A/N: The Aye's have it. I hate to neglect one of my stories at the expense of the other, and my readers know that this story is burning the best and brightest right now. The cavalry has come to the rescue; however, Annie still has unfinished business…

[TRIGGER WARNINGS: This chapter begins with a very deep look within a highly-disturbed mind. Experts can't seem to agree on whether or not pedophilia is a mental illness or a sexual orientation, but I personally believe that pedophiles can never be rehabilitated. I don't care if they never molest again because I don't believe the desire ever fully goes away. I'm sickened by the idea that these monsters are allowed to move freely amongst other people based on some arbitrary prison sentence that most won't even have to completely serve depending on 'good behavior' discounts, which usually end far sooner than their victims can recover (if ever).

This chapter is also full of references to child abuse, child exploitation, child abuse, child molestation, child rape. These references may be quite disconcerting or provocative. Please skip this chapter if the events mentioned will cause you to relapse in some way. I recognize the lifelong effect that child abuse and child molestation can have on both the victims and their loved ones which is why I consider perpetrators of these types of crime the lowest of the low.

Annie also commits premeditated violence toward an abusive parent.]

SMPoV (Yes, I've given Steven Morton a point-of-view. He's filthy, disgusting and wicked, yet Carla has handed him complete dominion over herself and her daughter. There's really no way for the reader to know what goes on in his mind without it, and fully understand what Annie is up against and what finally causes her to snap. Carla is such a waste of space, I may not even give her perspective.)

Another long night at Stanton's, but it will be time well spent. I was shooting the breeze with Harry a couple weeks ago during my break when he let it slip that they were hiring at a local factory owned by his brother-in-law. Said they were having trouble getting workers because of the mandatory three-month long probation period for new hires. Seems they had a hard time filling certain timeslots, so new employees were forced to accept the worst shifts, often cutting into nights and weekends. Perfect. Need the bitch out of the house for my plans to come to fruition, so I quickly offered up Carla's name and few lies about her weak-ass employment history and she was hired on the spot, sight unseen.

Anastasia was trying to get jobs outside of the family home, trying to avoid me, I reckon. She doesn't need a job; I'm gonna take real good care of her. She's just jealous because I married her mother. I know she wants me. She's been throwing dirty looks at Carla behind her back, but she doesn't need to worry. I'm not gonna let a little thing like a marriage to Carla get in the way of our love.

Sometimes I fuck Carla just a li'l harder so Anastasia will know how good it'll be for her when I bust her tight li'l cunt wide open. I like banging that steel bedrail against the wall while I make Carla scream. Used-up bitch. Thought it'd be harder to get her outta Montesano, but the whore was positively gagging for it. She thought we'd be running off together into the fuckin' sunset or some shit, but I carefully broke her outta that nonsense. She's a mother; she needed her daughter, and I didn't want to break up their family. She ate that shit up like gravy.

It wasn't hard to set it up for us to get caught. I even parked my car out front a bunch a times, hoping good ole Mr. Steele would catch me if he dropped in for some afternoon delight. I was fucking Carla so hard that when the phone rang, the stupid bitch didn't bother to pick it up. Little did I know that my Annie would be the one to catch us. This is the source of her jealousy. She can't get over me fucking her mother. I was just doing what had to be done to guarantee that we could be together!

I had to think about Annie all the time I was inside Carla, or I wouldn't have even been able to get it up at all. Annie's tight ass and even tighter cunt fueled my constant fantasies. I couldn't wait to add photos to my spank bank. Her soft, velvety skin. Long, luscious hair. I used to step outside of the general store to watch her walking home from school. She was always with large groups of kids, so I couldn't talk to her. She never came to the store alone either, though it was an easy walking distance from her house.

She was on the far end of my type, being so old, but she still had developing assets just like I like them. And her whole persona screamed virginal. I'd had a couple girls a few years back who weren't even virgins though they were a couple years younger. You'd think a mother would look out for a daughter and at least make sure her kid wasn't already fucking at eleven or twelve. Someone else had gotten there before me and busted a couple open. Those relationships didn't last long. When I get a little girl, I expect them to be all mine.

Most of the groundwork is accomplished by placing a wedge between the mothers and daughters. I slowly make those broads feel like sexy women instead of the desperate cows they really are. I usually pony up a bit of money upfront to show 'em what a good provider I'll be. I even volunteer to help with homework or drop the kiddies at school to help shoulder some of their burden. Once I move in, I 'lose my job' and begin looking for a better one. In the meanwhile, the girlfriend might need to get a job to help ends meet, leaving me alone with her daughter. Then the real fun begins.

That Annie, though, she's got real spirit. She's never been alone with me in the car. She'd rather walk. And she's never needed help with homework. Or housework, not that Carla lifts a finger to help her, the lazy bitch. I made it a point to leave little presents for her, too. I've left huge wet spots in the bed and cum sprayed on the shower walls for her to clean up. I'm sure she's impressed by the load I've got to give her. I love it when she gets mad, stomping her pert little ass around the house and turning up her nose in disgust. I've even gone in Annie's room after Carla was knocked out and busted a couple loads in Ana's room while watching her sleep. It was never too early to begin marking my territory.

SMPoV END WARNING

APoV

This is Chris? Shut the front door! Wow! Forget about the cooties and the water! A girl could probably get pregnant just spending too much time in his general vicinity! Dang! Note to self: keep far, far away from this specimen of masculine perfection. Am I drooling? And what the heck was that electroshock crap? Is that normal? At first I thought it was him, but he appeared just as surprised as me, so no joy.

Does he think he's here to rescue me or something? That's so cute. Unnecessary, but nice all the same. Man, was Daddy pissed, but I couldn't have him come here to kill this waste of space and end up going to jail. I'd really be stuck with Carla then, and her judgement and intentions have left much to be desired.

Well, no matter; I basically have all my ducks in a row, and it was almost time for me to leave anyway. I wasn't going to let them force me into becoming a runaway. At least not without a darn good plan. From what I've read on the 'net, that's the surest route to being placed in a group home. Thanks, but no thanks, to that bridge to nowhere. I was going with my first plan. Stand my ground and make that witch wish she'd never been born before I take my leave.

It was Three's late day at the store, so Carla would be alone, more than sufficient time for me to set my plan in motion. Instead, I have these strangers in tow. I can't believe Daddy gave the huge dude the secret code. I hoped we'd never need it. Now, I owe Dad twenty bucks! That sucks real monkeyballs. Now, we'll have to change the code again. I can see a lot more drills in my future.

I got in the back seat of the car, behind huge dude, because Chris was driving. It would have been nice if the other guy gave me his real name, since the chance of his name actually being Matt is pretty darn miniscule. Daddy didn't even give me the guy's name which is proof of how discombobulated he must have been. I'm blaming Chris for this clusterfrack because he's driving. How the heck did he know exactly where I lived? I know he didn't just drop into Loserville, spin around three times and put his finger on a map. I will get to the bottom of this, or he will know my wrath.

Seated diagonally from him, I get a great view of his profile. I don't know. From his letters, I'd pegged him as older looking, but he could probably attend Texas High and pass for a senior. And by any criteria, he's hot! He's tall, he's built and I've never seen hair that color. How many shades of red, brown and gold are in that head of hair anyway?

Picking at one of my wristbands, I watch the houses go by. About two blocks from my house, I spot the little bit a scrub that I use as a marker.

"Stop the car!" I command, and Chris hits the breaks hard, causing me to jerk forward. Dork!

"We're not at your house," he said.

"No duh, Sherlock. I need to make a pit stop," I replied. They have no clue how much they've messed up the schedule. Muttering to myself, I pull my hair out of my face. They must've seen the bruising, so my little disguise was no longer needed. I quickly plait my hair in a sleek French braid, using the headband as a hair tie. Chris was looking at me strangely in the rearview mirror. I could feel his eyes on me. Good thing it wasn't like when Three leers at me, or we would have words.

Getting out of the car, I make my way over to a large grouping of shrubbery, taking care to avoid the poison ivy present. Using my hands, I dig out the bag I buried almost as soon as we moved here. I'd been collecting things for the great prison break. Shaking off most of the debris, I throw the bag over my shoulder and leave out the way I came, only to confronted by two obviously confused men.

"What's that?" asked Chris.

"Um, last time I checked, it was a backpack; some might call it a rucksack?" I replied. I really didn't have time for this. I'd expected better from my partner-in-crime. Taking my knives out of the bag centered me. I always felt somewhat naked without them nearby. The paperwork and photos I'd gathered for just a day such as this were in their document covers, protected in a couple extra-large Ziploc bags. A pencil pouch containing nothing but tacks, a CD case and a first aid kit made up the rest of the contents. My boots and weighted gloves were there, too. I donned them immediately. I wish I had my real go-bag, but this'll do in a pinch. It's clobberin' time.

"Okay, I'm ready to go home now," I stated.

"Yes'm, Miss Daisy," Chris said sarcastically, tipping an imaginary hat while proceeding to my house. The men kept exchanging glances with one another as if having a silent conversation. I wanted to bust up this bromance, so I cleared my throat and two sets of eyes focused, laser-sharp, on me.

"I don't generally invite people into my home that I don't know, so a name would be great," I began, looking at 'Matt' grimly.

"My name is Taylor, Annie. Jason Taylor."

"Thank you, Taylor. Can you stop two houses away from where I live and wait in the car 'til the coast is clear?" I asked.

"No problem. How will we know when the coast is clear?" Chris asked.

"You'll know; I'll leave the door open for you," I said with a wink. The car soon arrived at our destination, and I made to hop out of the car when a warm hand grabbed my wrist sending that weird shock through my body again. I looked up as the most piercing, gray eyes pinned me to my seat.

"Um, since we're introducing ourselves," he began uncomfortably, "My real name is Christian Trevelyan Grey."

"So can I still call you Chris?" I asked shortly.

"Yes, I'm sorry I didn't give you my real name, but I was protecting myself. I'm sorry I lied to you," he said earnestly.

"Have you lied about anything else?" I inquired frostily. Is there a limit to the crap sandwich I'm expected to consume today? I wish I would've known; I'd have brought an appetite.

"I may technically work for a communications firm, but I'm the owner," he said.

That wasn't too bad. It explained a lot, though. I tried to be really angry with him, but for some reason I couldn't which made me feel really peevish.

"We're going to have words, Christian," I stated brattily, turning my nose up at my 'friend?' before I left the car. I walked to my house briskly, walking off the frustration this week has brought. When I get to my door, I bang my weighted fist against it, pressing my body flush to the door while covering the peephole with my finger. The witch most likely won't look, but there's always a first time.

She doesn't realize it's me, because I normally take pains to walk slower than everyone else, trailing far behind so I can think and exchange items from my secret cache. I hear her coming toward the door and as soon as she makes to open the door a crack with her head sticking out, I rear back, taking my booted foot, kicking the door wide open, sending her body flying from the impact. Her butt lands on the wood floor with a satisfying thud. I love it when a plan comes together!

She's panicked and disoriented, exactly where I want her…for now.

I hear footsteps and the men enter the room warily, processing the scene of me towering over my mother, booted foot poised to stomp her if as much as twitches. She should've known I would come for her when I found out what she has done.

"Have a seat, gentlemen. Take a load off," I say, motioning to the threadbare couch. "Can I get you fellas something to drink?" I ask in my best Suzy Homemaker voice. "Carla would offer, but she's somewhat indisposed," I add in a stage whisper. They're looking at me like I'm sort of dangerous exotic animal, and they're sort of right. She could drive the Pope to drink.

I grab one of the chairs from the kitchenette and carry it back to the living room when the guys are still sitting there, most likely in shock. I am shocking, I guess. I'm small, smart and bookish, and people try me because of these things. But I'm also strong, so I usually put them on their collective butts so they don't do it again. It's always the quiet ones.

Carla had fallen unconscious, thankfully. Less work. I unravel both of my 'friendship bangles'. Very few people realize that they aren't true friendship bracelets. They're each composed of about seven feet of paracord woven in various patterns. I even wear a paracord belt. Never know when you might have to tie something up or down.

I quickly bind Carla's wrists and ankles, leaving the cord connecting both. I sit on the floor and twist the rope again, making a chain stitch, basically hog-tying her. When I look up, Taylor's mouth is hanging open and Chris is staring at me with a very strange look. Awe, maybe? When he sees me looking at him, he drops his eyes and adjusts his collar.

"Sure you're not thirsty? I made sweet tea this morning," I said, prompting them to speak.

"Yes, thank you," says Chris. I think Taylor might be afraid I'll poison them. No worries. That wouldn't be hospitable. Besides, if I ever kill someone, they'll live at least long enough for them to realize who's done it and why. Returning from the kitchen with two large glasses of iced sweet tea with condensation forming, I place one before Chris and the other in front of Taylor.

"When he doesn't die, will you please take a drink? It's hot outside and I don't want my guests suffering from heatstroke," I muttered.

Carla's still out for the count, so I go to the kitchen and grab the pitcher of water out of the fridge and load it up with ice and grab a large glass, bring that into the living room, too. Placing both items on the table, I go in my school bag and pull out my duct tape and rubber bands. From my inferior go-bag, I grab the pouch of thumbtacks, a sharpie and the documents. I pour myself a tall drink of water, tilt my head back, drinking it down in one long swallow.

"So, Chris. Tell the truth: how did you find me? If you lie, I will know."

"I did find your letter while I was running in the park. But I'm a well-known person. For all I knew the letter and its contents could have all been part of an elaborate hoax, so I had Barney, my tech guy and Welch, my security head, do a background check on everyone referenced in the letter," he said. His body language read true, so I decided to take it as read.

"Alright," I said.

"That's it? 'Alright'?" he asked.

"Well, yeah, I asked; you answered. Since I believed you, there was nowhere else for the conversation to go."

CPoV

I think I've just been blanked by a fourteen-year-old kid. I can tell she's not trying to be rude, but it's very clear her mind is far away, designing plans within plans. I think I understand now why I had a difficult time perceiving her as a child; her mind is a fairly surreal place to someone like me: meticulous, methodical and cunning.

When she reared back and basically kicked the front door of her house in, I can't deny I almost got a boner. The door was left wide open, so Taylor and I got out of the car and walked through the door which thankfully remained on the hinges so we could close it behind us. The scene was surreal; there was a slovenly woman knocked the fuck out on the floor and Annie was there offering us seats and beverages.

Then she pulls off her bracelets and they unravel into two long cords, one of which she uses to bind her mother up on the floor, basically hogtying her in less than a minute. I'd seen subs trussed up like this before in a couple clubs. I'm painfully aware how lucky I am that Taylor and I dismantled the playroom when we did, else this little chick would have me trussed up on the whipping bench! She's a nascent Dominatrix. The last thing I'd need to do is provide more tools for her craft. She's dangerous enough without access to the more elaborate BDSM accoutrements.

And little Miss was pissed at me to the nth degree. I had clearly tried her patience, so I was morbidly interested in what her words with me would consist of. I felt my body heat up to an alarming level and my throat dried up. She looks up at us and mutters an offer of refreshments which I gratefully accept. Taylor's looked at me like I'd lost my mind when I quickly guzzled it down. She leaves again, returning with a pitcher of ice water and a tall glass.

She starts grabbing a bunch of shit from both bags, organizing it and placing it on the floor next to the table. Then she takes a seat in the chair she dragged from somewhere. When she proceeds to ask me how I found her in her sweet, yet commanding, voice, I'm compelled to spill my guts immediately. The last time I felt this compliant, Elena had had me shackled to her Saint Andrew's cross for over three hours while wearing a cock cage as she lashed me with a cat. She nods her head in a dismissive manner and then she's back inside her head again.

"That's it? 'Alright'?" I queried. Was this all the answer I was going to get?

"Well, yeah, I asked; you answered. Since I believed you, there was nowhere else for the conversation to go," she said simply and that was that, I guess. "I'm going to take a little nap; if you need the head, it's that last door down the hall to your right."

And she went on to fall asleep in the fucking chair! This was the strangest fucking situation. Taylor whispered to me, "The kid's exhausted. Her father trained her very well, but whatever's happened here has kept the kid so much on edge that she probably hasn't gotten much recuperative sleep. All she'd need is a rifle resting across her lap and I'd be experiencing a flashback to my last deployment. I seriously hope you have a good plan to burn that bitch and the asshole she married."

"Barney and Welch have been on it since the first letter, and except for his rather strange predilection for mothers with pubescent daughters, the fucker's squeaky clean. For anything else, we'd need incontrovertible proof. Hell, I've been looking into ways to get Steele custody, or even get Annie emancipated. Do you realize how fucked up parents have to be to lose custody of a child? And even then, the state's first option is foster care. To even temporarily lose custody, something extremely bad would likely have to happen to Annie first. I dream about taking her away from this to parts unknown. When I saw her bruises, all I wanted to do in that moment is drag her to the car and drive far away."

"Bad plan. Do you have a powerful need to have you butt breached by a guy named Bubba? You are very pretty." she asked groggily. Taylor and I exchanged startled glances. She was still asleep!

I had no idea what she'd been planning, but our appearance had clearly knocked her off her stride. I don't think she just kicked the door in, rendered her mother unconscious and bound her just to catch a few z's, so clearly something else was on the menu. For the life of me, I had absolutely no idea, which worries me because we've been writing flippantly (I thought) back and forth about murders and body disposal. I must admit the cord, duct tape and knives caused some concern, too, in addition to triggering yet another hard-on. This was fucking ridiculous.

Just a short while ago, this was the last situation in which I would have imagined myself participating, yet here I am. I don't think I could have allowed myself to feel this vulnerable if not for Annie. And yes, I'm attracted to her to a frightening degree, but I'd never harm a hair on her head. Once again, I find myself wondering about Elena. Was letting her beat and fuck me really the only solution to my problems? It's not like I sought out her help in the first place; I was sent. But Annie was in way over her head. This was a clear imbalance of power, and it was being abused. Just like me. Fuck!

I could neither ignore nor deny the truth before my eyes any longer. While I'd never say that BDSM doesn't meet the needs of a much larger segment of society than most would expect, it had never fully done the job for me, only taking the edge off of my anger, but leaving me with night terrors. It turned out to be just another type of drug, not a cure, and Elena was my pusher, using that first slap and a tickle as her gateway drug. I've told myself I wanted it. I could've walked away at any time. I was a man. I lied to myself, then I lied to everyone else to continue living that lie.

She's been controlling me through sex, even since I stopped fucking her. I may as well have three people in the playroom because I knew all the subs reported to her. I was lazy and had basically delegated most of my debriefing responsibilities to her, not wanting to be bothered with a sub's 'feelings' much beyond aftercare. Subs' behavior, especially after reaching subspace could be highly suggestible, frequently leading them to become very clingy and needy. It also lent them courage to ask for the unacceptable and unoffered more, which would lead to a dismissal and another fifty grand to Elena.

Andrea sent me a digest of all the calls received from my mother and Elena just this week alone. They've been tag-teaming me for days according to the report. Why the fuck is it so important to Grace whether or not I speak to Elena? Is the state of color retouching, highlights and blowouts in jeopardy? We don't need to meet or speak to one another as much as we do. We don't really discuss the bottom line; the only bottoms that seem to concern her are the asses I fucked. For someone who wants to keep the secret, reaching out to Grace so incessantly to get my attention won't do her any favors. Too bad Elena hadn't gotten the memo that Grace and Carrick were also personae non gratae.

Suddenly, Annie sits bolt upright, looks at the clock then nods to herself. She's psyched herself up for something and Taylor and I are her less-captive audience. She sends hard-eyed glare at Carla still lying at her feet. I'd really feel for Carla right now if she wasn't potentially worse than the crackwhore. Out of nowhere, Annie gets out of the chair, aiming a fierce fucking kick at Carla's feet which connected with one of her ankles! Any sympathy for Carla totally evaporates as I realize that conditions in this house must've been much worse than I thought because Annie looks to be on the verge of fucking Carla up!

Carla is playing possum, possibly afraid of what else Annie might do. I can't blame her. I'm on tenterhooks myself. I'm barely surprised when Annie coolly refills her glass of ice-water, taking a long drink, then hurling the remains on Carla's prone body causing her to shiver and shake, while bucking against the restraints.

"Good afternoon, Carla," she stated calmly.

"You little bitch! Just wait 'til Steve gets home! He'll set you straight!" Carla threatens and shouts. Annie surreptitiously motions us to be silent and remain unnoticed. No problem.

"Yes, I'd like to wait for him too, but I have an important appointment. Until then, you and I have some time together to chat," Annie said coldly. "By talk, I mean I ask you questions, you answer them honestly and respectfully; then I decide whether or not to hurt you."

"Who made you the boss?" Carla asked stupidly, as she was the person bound on the floor wriggling like a fucking worm.

"You did, when you abducted me and relocated me to this hellhole. I used to have school, friends, chores and hobbies to keep me occupied, but you've left me with a surplus of time on my hands," Annie stated baldly. "Now, I think I was clear when I informed you that I would be asking the questions. That one was free," she continued, pulling out the biggest fucking knife I'd ever seen out of her rucksack.

Whatever retort Carla could've come up with obviously withered and died in her throat as only a gasp escaped. As Annie got on her knees and reached for her, Carla tried fruitlessly to wriggle away. Annie just bitch-slapped her and motioned her to be still by pointing to a spot on the floor, making the bitch heel in fright.

Once she was assured that Carla would remain motionless, she took the knife and began cutting Carla's clothes off as carefully as possible while leaving her bonds intact. I had never been so turned off by a naked body before in my life. Carla was whimpering and crying already and she hadn't even noticed us yet. There's no telling the display the histrionic bitch would've put on had she known she had an audience. Apparently, she failed to notice that Annie's 'give a fuck' had taken a sabbatical to the land down under and her 'I'll cut a bitch' was substituting for it.

When Annie was satisfied, she stood up, looked at the clock again and said drily, "Your husband gets off work at ten tonight… Five o'clock and all's well!"

Then she pulled off her belt and proceeded to open up a can of whoop-ass on Carla so big and violent, I almost interfered. The only things stopping me besides Taylor's almost inhuman grip on my knee were Annie's tears pouring down her face in torrents. She looked up at the clock again, continuing for about a minute, then she stopped. She was timing herself!

Taylor motioned me to his phone and the display read: "Look at Carla's body. You would expect it to be covered in welts and bruises with how Annie just let her rip, right?"

And it was true. With all that Annie just did, there wasn't a fucking mark on her.

The text continued: "Except for the much-deserved kick, Mrs. Morton is relatively unharmed. Miss Steele is using a technique that causes a maximum amount of pain with minimal bruising. She's holding back just enough. Annie's exerting herself more than she's hurting her mother. It just looks and sounds much worse than it is."

Yeah; Mistress seemed to have everything well in hand. I was quite concerned when she let Carla know upfront that she planned to beat her ass for the remaining five hours, then I remembered who Annie was. Based on observation, she could've most likely taken the feeble bitch out at any time if she just wanted to kick her ass. I don't think Carla could take Annie unfettered. Yet, little Miss clearly has a schedule to keep.

"Alrighty, then," she began. "Now that I have your attention, I'm going to ask my questions. You lie, I will hurt you. You hesitate, I will hurt you. This question should be easy: do you understand my instructions?"

"Y-yes!" Carla cried.

"Good. Answer yes or no. Did you know that Morton was planning to put me on birth control?"

The fuck! Now I want to kick the bitch!

"He sai-," Carla started as Annie's hand once again descended, striking Carla once across the shoulders, just hard enough to start the poor bitch wailing. Annie began to circle her trembling form on the floor, like a predator waiting to pounce.

"I don't care what Morton said, Carla. I asked you if you knew," Annie said mildly. "Do you really want to do this with me? We have almost five hours together. Morton doesn't even call you when he's on break. I'm going to assume from your rather paltry defense of him, that the answer to my question is yes. So, no curiosity at all why your new husband wants me on birth control when I'm not planning to have sex?"

Carla began wriggling and shaking her head no. But Annie wasn't going to take that crap as read. She reached into her bag, bringing out a pair of latex gloves. Too late I realized why she had hogtied her. Grabbing the rope connecting Carla's shoulders to her ankles, Annie pulled Carla off her side onto her stomach and proceeded to drag her mother to a bedroom toward the right. Carla's damn lucky the house wasn't carpeted or else she'd have rugburn on her abdomen out of this world.

I heard a couple small slaps, the sound of a few things falling, then Annie came back, dragging a snotty, soggy Carla in her wake like a fucking sled by one arm, with a big book and a few papers under the other.

Annie looked at her like she was a bug she wanted to stomp. I don't even think I hated the crackwhore as much as Annie seemed to hate Carla at that moment. Throwing down the rope, she carefully placed the book and papers on the living room table and trudged back into the kitchen. After the sound of running water and paper ripping, Annie returned with some damp paper towels, roughly wiping her mother's ruined face, carefully cleaning away running mascara, tear tracks and mucous.

"OK. Look, I give up. You're completely useless to me. You're going to defend this piece of human excrement instead of me. Fine! But, before I go, I'm going to give you a little history lesson, lest you decide to go out and breed again."

"Steven Aaron Morton is a serial child molester and child rapist. Sometime between the time you were caught in flagrante and you got the bright idea to move to Timbuktu dragging me with you, I investigated him. Ray was Ray. It didn't occur to him that Morton was a pervert. He just believed he had rock-bottom standards. You had Daddy not knowing which way was up or down, but not me. Never me."

"See this book? It's a photo album. The man has worked menial service jobs for years, yet he has an album full of teen and pre-teen girls. I saw it a couple times when you dragged me over to his house in Montesano. His television barely worked and I needed something to get my mind off his squeaking bed and your moaning and this was the only game in town unless I wanted to read the phonebook."

"You know I have a good memory. Eidetic, photographic, something. I've never forgotten a face. Came in very handy too, when I joined a few child molestation sites. Did you know I only had to join nine child molestation and rape support groups online to find five girls with photos of Morton? See, they're not allowed to use the full name of their violators. They can only use the first names and initials for the rest. Do you know how many Steven Ms, Steve Ms, Stevies and Aarons I had to weed through until I struck pay-dirt? Over a thousand! Yep, those Steves and Aarons are busy little bees!"

Carla was on the floor, attempting to manufacture disbelief or issue a denial, but I saw it in her eyes that she knew. There's no way she didn't know that she had sold her daughter out to a piece of shit. She finally noticed us sitting on the couch. She tried to primp but couldn't as she was all tied up.

"I'm not afraid of you, Anastasia! Untie me and your punishment won't be as bad."

"Carla, I think our relationship has come to a close. Look at this! You call this punishment?" she asked bitterly as she pulled up her shirt and unwound an elastic bandage with those clips revealing Technicolor bruising covering her torso. But the piece de resistance was a fucking boot shaped print on her side. "This is called abuse, but you don't care. You've never been the kind of person I could tell about a guy leering at me when I walked home from school and that's OK; it's what I've come to expect from you. But you had to go and marry this one!"

"But you are right. Maybe you shouldn't be afraid of me, but you should fear Lisa, Diane, Rae, Miranda, Catherine and Pamela," she stated with a wry grin.

"Why is that? I don't give a shit about any of Steven's exes!"

"Is that what he told you? That they were his exes?! Did he actually call them exes or did you just assume? Oh, my goodness! I really did get all the good stuff! Did you brain fall out with the afterbirth, too? Carla, oh! The names I just listed? Those are the names of some of his exes' children. And as a good citizen, I've informed a few of them where they can forward their petitions for current and delinquent child support," she declared with relish.

"Steve has six kids?"

"No, Carla. He has three baby mommas who are kids! Those kids I told you about? Those are the daughters of the exes that 'Steve' molested. He has four children that I know of so far, three boys and a girl. Do you know the best part? Even if the rape and molestation can't be proven, paternity can't be denied. So, hi, step-grandma!" she said, laughing her little ass off. "Oh, and he's really charitable, if you catch my drift. He's given the gift that keeps giving to all of his sexual partners: syphilis and the clap."

"Why do you want to hurt me? Why do you hate me so much?" Carla asked piteously. Man, she was trying to milk the cow on all four tits!

"You know, I realized you were selfish. I did. I just had no idea even you could try to make the molestation, rape and impregnation of children about you! This is why I hate you! I wish I didn't. Other kids write Santa for the newest video game or two front teeth. I used to beg for you to constructively abandon me and Ray so we never had to see you again! Did you know that none of the mothers were even fourteen when they gave birth? One of them is going to have a lifetime of medical issues. When she had the twins at school, something inside her tore and she had developed a vaginal fistula. Do you think her poor mother had good enough insurance to cover that?"

None of the girls mentioned rang a bell, which means Morton must have been more prolific than we thought. I don't doubt Annie's skills as an amateur sleuth, so the son of a bitch is worse than we thought. He must have been double-dipping, dating more than one woman at a time. Silently vowing to follow up on all of Annie's victims referenced and pay for their medical care and expenses, I glance at Carla who doesn't look at all fazed about the rape and ruination of children. She may just be the worst mother in the entire history of wombs.

"Carla, I'm finished with you. If you don't let me go to Ray, I'm going to tell the police that you knew everything about Stevie's activities and that you sold me to him, too. They'll love that. Two arrests in one night with proof?" she crowed, pulling out a large Ziploc with some material inside. "Morton came in my room while I was 'sleeping' and jerked off. He came all over my legs. He thought it was really funny. It was. I'm going to laugh all the way to court because I cut out a swatch and bagged it."

Annie was so pleased with herself; vindication can be sweet. I just hope Carla realizes how lucky she is that Annie didn't kill her when she entered the house. In the face of all of these outrageous revelations, Taylor and I would have helped her dispose of Carla's body.

"Four babies with underage girls is proof of at least three rapes. This part of my blanket is proof of intent. And you took money and crossed state lines with me. So, you have a decision to make. Are you going to let Morton go down alone, or are you going to be faithful for the first time in your misbegotten life and go down for all of this with him?"

Game, set, match. Should I just fire Barney and Welch by phone? Nah... How were they supposed to know they'd have to go undercover as fourteen-year-old girls?

APoV (earlier that day)

Thanks a bunch, Carla! I mean really, you couldn't have picked a better hell for me if you tried! Parents, even stepparents, can physically discipline a child in public in the great state of Texas. So, if your parent marries an abusive piece of crap, that's just the breaks. On a lighter note, I can even get married here at the ripe old age of fourteen assuming I have parental permission. I don't even have to be pregnant.

All Three had to do was wave a family vacation in front of her and she was a Pavlovian dog, panting and salivating at the possibilities. Too bad he forgot to tell her she'd be at work that weekend. That's the real reason he nixed me going home to Ray for my birthday weekend. From that Friday the 17th until Sunday the 19th, he planned to be alone with me in some honeymoon cabin in the sticks. He called it a family retreat, but if Carla was working that weekend, what kind of family building exercises could he and I possibly be performing? He'd actually set aside a specific time and place to rape me and Carla was too stupid to see it.

He'd even arranged for me to get set up with the Pill. How generous of him! Unfortunately for the others, they didn't have the luxury of birth control or even mothers who gave a darn. He didn't even wear condoms, the nasty bastard son of a goat! No, he was busy spreading his pestilence to girls still in training bras. I couldn't believe this crap could happen in America. We weren't underage Arab or African girls being forced to marry grown men and join their harems; we were supposedly citizens of the greatest country in the free world.

Everything I ever learned in history had fallen directly in the crapper. I was a second-class citizen at best. Somehow, the government decided that staying with Carla was in my best interest! How?! She was a nasty, disgusting, careless piece of work on her best day. She even cheated on Three before we left town!

And he was trying to court me like the animals I used to watch on the Discovery Channel or Animal Planet! He'd come out the room of his house after doing goodness knows what with Carla, shirtless and sweaty. Was that supposed to impress me or something? He was just as disgusting as her. Even here in Nash, he'd bang the head board against our shared wall so loud, I could barely think or even get more than a couple hours of sleep at a time.

I didn't even bother to bring my radio from home because I knew I couldn't afford to drop my guard for a moment. After he finished with Carla, he'd creep into my room foul and sweaty, still smelling of my mother and jerk off. I'd never been so disgusted in my life. I had to play possum because I knew if I got up and screamed for help, Carla probably wouldn't come to save me or even believe me if I told her later. Plus, I'd have been stuck in that small cell with him while attempting to defend myself. Instead, I had to bear the indignity of feeling his wet, sticky emissions on my blankets while trying to control my breath and breathe deeply and evenly while wanting to vomit. I carefully cut out portions of the blankets and stored them in Ziplocs. If Carla wouldn't help me, I'd help myself. Between the constant sleep deprivation and fear of being raped, I felt like a prisoner of war without the benefit of the Geneva Convention.

Chris was my salvation. Somehow, I could never tell him how bad it was here, but he'd joke around and he seemed to respect me and my opinions a lot. When I grow up, I want someone like that. Minus the Crusty Crab he cheated with. Eww. I couldn't seem to make friends here. It was very hard for me to look at pregnant girls practically my age while living in the same house as Morton. Birth control fails. I could fail to protect myself, and then that would be me. No!

My options are few. I've done the research. My chances of getting out of this alive and sane are pretty damn low. I've seriously considered killing them in their beds. Both of them. Carla is my enemy. I look at my stomach and side, where the bruises are most pronounced, almost black where Morton kicked me with his steel-toe boot while Carla held me down. All I asked for was the opportunity to go back home. Any love I ever had for Carla departed that day.

One of my greatest dreams is to one day write a book. I don't know if I want to be a full-time author, but now I wonder if I'll be writing while alone in a jail cell or in some posh New York office building. I'll surely write about this experience, so hopefully no other child has to experience this. Ray always said that people have to fight for their rights, but he also said I had to respect Carla, so his advice is suspect. I love him, but I'm not sure he knows the woman he married.

My Internet investigation has finally borne fruit. I've found and verified a handful of girls that Morton has violated. Several even had photos of him and children resembling him enough to lend credence to their stories. I didn't even know a girl could give birth at twelve. Guess Three didn't know either. I wish I had a mother that I could share my suspicions with, who would protect me from monsters like this, but I ended up with Carla. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, right? Or is that stranger?

The school personnel pretty much ignore me; they don't want to put a spotlight on me and have to actually get off of their arses and do some due diligence. That would be a little too much like right and we can't have that. Fine. I spend a lot of time in the computer labs and I've printed so many documents, I'm surprised they haven't begun charging me for paper and toner. I put together my final documents to go with the rest I have stashed away.

Today, I'm going to get off the bus, grab the rest of my stuff, go home and give Carla the come-to-Jesus she's been begging for. Three's at work, possibly jerking off to pictures of me, the SOB. There's no way I could've possibly mistaken the sound of the camera shutter during his almost nightly forays into my room. He's escalating. It's time for me to leave.

I don't know if I'll be able to convince Carla to let me go back to Ray or give him custody, but I have about five thousand dollars, and if I'm careful, I can disappear for a while. Maybe long enough for Morton to be arrested and no longer a danger to me. In a way, I'm glad for this experience. Without it, I may have still believed that Carla was worth saving. Or spit.

On the bus on the way home, I look at the fields and houses and all I feel is a sense of desolation mixed with resolve. No matter what happens today, I'm making my stand. Who knows? Perhaps I'll swing by Seattle and look Chris up. Hope is the thing with feathers. Thanks, Emily.

E/N: See; this is exactly what I mean! I had a very HELPFUL guest review, who helped me correct a date error in Annie and CG's letters, but s/he didn't leave a name, so I can't credit him/her properly! Now where's that get fun? I had a calendar in front of me, but my eye must have dropped to the next week's line. Whoever left that review, I thank you very much and I've already posted the correction(s). Please leave your name next time.

To clear up any confusion, CG wrote her back the same day because he wanted Ana not to cut her hair. Could you imagine him sitting on a potential catastrophe like that for days?

Steve's (known) victims left impregnated by him:
Diane Morgan (twins, syphilis) – Cleveland, Ohio
Catherine Edgerton (single birth, syphilis) – Eugene, Oregon
Pamela Meyers (single birth, chlamydia from her mother via Steve who must be a carrier) – Denver, Colorado

Texas Legal Trivia:
In Texas, the law gives parents, stepparents, grandparents and legal guardians leeway in disciplining their children, but authorities stress that corporal punishment must be "reasonable" and not cross the line into abuse (i.e. using something other than your hand, leaving marks or bruises, or hitting in the face). Corporal punishment is still allowed in public schools.

Texas law permits individuals who have reached the age of majority (18) to get married without parental consent. However, those 14 and older may get married with the consent of their parents or legal guardians. In those instances, consent must be given within 30 days prior to applying for a marriage license.
Next: Will she, or won't she? Carla needs to make a decision pronto. Annie wants both Morton and Carla out of her life. Christian and Taylor work behind the scenes to restore Annie to her father.

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