Mario.

"If you achieve the crown, I will speak to the Don about making you associates," Mario said, after a moment.

"Done. Give us the required information." Niko offered out his hand, and they shook on it.

Boring legalese followed and I went exploring. Everything was dusty and dark, but it was roomy as hell for just me and Niko. The parking bay was open to the second story, but there was an equipment room and a back door and a bathroom all on the first floor in the back. I poked my head out the back door and grinned at the sight of a yard. It was three feet until the curb but it ran the entire length of the fire-station and was fenced in with a broken chainlink fence. Cigarette butts and trash littered the packed dirt. I went around and peered up the side-alley at the green Dumpster and then headed back inside. Awesome. Once inside, I headed upstairs, nosing around in the living areas for the firemen. Main area, kitchen, bathrooms, bedrooms, locker room... This was looking better and better. Fire escape, check. Nice. I clattered back down the rusty metal stairs and grinned at Niko, who had closed the folder and was passing it back to Mario.

He nodded and looked at Mario. The Italian man nodded. "I have the information in my car." He bowed and gestured for us to go out. Niko bowed back and went. I added in a bow, too. See, I was a monster but I had manners. Niko had made sure of that.

We were given a second folder, there was another conversation in Italian, and we parted ways. It was now almost night and I was hungry. There were gunshots a few streets over as Niko started the car and drove off. We'd fit right in. Niko glanced at a creature slithering down an alleyway, then looked at me. "What did you think?"

"I hope they hold true on fixing it up, 'cause it's a mess. But hot damn, Nik, there's a yard!"

Niko chuckled. "I thought you'd like that. I looked before I brought, trust me. The neighbors are nice enough, at least on that side of the street."

"So, how'd you end up getting in contact with the Mob?" I demanded. "Also, can we get pizza?"

"I was thinking Chinese." Niko leaned over and flicked at the radio, changing the station. It landed on a heavy metal song and he left it. "I got into contact through a friend of a friend of Marvin's."

Marvin worked with Niko at his first job, a chop shop for cars. Niko had a second, legitimate job working at antique car repair shop now, and he still had a part-time job running security gigs on the side. Niko worked his ass off, but he'd never done anything different. Where he still found time for his online classes I'd never know; he was working on his Master's in History from Oxford. Yes, in England. Hell if I know. He already had a Bachelor's in English from Princeton. Niko was hella smart and with a combination of that, the wonders of the internet, and easily bribable students, he had some pretty pieces of paper to show for it. But Niko worked hard and brought home enough to feed me and put some away for a rainy day.

I'd had a job. I was still looking for one now. I'd have to start looking at bars in the Bronx now. I wasn't interested in being a greasemonkey like Niko, and I sucked at anything that involved a lot of customer interaction. Bars it was - I could mix a mean drink and nobody cared if I dressed in jeans and jackets year-round. Plus, people-skills were not needed to sling drinks in the kind of bars I'd generally worked in.

We got Chinese, and ate in the bed of the El Camino, watching the traffic whiz by on the street. Niko, show-off bastard, ate with chopsticks. I had a fork and did not care. It was spring with just enough of a bite to make me glad I had a jacket and sleeves. It smelled like spring, albeit clogged with city smoke, exhaust, and fried oil. I worked on my sweet-and-sour chicken happily. "So. What do we know about the Kin?"

"They're insular, they're tight-knit, and they don't let humans in," Niko answered, calmly. "I was thinking of asking Robin to supplement what our friend Antony gave us."

"What, his name wasn't Mario?" I grinned. Niko groaned.