Warning: Some mild language. Rated T.

A/N: Thank you for your honest feedback on the initial first chapter. I know it's different then normally in the show…and I am just as interested as you all where I will take it…LOL

Mojotom – I will say this. I am still going to do my best to keep their personalities the same. In this story…you will see throughout, that Lexie is still not confident within herself or her abilities. As far as the first meeting…it's Mark only that thinks she's so beautiful. Kind of…"love at first sight". In my vision of this…Lexie is going to be attracted not only to his looks, but his confidence and power since she is so insecure about herself. You will see Mark is right off the bat drawn to her innocence based on how dark and tough his life is (or I hope that is how it comes across).

Chapter 2

Mark

"What the hell is going on here?" Mark's guttural voice demanded, as he stepped into his private club.

Instead of everyone in his organization actually working, they were standing around in a circle, pushing back a forth a young woman who couldn't be more than twenty, like she was a piece of meat. Some of the men were winking, while others were making lewd gestures as they grabbed their crotches, right in front of the scared woman.

His knuckles itched happily wanting to give every last one of his men a beating himself, but right now he needed to know what the hell was happening in his club and why. Every man that was standing in the room turned in his direction at the sound of his voice and question.

"Shit, Sloan." One of the closest of his men next to him whispered.

The room had become eerily quiet as Mark looked from one end of the group to the other. One of his associates—and recent pain in his ass—Ronin Hawkins—was the only one to step forward to address him. Mark's eyes raked back over the two men that were still holding the young terrified woman who had looked like she had seen better days.

"Ronin, explain," Mark's strong, deep, voice commanded.

Ronin took a step forward, Mark's hands balling into fists at his side. He already knew without Ronin even needing to tell him what was happening, that Ronin was most likely at the helm for this decision. Apparently, he hadn't heeded is warning the last time Mark had told him no. Ronin was too eager to want to work his way up the ranks, continuously burning every last bridge he was being given. Mark wasn't sure that this time, he would forgive so easily if what he thought was happening was in fact happening.

"A business deal, boss. Don't worry, I have everything under control here. She'll be gone by morning," Ronin replied, automatically.

Mark cocked his head to the side. "Under control?"

Ronin shifted his posture defensively, looking back at him briefly before shrugging his shoulders back at him. "Had a minor issue. Nothing I couldn't take care of, sir."

Mark snorted, handing the briefcase he had been holding to his Lieutenant— brother and his confidant—Derek Shepherd. Derek stood at his side, ready to spring into action and quickly see to any order that he gave. "Why is she here? What are you planning on doing with her?" he asked.

"She's being sold," came Ronin's callous and cold response.

It took everything inside of Mark not to flinch at Ronin's words, even though he had already suspected that piece of information. He frowned disapprovingly, before he masked his features again.

"Upstairs in my office, right now!" Mark snapped.

Ronin took another step forward, clearing his throat. "Boss, I thought—"

"That's just it. You didn't think, Ronin!" Mark was in his associates face within a split second. "You aren't the boss around here. You don't get to make the decisions. I do," he said forcefully.

"I—"

"Upstairs in my office," he interjected, the warning in his voice telling him not to speak another word. "The rest of you, get back to your jobs." He turned to Derek and said, "Bring the girl with you and come along with us."

Mark took pride in the business he had built for himself and the community that he swore to defend under his protection. His club and center of his business was a modern-chic club with honey oak wood floors all throughout the open space. Compared to the dingy cement floors in the private quarters below in his building, this area was so shinny and pristine. The thing he loved the most was the large sphere design in the celling of the venue that made up three-fourths of the place. It was still early enough in the day that the club wasn't yet opened for business.

As they made his way towards his office, he took in every feature he handpicked from the royal blue color to the silver modern light fixtures around the club. He loved how the design made it feel as if his guests were looking up at the night's sky. His seating area was arranged in leather "U" shaped couches placed sparingly throughout, still leaving tons of room for potential dancing. The outer side of the walls at the club were lined with couches with the words "reserved" on the tables.

He started making his way towards the middle of the club, until he reached two grand stair cases; one to the left, and one to the right, with cream color porcelain tile. Red ropes normally blocked the entrance to the stair cases for when the club was opened, to keep unwanted guests from being able to just go up here when they pleased.

When he reached the white shinny door with a code box on the outside of his office, he placed his handprint on the box before it beeped with a green light flashing. The locking mechanism unclicked, and he pushed the door open, as the rest of his men stepped through behind him. He made sure that his office was just as nice as the club was downstairs, with matching floors and furniture since he conducted most of his business here.

Once Mark reached his desk, he turned taking the briefcase back from Derek, who had deposited the frightened looking woman in the chair towards the front of his office. Though she was still scared, she seemed less and less likely to break down in tears like she had before. It made him want to hurt Ronin that much more.

"Miss, please, there is no reason for you to be afraid of me," Mark said, his tone softening, making sure his manners were on full display after he had guessed how awful she had been treated under Ronin's care.

The young woman visibly relaxed in the chair, Derek standing next to her knowing things were about to get tense now that he was going to turn the full weight of his anger onto Ronin.

Mark turned his sights towards Ronin. He came from behind his desk and beckoned him with his finger until he stood directly in front of him. "I thought I made it perfectly clear the last time we had this conversation that I wasn't interested in this kind of trafficking."

Ronin went pale. "I understand you were hesitant. Boss, you need to know the money we can make. We already control the territory, it's time we capitalize on this," he answered, gesturing to the woman sitting behind him in the chair.

Mark jabbed him in the stomach, Ronin's hands flying to his gut until he bent over right in front of him. He grabbed the collar of Ronin's shirt, slamming the side of his face directly onto his desk. Ronin's cockiness fled him instantly, wincing, groaning, and bug-eyed, at the possibility of what he was going to do to him. In their line of work, fear was the only thing that checked those within their organization, to ensure no one stepped out of line. Ever.

"You don't control anything," he replied, applying pressure when his elbow rested on his upper shoulder, putting more of his weight on top of him. He lowered his voice further, his tone turning very cold. "I know your eager to move up around here Ronin, but taking it upon yourself to make decisions without my order, and trying to run your own operations will only win you a ticket to a bullet straight to the head."

"Boss, I mean no disrespect," he stammered. "You just need to understand—"

"So, help me god, if you tell me one more time what I need to understand Ronin, you will be sorry," he reminded him.

Ronin's mouth snapped shut at the ominous threat. Mark wasn't the kind of boss that didn't keep his word once he had spoken. He could feel the thick tension in the room, so thick he could cut it with a knife.

"Boss—"

"Shut up," he ordered, yanking him up and shoving him against the wall.

Mark walked up to him, once again using his elbow to keep him immobile. He reached behind his back producing a gun from his belt. He brandished the weapon near his face, his eyes thunderous as he let the cold metal just graze his cheek. Ronin's eyes looked down at the at the weapon, visibly concerned now.

"Ronin do you know why I earned the nickname I have?" he asked, his voice alarmingly reserved.

Ronin swallowed, knowing better then to actually answer the rhetorical question. Even the idiot was smart enough to know that he had screwed up royally, and if he wanted to continue breathing at this point, not say anything further to piss him off.

"They don't just call me The Protector because of what I do for our community, but the fact that one pull of the trigger from me is a lethal death shot. Not just with a gun, but also my ability to be dead on with my business decisions. Look around you, Ronin. I built this empire. I am the king around here. All the decisions I make are to ensure we stay off the radar from the feds. I don't need to remind you how brazen they have become with trying to bring down all the crime families. I control this city. I control, not you. Do you get that?"

Ronin nodded mutely.

"Good." He removed his hand from the gun, putting the weapon back behind his belt. He stepped back from him, but Ronin made no move to peel himself off his office wall. "Let me make myself perfectly clear. This is the last time; I will remind you. We are not in the business, or will we ever be in the business of human trafficking. Understand me?"

Ronin again nodded mutely.

"How much did you pay for her?"

"Double," came his reply.

Mark growled, shaking his head the anger returning. "You paid double?"

Ronin flinched. "I swear boss, I am going to get triple for her, for you. You'll make three times what I paid for her."

"That's not going to happen," Mark told him. "This girl is now under my protection. You lay a finger on her, and I swear to god I will cut you to pieces and feed you to the dogs. Any profits you would have gotten from our last cut you now forfeit for the next three months. If I ever find out that you so much as think about trying to fucking traffic another woman through my operation, and I will make torture look like child's play. Do you understand me?"

Ronin's nostrils flared, but he was smart enough to nod his head submissively, take his punishment and go and lick his wounds once he was dismissed from his sight.

"Thank you, Mr. Sloan," Ronin said, having enough sense to shrink away from him and his anger.

"Leave my sight," Mark dismissed.

Ronin turned, Mark catching his head turning towards the direction of girl he had smuggled away from who knew where. Derek straightened blocking Ronin's ability to look at the girl.

"Ronin?" He stopped, and turned back towards Mark. "The girl is now under my care and protection. Best make sure everyone understands that."

Ronin didn't say another word as he left the office and slammed the door behind him.

Mark closed his eyes letting the anger slowly dissipate from him, before he approached the young woman. He could only guess how scared she was. She had been taken without consent, informed in a roundabout way that she was going to be sold in a sex trafficking ring, and now witness to him practically threating all kinds of awful ways to murder someone.

"Derek," Mark said, looking up his second in command. "Go and call our contact."

Derek nodded, and left the room. There wasn't anyone in the world that Mark loved and trusted more than his best friend, brother, and confident. With Derek as his second in command, he knew he always had someone watching his back and ensuring what they had built was running smoothly.

"Are you alright?" Mark asked the young woman, who's shoulders were slumped, dried streams of tears on her cheeks.

"F—fine," she replied.

Mark removed his jacket, placing it behind his desk, rolling up his sleeves, and sitting in his chair. He wanted to look as relaxed as possible, so the girl didn't feel so intimidated.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Clara," she answered automatically.

"Clara," he repeated letting it roll off his tongue.

She was a pretty young thing, and no doubt, had he been interested in human trafficking or a monster like some of his other crime bosses—who had no honor whatsoever—she would fit the bill. He knew how ridiculous that sounded when their entire operation was funded on illegal activity, but he was proud that the power he had commanded, the honor and respect he was given, didn't come from hurting or treating woman other than the precious creatures they were.

He was the Protector for a reason. He made his business through protection racketing. Of course, there were times he would capitalize when other operations would fall and he would take over their rackets. He had been smart building his business by standing in the background, watching from the shadows, and knowing when to make a move.

He was envied, respected, hungry, and the smartest of all his rivals, which was why he was the most powerful in the entire city and state. Soon, he would expand into the east coast and would then be unstoppable. He would no longer need to settle for a piece, but the whole shebang. Maybe then, the Italians, Irish, Russians, Chinese and the Japanese would all stop trying to outdo the other based on their ethnicity alone.

"Did…did you mean what you said earlier?" she asked, her voice so small it made his stomach clench.

"I did," he confirmed.

"And…and you weren't lying about being under your protection. Am…am I going to have too…"

"No. No!" Mark answered quickly, sitting up straighter. "I would never condone…I won't ever allow anything like that to happen," he assured.

Her questioning eyes met his, as he dipped his head with a nod in confirmation at the promise, he essentially had just uttered to her. He might be a lot of things. He might have to make difficult decisions and do a lot of awful things, but forcing a woman against her will, or treating her like some kind of slave would never be something he would do—or allow under his operation.

Mark had learned from an early age that there was one rule being in this business. There were no personal attachments. Even his men didn't know the extent of his personal ties with his second in command. If they knew that Derek was like a brother to him, that would be used against him—to hurt him somehow.

It was the major reason he had worked his way to power as quickly as he did. No attachments meant nothing getting in his way. No weaknesses, no power plays, no distractions to keep him from getting to the top of the criminal underworld.

When he had lost his mother at an early age—witnessed her life getting snuffed right in front of his eyes, because of a shady business deal on his father's behalf—he understood that things like attachments and loving people only opened himself up to the possibility of hurt and heartache.

His bastard of a father couldn't even bother to stick around. The men killing his father would have been the easy way out. No, the punishment was to kill his mother, watch her suffer by a ruthless killer—leaving his father and him alive so they could relive the moment over and over again—as a form of personal torture for as long as he remained alive.

"Are you really going to—to let me go?" she asked.

"Yes," he replied.

The door to his office opened, and Derek came back in with the contact he requested. The girl looked up to the man who was dressed just as impeccably as the rest of them, a warm smile greeting them.

"Mr. Sloan, I was told you need my services," the man said.

"Preston, meet Clara. I need you to ensure that she has safe passage wherever it is that she wants to go. A new identity and cash as well," Mark said.

Clara's hopeful eyes looked up at him. "Are you serious?"

Mark nodded. "Preston here will take good care of you. I mean it. Anywhere you want to go. Anything you need. I only have two conditions: one—you need to leave Seattle and you are not to return, and two—you never speak a word of what happened here today to anyone," he said.

She stood abruptly. "It's a deal, Mr. Sloan. Thank you. Thank you."

"Come along, Miss Clara," Preston beckoned, both of them turning to leave his office.

Clara turned back just before she walked out of his office. "Thank you, Mr. Sloan. I will never forget your kindness," she said.

He grunted, and nodded. It wasn't good business for anyone to think he was weak or that there was any kindness in this business, but the girl clearly hadn't had an easy life from what he could see. She would go off and never step foot in Seattle again, having a chance at a happy and safer life that she deserved.

"Good-bye, Clara," he said gruffly.

When the door shut behind her, only Derek and him remained. "Are you still planning on meeting with the Russians tonight?" Derek asked.

Mark leaned back in his chair, his palm rubbing his beard. "I don't really have a choice. There's talk about wanting to make a play for power, and I need to make sure anyone thinking of doing anything drastic better change their mind," he said.

"I don't trust Sergei Anatoly," Derek commented.

Mark didn't either. Sergei was the head of the Russian gang, taking over for his late father. His father, Yuri Anatoly, had always been happy with his piece of the share, but now that Sergei had taken over, he wanted a monopoly that not only controlled Seattle, but expanded into larger cities such as New York. Mark tolerated Sergei for now, but the young Russian's knee-jerk reactions on thirst for power worried him that it could very well start a war between the other crime organizations.

"Sometimes, we must housebreak our new friends before there can be mutual understanding," Mark noted.

Derek crossed his arms over his chest. "I don't like the fact that he wants to meet with you alone. He's shady, and even you have to admit the warnings of the request."

Mark stood from his chair, grabbing his suit jacket, putting his arms through and lifting over his muscular shoulders. "I am well aware of their disapproval of my decision to meet with Sergei per his demands." He smirked at his best friend. "Besides Derek, I never really am alone."

"I won't be too far," Derek assured.

Mark stopped, and patted him on the shoulder. "I know, my friend. Make sure things are air tight here, especially after the stunt that Ronin pulled today," he ordered, his voice tight again with anger thinking back to Ronin's disobedience and direction he wanted to take his crime organization.

"Understood, boss. Be careful," Derek said, before he left the office.

Outside, the sky had turned a color of a darker slate. Mark pulled his phone from his pocket already having texted his driver, Paul, to meet him out front by the time he made his way from his office to the front of his club.

"Good evening, Mr. Sloan," Paul greeted opening the back door for him.

Mark dipped his head, acknowledging his long-time driver. Paul was a good man, and had been with him for years. He was older, in his mid-sixties, never shy in giving Mark the honest truth on anything he asked his opinion on. Mark caught Paul's glance in the review mirror every couple of seconds.

"Let me guess, you're in agreement with Derek that meeting Sergei alone is a bad idea," Mark guessed.

"The Russian is one crazy son of a bitch," Paul answered.

"He needs to be checked," he said.

Paul's brow arched. "Are we expecting a war, sir?"

He exhaled, looking out the window, a wispy rain starting to fall from the sky. It was matching the mood of his day. "Not if I can help it, Paul."

The remainder of their ten-minute ride to the docks—because of course it would be cliché to meet at the harbor for this private meeting—before his black SUV pulled into the back of the warehouse loading area. Paul turned in the seat, offering him a black umbrella, which Mark gladly took.

"Good luck, sir."

Mark nodded, opening the back of the door, to open his umbrella before he stepped out onto the concreate, fanning his black overcoat to shield him from the frigid rain that was starting to come down harder as the wind started to pick up. He shut the SUV door, and made his way out towards the dock of the harbor where Sergei would be waiting for him.

Mark was meticulous about being on time for meetings and appointments. As the head over all the crime organizations in Seattle, he made it known it was something to be said to keep his word when it came to the other gangs. However, this was his first play in making sure the Sergei Anatoly understood who really was the one that called the shots around here.

As Mark suspected, as he walked onto the dock, Sergei Anatoly was already there in similar attire of a suit, trench coat, and umbrella. Mark took his time surveying his surroundings. He didn't trust the thirsty Russian—no pun intended—to not have brought his own backup and have them waiting in the wings.

"Mark Sloan," Sergei said, his back to him as he started to approach.

Mark hadn't made his steps quiet as he approached the man. Sergei turned just as he reached the last few steps closing the distance between them. "Sergei Anatoly," he greeted.

Sergei held out his palm, which Mark accepted. Sergei was a spitting image of his father, dark black hair, paler complexion, and hardened features. With the exception that Sergei was about seven years younger than Mark himself, and lacked the pudgy belly like his father Yuri Anatoly sported in his final years, that was where the differences ended.

"I appreciate you taking the time to meet with me," Sergei said, his English broken and heavily accented.

Yuri Anatoly ran his operations in the United States, while he kept his son Sergei back in Russia to oversee operations there. Yuri had always told Mark that his son had been eager to come to the United States to take over the U.S. operation, but his hot headedness seemed to get him in more trouble than Yuri even wanted to deal with.

As Yuri got sicker with his cancer, he had no choice but to bring in his only son to keep the gang in the family. Out of all the gangs, Mark had the most respect for Yuri, since he had been the only other crime family that refused to enter into human trafficking. While it was a common practice in Russia, it was not something Yuri wanted for his organization. Key word—had.

Sergei had other ideas. As Mark stared at his Russian adversary, he couldn't help but correlate some of his business aspirations and thought process was similar to Ronin's. It cemented Mark's earlier warning to Ronin that there were no more chances after this if he had screwed up. That was going to be the same message he would deliver to Sergei tonight.

"I respected your father greatly," Mark said in response.

There was a twitch to Sergei's cheek, his eyes hardening. If he didn't know any better, he could sense the relationship between son and late father had been a rather tumultuous one. Yuri feeling, he was too immature, and Sergei thinking his old man was too old school for today's crime organization.

Sergei gripped his umbrella tighter. "My father had a hard time comprehending forward thinking."

"Your father was good and loyal to his people and his organization. He understood the order of things, and more important the respect it deserved," Mark replied.

Sergei's eyes narrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He could see the red creeping underneath the collar of the Russian's shirt, slowly working its way up his neck. No doubt the temper that Yuri had warned about long ago.

"It means, I appreciate that you have aspirations for your organization. Both those aspirations come with time, and also through me. This is my city, Sergei. I don't take well to those that want to bypass the way things are done." Mark took a step closer, his voice taking that dangerously low warning again. "And I don't take well to hearing rumors about overseeing leadership to claim rackets that aren't owed."

Sergei snorted. "We're in the illegal crime activity business, we don't wait for what's owed, we take what we want," he rebutted.

He pursed his lips. "Is that a direct threat, Mr. Anatoly?"

Sergei shot him a predatory smile not sure if his patronizing tone was meant on purpose to rile him up into making an irrational decision that would give him the reason to bring about a war. What Sergei didn't know, was that he wasn't just taking on the Italian's or the Irish, he was coming directly at the head of the beast—and he wasn't so easy to bring down.

Sergei broke the eye contact, turning to look back out at the water over the harbor. His arm holding the umbrella to shield him from the rain resting on the wooden dock.

"You know, my father used to tell me all the time about respect and honor, and good business. It's why our organization never amounted to anything bigger. Even when I blossomed our business in Russia, he still couldn't be proud of what I helped built," he said bitterly.

"Your father wasn't interested in human trafficking and neither am I. Not in my city," Mark made clear.

Sergei's cheek twitched again, his bottom lip jetting outwards. "As I said, no forward thinking."

"Let me make myself perfectly clear here, Mr. Anatoly," Mark said, his tone turning harsh and clipped. "If I ever hear another rumor coming out of your organization threatening a hit on me or my empire, or that you even blink the wrong way when it comes to bringing anything in my city without my knowledge, you will be on a plane ticket back to Russia—in the luggage compartment."

Sergei laughed, making Mark grip his own umbrella until his knuckles turned white. "Big talk, Sloan, when you are out here all alone," he said.

He hardened his gaze. "Who said I honored your wishes by coming alone?"

The corners of Sergei's lips turned upwards. "My guys tailed you from your club. I know you don't have help coming for you."

"Then you're a bigger idiot then I thought you were," he replied.

Mark had already counted the men that had come out from behind the crates after Sergei put two of his fingers in his mouth and let out a loud whistle. His smirk turned into a full-on cocky grin.

"I think it's time that Seattle had a new leader," Sergei commented.

Mark licked his lips. "I think you better think wisely before you move forward with what you think your about to do," he warned.

Sergei shrugged. "I'm more than fine with my decision. After all, isn't leadership all about having to make the tough decisions," he said more of a statement then a question.

Sergei looked past him, his arrogance growing when he hadn't called for any help of his own. It was part of his strategy. He knew what he was walking into tonight. He knew there was a possibility that things might go this way. That he might even have to endure a little pain and bloodshed.

Sergei was right about something else. Leadership meant that sometimes you had to make the toughest calls and endure the worse kind of situations to protect the operation and those that looked up to you for guidance. Sergei Anatoly wasn't just a threat to him, but to all of the crime organizations in Seattle, and he needed to be dealt with.

"I'll give you one more chance to think about what you are about to do. There is no turning back from this," Mark again warned.

"I've thought about it," Sergei said. "Now, undress to your boxers," he ordered.

He narrowed his eyes. "You don't get to give me orders."

Two of Anatoly's men flanked either side of him, their weapons aimed at his head. "Mr. Anatoly gave you an order," one of the two men threatened.

Mark didn't even flinch at the cold barrel against him. The other man reached behind his back and snatched his hand gun from his belt, tossing it over to Sergei.

"I've got bigger plans for you, Sloan, but if you would rather, I just put a bullet in your head now and throw your body in the harbor, then by all means, don't strip to your boxers," Sergei said.

Mark calculated his options. He didn't have men here like Sergei brought with him, because he needed Sergei's guard down. The idiot wouldn't reveal his entire plan if he had any indication that he wasn't going to make good on his end of the bargain to come alone.

That's where Mark was smarter than him. He had given Paul, his driver, explicated instructions that if he wasn't back in ten minutes to leave fast—knowing Sergei would have no hesitation to kill him and his only means of escape—and do what he had always been told to do. Warn Derek what was about to happen.

Mark's eyes never left Sergei's as he dropped his umbrella to the side of him and slowly started to undress in front of them. Starting with his trench coat, followed by his suit jacket. He paused when he got to his cuff links, because there was his contingency plan.

His cuff links were not only cuff links—designed and created by one of the best tech geeks in all of Seattle—but also a tracking device and a recording device. Sergei Anatoly just confessed his entire attempted murder plan that he had planned on sharing with the rest of the mob leaders, but just gave Mark the opportunity to activate his tracking method so Derek could track them back to this spot. As long as he could stall Sergei for a little longer, his own protection wouldn't be too far behind.

He made it seem he was carefully and tactfully removing his clothes like they were prized possessions, activating his tracker before removing his links, shoes, socks, shirt, and pants—leaving him standing in his single black pair of boxers.

The cold rain pummeled his skin, freezing him from the inside out. Still, he stood there, his eyes never leaving Sergei for a moment.

"Now, get in the car," Sergei ordered. When Mark made no move, Sergei nodded to the men next him. "Now."

The two men pushed him, making him grit his teeth. Mark was skilled in hand-to-hand combat and knew without a doubt he could take the two men next two him before they could even get a single shot off, but it wouldn't do any good considering there was ten other men that could take him down before he could disarm the rest.

He was playing the long game now. He just had to hope that his strategy wouldn't end up costing him his life.

A/N: Hang in there…next chapter will bring Mark and Lexie back together. Welcome your thoughts and feedback. Are you still with me?!

Also, since this is different from other Slexie stories I write...I will offer this. I will do a Q/A before each chapter. If you have a question and it doesn't potentially give a plot point away - ask it in your review and I will answer it in my Author's Note at the top before the next chapter! ;)