❤️My dear readers❤️,

Thank you for all the support! I love coming back to reviews, favorites, and follows! I appreciate all of the encouragement! Review Answers:

Niamh x(Guest): You will definitely learn more about all their pasts and what happens with Kaelie is secret 😈 And about containing Izzy, Simon and Magnus (ect.), some of them are to be introduced later, but slightly OOC. If you'd like to know more, you can privately message me! Thank you for the review!

!ALSO! My update schedule is to be soon up on my profile, if you're interested in seeing it. Now let us read!

Disclaimer: I do not own the Mortal Instruments. But I do own the plot ;)

Chapter 7:

I'll Take Care of It

He crept into the house, gun up against his chest. Two fingers gestured forward for his team to follow him into the building. The creak of a floorboard stopped him dead. He pushed himself against the plaster wall, creeping all the way towards the hallway with his back glued on it.

He knew what was behind the door. He fisted up his hand in signal to stop. Silence eerily scared all the noise away. He cocked the gun slowly, trying to minimize the sound of it. After the click, he padded into the room.

The man's back was to him, sitting comfortably on a plush leather seat. Thinking it would be more fun this way, he drew out his fox dagger, and crouched. He stalked towards the chair until he was behind it. He shot up, as quiet as a panther.

He had the knife in front of the man's throat in a bare second, and before anyone could watch his movements, it was slit.

The head lolled back, silently swaying a bit. He slid the slightly bloody knife against the surface of his black jeans, wiping off any trace of what had happened. The red mark was barely visible against the fabric, and he slid the weapon back into his combat boots.

With a wave of his leather glove-clothed hand, the team came forwards, grabbing the body and heaving it out of the house. A group of other agents grabbed all the paper on the desk, and searched the room for some trace of surveillance of any sort.

Once the coast was clear, they marched out of the house, the body wrapped in a big black trash bag. They all jumped into the black SUVs, driving out without a noise.

The job was done.

.w.W.w.

Without Mr. Wayland, the house was silent. Maids did nothing, apart from Clary, who hurried around the house speedily, hoping to get everything done by the time he got back. The clicks and clanks of her heels were the only sounds filling the brisk manor.

Normally, she would be on her break right now, but she had decided to wait until she could have the whole afternoon to herself without interruption.

Loud boots echoed through the hallway all the way to her. A group of men, with her boss walking in front of them as a leader, practically stomped through the hall. They were all dressed in black from head to toe, drenched, and had serious, but grim, expressions on their faces. All their faces looked empty, as if they had erased all emotion from their life.

She hurried in front of him. She said, "Mr. Wayland, you'll be happy to know—"

"Get out of my way," he growled, pushing her to the side with one arm like she was air. Everyone marched past her towards his study, leaving big mud marks all over the carpet.

She angrily walked over to a cabinet, grabbing the cleaning material of the shelves. She crouched down next to the stains, sitting on her knees. There were at least two dozen marks all over the ground. She was partly confused but also angry of him not respecting her. Asshole.

She scrubbed away, getting scratch marks on her palms from excessive rubbing against the hard carpet. Several minutes later, she heard footsteps enter the hall. The sound of her scrubbing filled the space once again, drowning the sound of the other breathing in the room.

"You don't have to do that," a low, husky voice called. She kept her head low as she cleaned the stains, fully aware of who was talking to her. She passed an arm over her forehead, wiping away sweat.

"It's my job," she snapped. She scrubbed harder, cleaning away her anger, but it stayed, just like the stains.

"I'll get a new rug."

"I'll take care of it."

"Now, who makes the decisions?" That shut her up. She moved on to the next two mud shoe stains, her arms starting to ache from the frantic moving. "You don't speak to me like that, unless I ask you to. You can go up to your room until it's time to make dinner. More like, you will go to your room."

"But—"

"No buts. Do as I say, Ms. Morgenstern. Just leave the supplies there," he added, before walking off to his study again, she supposed. She dropped the product on the carpet, leaving her work area a mess. She stomped up the stairs and shut the door with a loud slam.

"You don't have to act like a five-year-old," Jace shouted from downstairs. She sighed in frustration, dropping herself on her bed. She thoughtlessly started braiding her hair, slowly making a french braid trickle down her back. She attached it without realizing.

She rested for a couple hours, waking up at the perfect time to get dinner ready. She crept down the creaky steps of the grand staircase, stalking silently into the kitchen.

In record time, she had a whole meal prepared, peppered with gourmet ingredients. She quickly flew into her boss' office, dropping it soundlessly onto the wooden desk, and swaying out in a nanosecond. She didn't get the hospitality of even a glance from him.

She drifted towards the garden, her mind slowly wandering away from reality.

.w.W.w.

Jace found himself looking back into the cases he had, well, 'taken care of''. He glanced over every face, every name, finding guilt being unapparent in his body.

He shut the binders closed. He pushed memories away from his mind every time he sliced a throat, every time he pulled a trigger, every time he filled a drink with poison.

Without notice, Clarissa practically ran into the room, her dress billowing around her small figure. She placed the platter down without a sound, and quickly drifted out into the hallway again. She made no noise, making it as if she had never came at all.

Her dinner tonight was more simple and smaller, as if she had made it in a rush. He ate in anyways, the taste being as good as anything gourmet or better.

A phone ring broke him out of his daze. He grabbed the phone and put it to his ear.

"Hello?" He asked, leaning back in his chair.

"Hello, as well, Jonathan." The voice that was oh-so-familiar chilled his bones. He sat up straight, accidentally pushing a coffee mug over his desk. It shattered into pieces, coffee flowing out of it like blood.

"Alec?"

"Oh, how wonderful of you to remember me."

"What do you want?" He asked, trying to fend of the fright out of his voice. He clutched the phone tightly to his ear, his knuckles turning white from the grip.

"I already have what I'm looking for. Your most prized possession, at the moment. Your little doll. Your sweet strawberry," the static voice droned on, deadly calm as flowed through the phone. No sound echoed in the background, giving him no hint of where he was.

"The only person who cares just a bit about you. I have her right here." Her? Kaelie was useless to him, nobody would even think to take her. "Right in the palm of my hand. I'm in the garden. Meet me, or she goes kaput along with her firecracker hair." He dropped the phone onto the table with a thud. Clarissa. She was just another pawn to the game, to Alec. But she was a person.

He pulled a desk drawer open, grabbing the long, silenced pistol from its home. What he would do to spare another's life, apart from his own.

.w.W.w.

Black engulfed her. The chilly breath along her neck sent hairs flying up upon her back. Her hands were tightly cuffed with a rough rope, cutting into her skin. Pain seared through her body as she struggles against it.

"Oh, don't try, sweetheart," the man called. Jace would say that word with such grace, now it was just the last phrase before a murder, it seemed. She could feel the smirk in his voice as he spoke. "He'll be coming, right about... now."

As if timed, boots clunked onto the stone patio. "I'd drop the gun now, Jonathan." He felt the man's hand grab her by the waist, and pull her against him. "Wouldn't want to hurt little miss Morgenstern, would ya?"

She heard another boot clunk, and with a quick whoosh, she felt cold metal burn her throat. She gagged at the freezing sensation. "Alec, we both know you won't hurt her," Jace protested, but just as he said it, 'Alec' moved the knife, or at least that's what she thought it was, a bit, creating a thin slice in her skin. She gasped, crying out.

Alec's chilly laugh tickled her neck. "Watch me. And if I were to slice her neck, I'd do it before killing you, just so you'd have a good show."

"What do you want from me? In exchange for her alive." His voice was tight with stress, and she knew he still had the gun in his hand.

"Oh, simple. The codes."

"No." His immediate response made Alec chuckle against her, shaking her. She couldn't register all the different things that were happening around her, along with 'codes'.

"Then, I suggest starting to look for a new maid, Mr. Wayland," he sneered, the sarcastic tone dripping from his voice.

The sudden noise of a dozen guns being cocked all around her made Clary jump. Jace's voice soothed her, even as it was eerily calm.

"Did you actually think I would come without back-up, Mr. Lightwood? Get her to my office immediately." She heard muffling of a voice and she was pulled away, her blindfold only being removed after she listened to the closing of a door. Relief flowed through her as her restraints were slit off, scratches being apparent on her wrists.

The same man who had helped her the night of the club stood before her, black sunglasses on his face.

"Come with me," he said, his voice low and empty of emotion. He walked ahead of her in a robot manner, his leg rhythm always in check. He opened the door of Jace's off, side-stepping to let her pass. "He'll be with you in a couple minutes."

He closed the door, and she could see the shadows of his shoes under the door, guarding the room. What had happened back there? She had been practically assaulted. She traced a finger lightly over the fresh cut on her neck, wincing as it stung like poison.

"Daddy, what are you doing?" She asked, as her father quickly ran around the house, boarding up windows with wood boards. "Dad?"

"Sweetie, stay in the backroom with your mother," he harshly told her, once again pushing furniture against doors and windows. "Tell her they're here."

"Who?" She asked quietly, hoping to poke at the source.

"Go, now, Clarissa!" He shouted, slamming a nail in the wood barriers. She scurried into the backroom, where her mother was stuffing books into a bag.

"Mom? They're here," she called, panicking even without an idea of what was happening. Her mother swung her face to face her adolescent daughter's gaze, her eyes full of worry and panic. She flung her head back, this time rapidly grabbing books off the shelves, emptying boxes of paper and sliding them into the bag along.

She watched as her mother's eyes exploded in tears as she threw things into the bag, almost ripping book spines and shredding paper herself. She mumbled repeatedly, 'why, why, why'. All she could do was watch her, her body not moving, unlike her thoughts, which raced through her head.

Her father suddenly shouted, "Jocelyn! They're here!" Her mother's shaking hands grasped her daughter's shoulders, shivering.

"Baby, it's okay. We'll find you, baby. It's alright." She pulled her against her chest, burying her face in her crimson red hair.

"Mom, what's going on?" She asked, her voice quivering as she worriedly listened for the answer.

"I'm so sorry, baby." Her mother pulled back, and she opened up a wood box from the bookshelf. She pulled out a small pistol. Her mother turned to the hallway. Clary hid behind her, clutching onto her like she was the only thing left.

In the hallway, her father was anxiously pushing himself against the door, pushing more furniture against it. He fell on the floor, and the door was yanked open. He backed up on his hands, moving away from the men who filtered into the house.

He started to protest, but a silenced bullet shut off the voice. Jocelyn's hands shakily lifted the gun straight ahead towards the men. A tall, old man with blonde, turning white, hair was standing there, a pistol pointed right at her mother.

"S-Stop," she stammered, her finger hesitantly approaching the trigger. Without another word, she collapsed to the ground, her daughter coming along with her. She sobbed, water crystalizing her pale face. She was only sixteen, nothing made sense. She had never seen these men.

The blonde man stared at her small figure, before gesturing to his men to leave the house. They slammed the door shut, leaving the little girl crying over her losses. What she would do to get back at those killers.

She grasped her head as memories returned, blazing her mind with pain. Seven years will never change a life. She closed her eyes, lowering her head into her hands. Jace entered the room, looking even better than before.

"Sweetheart," he tilted his head to the side slightly, his voice sympathetic. "That man won't come back again. If he comes close to you again, I'll be sure he won't wake up the next morning. Is that clear?"

She just nodded. What kind of job involves people taking their maids hostage for codes? He ran a hand through his golden hair. "Clarissa? I expect you to answer my questions."

"I expected to not be taken hostage, but we don't get what we always expect, yes?" She snapped, anger taking over heated confusion.

"Relax, feisty," he said, chuckling. A serious expression quickly ghosted up the amusement that had once been on his face. "Do you need a bandage on that?" He gestured to his neck, imitating the place where she had been cut.

"I'm fine," she stiffly responded, thrusting out her chin, receiving a burning sensation on her throat due to her skin stretching over her neck. She winced, and Jace caught it at the right moment.

"That's what I thought." He reached into one of his desk drawers, and walked over to her chair. He crouched, lowering his head to the height of her neck. He showed her a roll of bandages he had gotten, and he slowly undid the clasp graciously.

"This might hurt," he whispered, his breath hot and thick, tickling her neck. He slowly wrapped fabric piece around the cut, making her suck in a breath at the contact. "Shh," he consoled her quietly. He continued wrapping her cut, making sure not to hurt her.

Once he was done, he moved his head and hands back. She smiled despite her anger riling up in her. She giggled a bit. "Kiss it better?" She mocked, grinning foolishly.

She expected him to scoff or back away, but he did the opposite. He reached behind her ear, drawing a loose strand of red hair behind it. He lowered his head, kissing her neck above the bandage, leaving a burning mark on her skin.

The tender sensation of his soft lips on her skin made her shudder, with both excitement and agitation. The smoldering heat of his kiss still lingered as he removed his mouth from her neck. His lips parted, and his eyes slowly wandered down to her lips.

They stayed there for a second before he cleared his throat, standing back up straight. "There you go, Clarissa." He seemed to try to occupy himself with something, but the look in his eyes showed her that he was thinking of something completely different.

She made her way out, confusion, but for a different reason now, clouding her thoughts. Oh, my.

.w.W.w.

He sat in the dark room, making out the black silhouette tied to the chair in front of him. He watched as his head lolled forwards, dark blood running out from the corner of his frowning mouth. His hair was a mess, a black eye crowning his blue crystals.

Jace placed his elbows on his knees, leaning forwards for a better look. The dim swaying lightbulb above them let him watch the blood trickle down his cheek, sticking to his jaw before sliding beneath his chin or dropping on the floor in red droplets.

"Rate this wonderful experience on a scale from one to ten," Jace said, leaning back into the wooden chair. "I asked you a question," he barked, after several seconds of silence.

"I don't give a fuck about you wanting a response," he spat out, blood spurting out of his mouth.

"Oh, Alec, you sound too enthusiastic for your own good," he responded, sarcasm engraved in the retort. "I would've killed you by now if it weren't for the lady sleeping under this roof."

"She must enjoy blindfolds in the bedroom as well, ey?"

"I'd be happy to forget her for a minute, if you speak like that again."

"Oh, you wouldn't dare."

"You'd be surprised."

The man let out a throaty chuckle, coughing up a bit of red liquid. "How much for each night?"

"I told you, I do not sleep with her," he said again, this time his tone becoming a bit harsher. Alec's eyes rolled up a bit, his eyes slimming into slits. A sly grin spread over his bloody mouth, the shadows of his smirk apparent under the dim light.

"Oh, I see how it is. You just fuck her." Jace sprung from his chair, grabbing the man's throat. He gagged, jerking his head back. He gripping tighter, feeling the muscles under his skin start to clench under the pressure.

"Wouldn't want to repeat what happened earlier, would we?" He said, his voice dry, eerily flat. Alec shook his head with all the freedom from the grasp he had left. Jace subsided, dropping his hand back to his side. "That's what I thought. Don't get your hopes up for dinner," he added for good measure.

He strode to heavy metal door, turning around one last time before leaving.

"I think I'll leave the light on. You'll be able to watch yourself bleed in its reflection." He yanked it closed without another word, stalking away with the loud clank of his boots against the steel floor.

~FEEDBACK IS WELCOME~

Thank you all for reading! I tried making it a little longer this time, more then 3,2K.

I'll try to approach 5K for the next one!

Drop me a review?