As always, none of this is mine. This belongs to Stephenie Meyer. I just like to dabble in the playground she created.

Up next will be a shorter chapter and not my usual fare … we're going to hear from both Maas and Renee. Both of them have been too quiet. I do have a plan, and as I said to the lovely ladies at the Chicago Twific Meet Up, I can't get the characters to speak to me. I just need to get there.

Chapter Fifteen

MaasPOV

Sitting at my desk, I searched, fruitlessly, for any sort of connection of my sister to Edward Cullen. If anything, the ties between Cullen and Charlotte, were negligible. It pissed me off to no end. A passing happenstance, at most. There were more ties between Charlotte and Royce's organization.

And the evidence of sexual assault didn't link Cullen to her, at all. She had been killed with evidence that she'd been used and abused by a majority of the inner circle of Royce's organization.

The further I delved into this mess, the more confused I got.

Angrier, too.

Had I been played?

"Maas, you're burning the candle at both ends," teased my partner, Miguel. "Anything I can help with?"

"Nah," I answered. I just don't want to go home. I'm avoiding the cunt who's taken up residence in my life. What the hell was I thinking? Right, I wasn't. "I'm trying to catch up on some paperwork. Go home. Spend time with your family."

"You should do the same, Peter," Miguel chuckled. "Or, perhaps, spend some time with that hot, little piece from the benefit. She's got a tight body."

"Not really," I grumbled under my breath, glowering at my computer screen. I blew out a breath and turned to look at my partner. He looked at me expectantly. "Renee and I … we're complicated and we're dealing some issues. I'm avoiding going home because of that."

"You two seemed cozy at the benefit," Miguel argued.

"The issues are all very recent," I shrugged. "Look, the sooner I finish this shit, the sooner I can possibly make amends. I'll see you tomorrow." Miguel nodded, shooting me a wave before leaving the precinct.

I pulled up my sister's file, seeing if there were any more connections to Cullen. The only one was her brief conversation with him on the night he was abducted from some kinky sex club, prior to his wedding to Isabella Swan. Maybe, he didn't kill her.

Regardless, he still was a monster, an animal. He had connections to several known criminal organizations. Unfortunately, those connections were loose and difficult to pin any wrongdoing on those associations. Additionally, Cullen was meticulous about not getting his hands dirty.

It was just only a matter of time.

Or, I try my second plan and use his wife to bring him down.

I opened up another file about Isabella Cullen, née Swan. She was Detective Charles Swan's daughter. He had an impressive jacket, bringing down numerous perps and winning several accolades before being diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. Isabella was a fine, upstanding citizen. She used her father's life insurance policy to pay for her undergraduate degree. She was halfway through her graduate degree when she decided to quit. The reason given was illness. She'd been diagnosed with pneumonia, missing nearly most of the semester.

Then, she married Cullen after he'd been abducted.

"Why did you get into bed with a monster, Isabella?" I asked, looking at her smiling face. She was standing next to our superintendent with Edward on the night of the benefit. She was beautiful, with pale skin, a warm blush, rich, chestnut hair and curves in all the right places, making her look feminine and lovely. All three of them were grinning happily and it pissed me off. The fact that our chief was colluding with a known criminal was disgusting.

Except, on paper, Cullen was as clean as could be.

It pissed me off.

Do you see a theme here?

My cell phone chirped and I flipped it over, seeing a message from Renee.

I've got news. Please come home. I saw them.

I growled, hated that Renee was meddling. We had to tread around this carefully. I'd already been visited by IAB several times regarding my means of living and Charlotte's death. I explained away my extravagant lifestyle thanks to a windfall from a 'dead relative.' In reality, it was the money from Royce, making his indiscretions disappear.

IAB investigated me after my sister's murder because they had to rule me out as a suspect. The fact that I was pulling a double on the south side of the city, forty minutes away from where she was discovered, cleared me of any wrongdoing. Cops from all over the district had seen me at the crime scene, just off the campus of Illinois Institute of Technology and Vandercook College of Music.

Stuffing the files into my bag, I shut down my computer and walked to my car. My cell phone continuously vibrated in my pocket. Undoubtedly, it was Renee pleading for me to come home. I was sickened by her, to be honest.

She was a whore, plain and simple.

I fucked her once or twice, only because I'd missed feeling a woman, the taste of one and feeling a body moving with mine. When I was with her, she was messy and sloppy. Ever heard the phrase, 'rode hard and put away wet'? That described Renee. Her breasts were lopsided from a bad boob job. Her face was so plastic, filled with fillers, Botox and silicone. She tried to bait me, wearing skimpy outfits when we were in my condo together. She'd make me so angry and I lost my temper more often than not. I tried to keep my temper, using my anger management techniques, but everything she did grated on my patience. When she was particularly pushy, my patience was pressed and she suffered.

I hated myself for losing my temper. I hated that I'd raised my hand to a woman. I'd seen the results of domestic abuse. Children afraid of their own shadows, women with broken spirits and bodies … men arrested for the murder of the partners.

Renee had a few black eyes and bruised ribs from my ire. She deserved it, really. She needed to learn her place and not meddle with my affairs. I was using her as a means to an end. I would make Cullen pay and it would be through Renee and her bitch daughter.

Who did have a tight body, to use Miguel's words.

I wouldn't mind to have a go with her, to be perfectly honest. If I had to guess, she'd be a better lay than her mother.

Even if she was in cahoots with a monster.

My phone rang, coming through the speakers of my car. I huffed out a breath when I saw it was Renee. She would keep calling until I answered. Punching the phone icon, I barked, "What?"

"Nice of you to respond, asshole," Renee hissed. "I've been texting you for over two hours. I have news! About my daughter … do you know she's got two homes? A nanny for my only grandchild?! A Range Rover? That bitch owes me money!"

I huffed out a breath. "You'll get what you're owed, Renee. You just need to let me handle it. For fuck's sake, you'll ruin everything if you keep carrying on," I snapped. "We made a plan."

"No, you made a plan," Renee growled back. "Without any sort of input from me! I may not be a cop or as smart as you, but I know my daughter! She's an entitled brat, who thinks she deserves everything. She needs to be brought down a peg. And that kid of hers? He's been exposed to all sorts of bullshit. He needs to be saved, too."

"Renee, I may hate Cullen and all that he stands for, but I do not condone kidnapping," I said, weaving through the late-night traffic to my condo.

"I never said I was going to kidnap my grandchild," Renee muttered.

"Bullshit. I know you well enough that you would do something rash," I replied. "I'm about ten minutes away. We'll talk when I get home, Renee." She started shrieking, but I ended the call and I meandered through the streets before I got back to my building. I parked my car, swiping my bag and jacket. "Deep breaths, Maas. You can't take your anger out on the banshee living in your condo. She's a whore who is your ticket to bringing down Isabella and Edward Cullen. The Consortium is going down."

After riding up to my floor, I opened my door and saw Renee. She was wearing another skimpy nightie that pulled too tightly across her uneven tits and no panties. She was scowling at me as I walked inside. She opened her mouth, probably to bitch. I held up my finger and walked to the refrigerator and took out a bottle of beer. This woman was driving me into an early grave with all of the drinking I needed to do in order to handle her. I drank half the bottle, turning to her when I was mentally and emotionally prepared to listen to her prattle on.

"Do not shush me," Renee sneered.

"I just got off a twenty-four-hour tour, woman," I grumbled. "I'm tired, hungry and I want to sleep for at least eight hours."

"Don't you want to hear what I found out?" Renee asked. She didn't wait for my response. She ran to her purse and pulled out her cell phone, an atrocious pink monstrosity with fake gemstones and butterflies. She unlocked it, flipping through the photos. "Look at this!" Thrusting the phone into my hands, I saw pictures of Isabella, Edward, some tall dog and a baby.

"Who's the guy?" I asked. "I vaguely remember seeing him before."

"I think he's some sort of protection, bodyguard or something," Renee said. "He had a gun." She snatched the phone from me and enlarged a photo on the man's shoulder. "See?"

I could see the faint outline of a gun underneath his jacket. I moved the photo and focused on Cullen. He was smiling happily, touching his wife adoringly. I abhorred the man, but he did seem to truly love his family.

I gave him that respect.

In each photo, Cullen was caressing his wife's cheek, nuzzling his son and being so normal.

"So, he has a gun," I sighed, handing back her phone. "Did he pull it out? Threaten anyone with it?"

"Well, no …" Renee began.

"Renee, I'm going to be perfectly plain," I said, staring at her. "You're stalking Isabella. You're breaking the law by taking these photos."

"Don't you need proof? Proof that Cullen is a bad guy?" Renee asked huffily. "And I think that Isabella is neglecting the boy. He's awfully tiny!"

"And you figured that out by taking photos of a happy family?" I grumbled, pointing to her obnoxious phone. "Renee, you need to back off. Let me handle this. We have a plan!"

"A plan! A motherfucking plan," Renee growled. "A plan that you devised. A plan where we need to wait, to gather intel. But, that's not working for me. My daughter is living like fucking Midas while I'm subsisting here, relying on your scraps."

"If you want to go, then go," I yelled, throwing my beer bottle over her shoulder. It shattered against the wall and the remaining beer pooled at her feet. "No one is keeping you here. I just opened up my god damned home, giving you a place to stay and food in your stomach." I stalked over to her and pressing her against the wall of my foyer. "When was the last time I asked you to pay me rent? Bought food? Offered to split the utilities?"

"You could fuck me," Renee simpered, shrugging her shoulders and causing her nightie to fall of her body.

I kept my face neutral when I was honestly disgusted at her willingness to whore herself out. "Haven't you done enough of that, Renee? You think that I don't know what you do? I've got pictures of you outside of known hotels where whores fuck their johns."

"If that's the case, why not use me that way?" Renee purred, moving her hands up my chest and to the nape of my neck. "I've been told I'm a good fuck."

I took her hands and shoved her back. Her eyes were wide. "Renee, I've fucked you twice and I regretted both times." She pursed her lips as she bent down to pick up her nightie. She tugged it on and glowered at me. It was wet from landing in the beer. "You have a choice. You can stay here and play by my rules, letting me handle this situation with your daughter …"

"I want …" she interrupted.

"Now, who sounds entitled?" I snapped back. I took her chin in my hand, squeezing her face and glaring at her. She whimpered as I moved my hand down to her throat. "Choose … stay, doing things my way and shut up, or leave, throwing yourself at the mercy of the pimps and johns that you so willingly fuck. They won't be nearly as kind as me, won't they? You'd be torn to shreds, used and abused," I squeezed her neck and she cried out. "Answer me, Renee!"

"I'll stay," she panted, clawing at my hand. "Please … don't hurt me."

I released her with a snarl. "I wouldn't hurt you if you behaved, Renee. Fuck, woman. You are so worthless. Why did I even think I could work with you?" My hand shot out, backhanding her cheek and sending her flying into the wall. Her head smacked against the wall and she fell unto her knees, landing on the shattered beer bottle. I scowled at her, stomping past her and leaving her to think about her choices.

I was already thinking about mine …

xx MOTM:FFF xx

ReneePOV

Sitting in the bathroom, I was using my tweezers to pull out shards of the beer bottle out of my knees, shins and feet. My eye was already swollen shut from Peter's strike, but I deserved it. I deserved everything that happened to me. I was a colossal fuck up.

I'd been hearing that all my life. The only time I didn't hear it was when I was with Charlie, my first ex-husband.

My mother told me I was worthless and stupid. My dad just liked to use me, molesting me as soon as I turned thirteen. He said all I was good for was a good fuck. As soon as I turned eighteen, I packed up and moved out. I used my body to get me as far away from my parents as possible, whoring myself to travel from a tiny town of Forks, Washington to Chicago. I would have kept going until I got to Florida. Jacksonville was my goal, but I ended up pregnant from my travels.

I took care of that problem and began working at a diner. It was near one of the police precincts and there were a number of handsome-looking cops and detectives. I was praying that one of them would take a shine to me. One did … Charles David Swan. He was older than me, but I was used to that. Every man who had fucked me was older than me.

The thing about Charlie was that he treated me with kindness. He was respectful of me, showing me what it meant to be in a normal loving relationship. He wanted to get to know me, even though I was very secretive about my past. I didn't want him to know that I was an abused runaway, who had been molested for five years. My father had taken my virginity, not caring about the repercussions. My mother was aware of what he was doing, condoning it. She would encourage it if he was horny. I didn't understand why.

I never would, either.

My mother died of a stroke when I was walking down the aisle to marry Charlie. My father remarried another woman, with a daughter and he did the same thing to her that he did to me. However, he died in his sleep. His new wife found out his dirty little secret, stabbing him over a hundred times and chopping off his dick. I read about that on my first anniversary, and while I was trying not to throw up. I was pregnant with Isabella at that point in time.

Karma was a cruel and vindictive bitch.

He got what he deserved.

Charlie was the complete opposite. From the moment we began flirting, he was a good man. A loving man. He treated me with respect, with love and with tenderness. I didn't know what to do with that.

So, I sabotaged it. As soon as I had Bella, I pretty much left the parenting to Charlie. I would take off for hours, days, weeks at a time. I'd pump my body filled with drugs. I'd fuck any man who gave me attention. They would pay me in money, gifts or time in lavish hotels.

I thought Charlie would take it, but he didn't. When I was exiting a club in New York City, I was shocked to see my husband standing outside. His pale skin was red with anger and his lips were pursed. He stalked over to me, gripping my arm and tugging me away from the group of men I'd agreed to fuck. He didn't say anything as he dragged me away, to his car.

I started to talk, but Charlie held up his hand. He locked the doors and he drove out of the city. In Ohio, Charlie stopped at a rehabilitation facility. He looked at me, shame, anger and betrayal in his eyes. "You'll clean up and when you're clean, you can come home. If don't clean up, don't change your ways, you don't come home. You're cut off. Our daughter deserves better than a junkie, whore mother who only thinks of herself, Renee."

"I'm not a whore," I spat.

"I would beg to disagree. A friend of mine who works in the NYPD processed your paperwork and called me," Charlie said coldly. "This place is the best. You can dry out; get the help you need and then be a mother to our baby girl."

I sighed and allowed myself to be admitted into the rehab facility. I went through detox and nearly died from the DTs. I was also treated for several STDs. Unfortunately, the infections had rendered me infertile because I'd waited too long to get treatment. By Isabella's first birthday, I was released and had reaffirmed my commitment to Charlie.

Or so he thought …

I was just more discreet when it came to my choices. I stopped using drugs, but I started a 'job'. When Isabella was at daycare, I would go to work.

That worked for a couple of years. By the time Isabella was six, Charlie had had enough. He showed me pictures of my indiscretions, proof of my infidelity. With those pictures, he also handed me divorce papers, asking for full custody of Isabella.

I was kicked out of my home.

It was my own doing because I didn't know how cope with real life.

I should have been heartbroken, but I couldn't find it in me to care. I was free of that brat. I may have given birth to her, but I didn't love her like a mother should. Something was disconnected from me. I didn't care, to be honest. The only I cared about was my next orgasm. And once I was free of Charlie, my next high.

I fell into bed with a property developer in New York when he was in Chicago for some business conference. I moved in with him and I didn't fight Charlie on anything, except for his life insurance policy. He had a multi-million-dollar policy and I wanted a piece of that pie. When the divorce was final, the judge was adamant on giving me visitation. She felt that a mother should have a more active role in their children's world. Charlie got primary custody, while I was stuck with having my brat every other weekend.

Ten years passed and I remarried, twice. Once to that property developer, who died a few years after our wedding. He died in a car accident. Somebody cut his brake lines. An unsatisfied customer, it would seem. Or, that's what the police determined.

But, not the truth.

Oops.

My inheritance from my second husband's death paid for a complete overhaul of my body: boob job, Botox, lip injections, liposuction and a rhinoplasty. I needed to look my best to land another rich, handsome man.

The richer, the better.

My third marriage was to Phil Dwyer, whom I found after Charlie's death and failure to gain my hands on my first ex-husband's life insurance. He'd left his money to our daughter and his good-for-nothing little brother, Jimmy. Phil was a baseball player in Jacksonville (I'd finally made it to the Sunshine State) and worth well over a hundred million dollars with his contract, endorsements and bonuses. I had him snowed.

Or so I thought.

After five years of wedded 'bliss', I was cut off and thrown out of Phil's home. Our marriage was annulled. I packed up my shit and drove from Jacksonville, back to Chicago. By divine providence, I met up with Maas after I'd been thrown out of Edward Cullen's office.

Now, I was in another difficult spot. I was out of money. Maas was an asshole. A shady asshole with a nasty temper and a killer right hook. He an abusive man, taking out his anger on me, but I needed him. I needed him to make my daughter pay for what she did to me.

She was born, ruining my body.

Charlie found the pregnancy test and I had to fake being happy about having his child when in reality I didn't want to have children. At. All. So, I was saddled with a brat.

A fucking, sniveling, snot-nosed bitch who was my ex-husband's pride and joy.

And as an adult, Isabella was a strong-willed woman. I expected her to be a shrinking violet, but in reality, she was ferocious. She wouldn't back down when it came to each attack I threw at her. She was stubborn, too. When she looked at me, she barely concealed her disdain for me. At first, she had Jimmy by her side and his hatred of me was well-known. When she got older, she would face me and I'd throw out shit about her, but she'd never back down.

Tossing down the tweezers, I stripped off my ruined nightie and stepped into the shower. I needed to scrub off the blood, relax and calm down. I knew that Maas would not be back. Whenever he lost his temper, he'd drive around or end up at a hotel. It would give me time to devise a plan for bringing down my daughter.

xx MOTM:FFF xx

A couple of days had passed. Maas was working and avoiding in coming back to his condo. I just looked at the photos I'd taken of Isabella, Edward and my grandchild, who I learned was named after my ex-husband. I also stalked her Facebook and Instagram, wanting to see more about her life.

Despite my hatred of my biological daughter, she had grown up to be an exquisite woman. She looked like a clone of my ex-husband, minus the mustache. She was slender, with curves and from what I could tell, in amazing shape. I envied her for her life. She was loved and cherished, by her father, her uncle and now, her husband. I was used and abused by every single man in my life, including Charlie.

I hated her.

There had to be a way to make her see and understand the strife she caused me.

She had to pay.

My phone rang from my purse. I got up and padded to the foyer, where an outline of my body was still imprinted onto the drywall. Peter had really shoved me hard. I picked up my phone, a small burner cell I'd purchased. One of my few friends from my time in Chicago was calling me. "Hey, Kat," I said.

"You said wanted to know if I saw your man or if I saw that girl," Kat replied, her voice garbled from her thick Russian accent. "I saw both."

"Where?" I asked.

"Your man was driving past in his car and had been for the past few days. I assume he was looking for you," Kat cackled. "He looked like shit, to be honest. Full beard and didn't look like he slept in days."

"Kat," I sighed. "What about the girl?"

"She went into a doctor's office with a pregnant elf," Kat snorted. "And some huge guy. They just went in."

"Where?" I asked.

"A doctor's office near Northwestern," Kat replied. "Maybe the girl is sick and is dying."

"Unlikely," I deadpanned. "I'll be there. Text me the address." Hanging up the phone, I put on a pair of jeans, an oversized sweatshirt, Cubs baseball hat and sunglasses to hide the black eye. I caught a cab, driving to the address Kat sent me. She was sitting outside, holding a cup of coffee. Her brittle blonde hair was curled and her face was plastered with makeup. "Are they still in there?"

"I did some poking around," she said, handing me the coffee. "Some fancy obstetrician is in there and the pregnant elf is a patient. I followed them inside and asked if the doc had any availability to give me a Depo shot." Kat handed me a card. "Fifth floor, suite 504. The doctor's name is Myerson."

I nodded and walked across the street into the medical building. I rode up to the fifth floor and sat down in the corner, avoiding the receptionist. I had a clear view of the entrance to the examination rooms and to the exit, as well. I picked up a magazine and flipped through it. Forty-five minutes later, my offspring walked out, holding the door open for a very pregnant woman.

"Alice, you need to take it easy. Being a doctor, you should know this!" she hissed to the pregnant woman. "You're going to be put on bed rest if you keep this up!"

"I can't exactly stop being a doctor to …" Alice hissed back, glowering at Isabella. She looked around, shaking her head. "I need to find someone who can take over for me. Then, I'll step back." She turned to the receptionist and quietly made her appointment.

I stared at my daughter. She was tapping on her cell phone, seemingly texting someone. I frowned, curious as to where her child was.

"Jake is pulling up to the entrance," Isabella said. "He got a phone call from Nessie. Charlie's got a slight fever."

"Is everything okay?" Alice asked, tucking a card into her purse.

"He's teething," Isabella replied. "He chomped down on Edward's finger, drawing blood."

"Your kid is a vampire," Alice snickered. "Come on. My baby is jonesing for some cheesecake. Do you think that Jake would be willing to make a stop at Cheesecake Factory?"

"Come on, Preggo," Isabella chided with a giggle and guided Alice out of the waiting room. I took a few breaths, following them out of the office. I lingered behind them as they prattled about the baby, trying to discern the gender of the baby. From what I could tell, the baby was being stubborn. The elevator opened and they got onto it. I slid on just as the doors were closing. I muttered my apology, but they were talking about planning Alice's baby shower and were not paying attention to me.

I snapped photos and listened to their conversation. They said nothing incriminating, but Isabella was concerned about Alice's condition. Her blood pressure was elevated and the doctor was pushing Alice to relax.

On the first floor, I saw a large Range Rover parked outside. I took a picture of it and made my way toward Kat. She was still waiting for me. I also took a photo of the license plate on the Range Rover.

"Did you learn anything new?" Kat asked me.

"No, but now I have this car's license plate," I said, gesturing behind me. "I can track it. Or have Peter track it."

"Renee, are you sure you want to use Peter?" Kat pressed, pursing her lips. "He's an asshole."

"He's an asshole, yes," I shrugged. "It's nothing I didn't deserve, Kat."

"That's bullshit, Renee!" Kat spat. She took off my sunglasses and scowled at my black eye. "No one deserves this. Even me and I'm a whore."

"So am I," I sneered back. "That's all I'm good for, Kat." I covered my face with the sunglasses. "I appreciate your help, Kat. Truly."

"Then come stay with me. It's safer than with Peter. I won't beat the shit out of you, Renee," Kat said, shaking her head. "It's a shit apartment, but …"

"Thank you, Kat. I'm good where I'm at," I said sharply and hugging her tightly.

"You may be, but to be honest, I'm not. However, it's your life," Kat shrugged. "Your choice, Renee. You have my number and if you need to, my couch is available to you."

She gave me a brief hug before scuttling away. I turned to watch as the Range Rover drove away from the curb. I was disappointed because I hadn't heard anything new about my daughter or her husband. However, seeing her entitled, spoiled ass have protection and an overpriced SUV, proved to me that she needed to be dropped down a few pegs.

But how?

She was too protected. The walking muscle was attached to her hip or she was with her husband. Perhaps, I could find a connection with the grandchild. Steal him away. Unfortunately, I did not want to deal with an infant. I barely handled Isabella as a baby. Charlie handled her as a baby. I changed one diaper, maybe two.

Regardless, I had to figure out a way to make her pay. The rug rat was the key to making my daughter suffer and I wanted her suffering was number on my list of priorities.

My life has been shit.

It's Isabella's turn.

And this supposed plan according to Maas? Fuck him. Fuck his plan. Now, I want things to go according my mother fucking plan. Consequences, be damned. Time to call in some chits.

My bitch of a daughter was going down.

A/N: Maas is a piece of shit, as is Renee. So, yeah … pictures are on my blog. You can find a link for that on my profile. I'm also on Facebook: Tufano79's Twilight Fanfiction Appreciation. Twitter, too: tufano79.

Up next will be a jump in time … probably leading up to Uncle Jimmy's wedding, Alice's baby shower, some Mobward being Mobward and drama with Maas. Thank you for reading and I'll see you in a couple of weeks!