It's been a long time since I've uploaded anything and I apologize for not keeping my promise, but life has been a roller-coaster since I started this story. Anyway, I have really enjoyed writing this chapter and will upload the next one soon.

p.s. ya'll are AWESOME! XO

13. Danger's Dance

My Worry, she sings about the stepping stones of chance
I, Worry, will not be first to fall in danger's dance.

-…Ohmer

The darkness of the empty halls Jace was walking through, the vacant stillness and eerie silence, were so much like his mood. Dark and vacant and silent.

He wanted to turn around and go back to Clary, but if he was in New York, there was only so much time he could pretend to be an average guy with an average job. It wouldn't be long before someone with a gun came pounding on his door and shot him… they would've done it years ago had he not disappeared. Jace could picture a couple worse scenarios, but he tried to block those out.

It was a way of life. But it wasn't one he wanted for himself, not anymore. Jace wanted a real life with a family who cared. He knew it was this desire and the ever present thought of green eyes and red hair that kept him going as he strode out of the building and straddled his motorcycle.

He'd ditched the suit and changed into a pair of jeans, some shirt he'd picked up off the floor this morning, boots and his leather jacket; he felt remarkably better knowing he wouldn't be walking into enemy lines dressed like a rich man, they'd definitely shoot him down then.

God, he had to stop thinking that. When he was still in the business they could tell when a man walked in expecting a shot to the gut, they had been able to smell the fear wafting off them like the scent of rotting death, and then they'd try to make it happen. He had to block the fear because now he had something to come home to.

Yet, not even thoughts of Clary could solve his issues. Not the steady thrumming of the bike beneath him or the long expanse of road ahead.

And now on his bike, the speed he kept was eating up that road and Jace knew he was going too fast, he knew that doing eighty miles an hour on a sixty mph highway had to be an idiotic thing to do. Not the most idiotic thing he'd done however. That would be joining a gang when he was barely old enough to have a license. That was pretty f*cked up. But hey, hindsight is twenty-twenty and the IQ of a teenage boy is about the same.

He brushed those thoughts aside as the road began to slope upwards and trees surrounded him. He was getting closer to the gazebo where he'd taken Clary that day and pretty soon, he had it in sight. It was a beautiful picture indeed, but past the trees that crowded around it laid a deadly group of men capable of doing just about anything if it meant getting what they wanted. He'd been part of them a long time ago.

Jace stopped the motorcycle and parked it among the fallen branches making sure it was hidden in the foliage. The last thing he needed was for the gang to discover he was in their territory.

Once he had stashed the bike, Jace walked to an old sycamore tree and, poking around on its trunk he found just what he was looking for.

Years ago, when he'd first joined the gang as a rebellious teenage boy, he'd been put up in guard duty standing most night by that very tree and guarding the main headquarters of New York's most dangerous group. Back then he'd felt honored, privileged even, to get that chance. Yet, now he knew he'd been put there because his chances of surviving any attack were slim, but he had and pretty soon he was working side by side with Valentine, the gang's leader. It was during those days he'd hidden several weapons in a small crevice of a tree in case he ever needed them. Now, as he rummaged through that very place, he found his gun and a dagger, both covered in moss and brown crinkly leaves.

Yeah, he was ready now. Hell, he could have taken them on without the damn gun but fist and bullets didn't go well against each other.

There was a crack a few feet away from where he stood against the wood of the tree and Jace immediately pressed himself against the tree trunk. He slid behind it using some fallen branches to cover himself, expecting a man like the ones he knew they kept posted along the doors of the main building, tall with an overabundance of muscle. Instead, a boy, no older than 16 or 17 stepped out.

The kid seemed cocky enough to not have lasted very long had Jace been someone who really wanted to kill, he wasn't even paying attention to his surroundings. So with Jace's usual silence he stepped out from behind the tree and walked silently up to the kid grabbing him around his neck and pushing him against the tree.

The boy gasped, kicking and thrashing while flailing his arms wildly in a desperate attempt to strike something. Needless to say he failed and Jace, looking him in the eyes said "don't fight. I don't want to hurt you, but I will if I have to." He was shocked by his own voice. The menace, the threat in it sounded foreign to him. A voice not his own.

The kid shuddered and stopped moving, sighing in defeat. Jace felt his lips curve into a victorious smile before he pressed his finger into the sensitive place where your neck and collarbone meet. Instantly, the boy's thin arms fell limp to his sides, his neck lolled to his shoulder and, when Jace released him, he fell to the floor in a heap of skinny arms and legs.

He really didn't want to have to hurt anyone. Seeing the limp body on the wet muddy ground brought back some unpleasant memories he'd been trying to forget for years. He remembered some of the things he'd done, people he'd seen—the faces had faded into darkness, but the red in each memory stood out like a beacon. The blood he'd shed would remain in his memory forever.

There was another rustling from the trees around him and Jace quickly stashed the weapons in his belt and jogged silently through the thicket of trees. Branches swishing against his face pissed him off a bit but the adrenaline was addicting, it was the one thing he'd missed about this… field of work? Career?

He didn't even know what to call it. Being in a gang sure wasn't a career. You had to study something for that and the only thing he'd ever studied were the benefits of stabbing in the heart as opposed to stabbing in the neck. (He always thought the former was quicker than the latter.)

His mind was drawn out of that memory now as a shot rang through the air, the sound slicing the silence of the night and the steady thrum of his heart in his ears. Thankfully, there was no pain, no blood and he was still running towards a tiny beacon of light that flowed in through the trees becoming increasingly closer with every step he took. Soon, he was looking at the small abandoned warehouse placed just to the side of the clearing. It was surrounded by broken branches, fallen shingles and a few empty crates, but these weren't the most predominant features of the place. Beside every window and door stood two men, no weapons were in their hands, but Jace knew better than to think they were unarmed, and upon closer inspection he saw the guns and knives strapped to their belts.

There was no way in. not unless he wanted to make it in alive—which he did—and despite being capable to take on a few of those men on his own, he didn't have super powers and could not win against them all.

As he analyzed the landscape and tallied his chances of success, Jace failed to notice the dark figure slowly approaching until pain blossomed on the crown of his head and darkness slowly crept into the edges of his vision turning the world black.

The stabbing pain in his head was the first thing Jace felt as his eyes attempted to open, yet they felt heavy, as if they'd been super-glued together. Despite the fierce intensity of said pain, it was also familiar. Not the pleasant, homey familiar, more like the kind of familiarity fallen angels must feel when they walk into hell.

The deep, monotone voice coming from somewhere, he didn't know where since his eyelids still refused to part, was the key in deciphering that, like the fallen angels, he was also in hell.

"It's nice to have you back, son" Valentine's voice said. Valentine, the leader of the greatest gang in New York City, had been more a father to him than his own ever had; albeit, a cruel abusive father, but a father nonetheless.

"It's not nice to be back." Jace sneered, as his eyes finally opened and he was able to see where he was. The room was brightly lit by several bare light bulbs on the roof, and the walls were plain grey cement, no wallpaper or plaster here. As for himself: well, he was tied to a chair. His hands and legs were tightly bonded to the metal of the seat and his wrists were burning. The rope holding them together was sharp and unforgiving; although he tried to loosen the knot his efforts only earned him greater pain as the unattached strands punctured his skin.

"I'm pleased to see you haven't changed Jonathan." Valentine grinned, not seeming very pleased at all.

"I've changed, more than you can ever imagine."

Valentine's grin widened, appearing more sinister as Jace stared into the dark eyes he knew so well. "No son, I don't think you've changed at all. You knocked out two of my men without pulling out your gun."

"One of those men was nothing but a boy and you'd placed him there to die."

"You were there once too. As a matter of fact, you did away with more intruders than anyone before or after you." The feral grin softened as valentine remembered the blood Jace had shed. "You were the best here."

"I was a murderer!" Jace snarled.

Valentine's chuckle reverberated throughout the dank warehouse. "A mighty fine murderer!"

"You f***ing asshole!"

Valentine's hand came at Jace's face before he could even consider the repercussions of his words. "Remember what I told you when you were young?"

Jace didn't speak, the force of the punch still echoing though his head.

"I said to watch the sh*t that came out of your mouth."

"F**k you."

"You always were too proud to recognize when you had lost"

"We just got here, valentine." Jace said. "I don't think I've lost just yet."

"We'll see about that" he grinned fiercely, raising his arm and sending a harsh blow to Jace's head before he had time to form another witty argument.

His head hurt worse than before. The first time it had hurt this bad was fuzzy in his mind, but he knew it was sometime earlier in the day. But then again, everything was fuzzy and Jace was so sure he was dreaming. He saw green eyes, freckles upon pretty flushed cheeks, lips that could have belonged to only one person. There were flames in her hair, bright red flames. But then again, maybe the flames were her hair. He couldn't be sure. His head hurt so much.

"Jace, damn it, wake up! They're about to come back!"

The voice was familiar, but he didn't want that voice, he wanted the girl with the flaming hair. Where was she?

"Jace, snap out of it!"

His eyes cracked open, the world was spinning but he recognized Eric among the blur of convoluted colors.

"You need to leave." Eric stage whispered.

His mind came back to him as he tried to push past the pain into consciousness. He was in the warehouse of the gang he'd been a part of and his hands were freed, he wasn't tied to the chair anymore. He looked at Eric as he was pushed out of the chair and towards the door and out into the open air.

The cool night breeze smacked him square in the face and Jace could finally think clearly. He looked back at the door but Eric was gone. His head whipped towards a dark corner of the warehouse, towards a large stack of old piled crates, voices drifted to him but he didn't wait to see who it was before he started running towards the shadowy darkness of the forest beyond and towards his bike.

Clary lay wide awake in bed, looking sporadically at the clock until she had convinced herself that time had stopped and she was alone in the universe. She was tired, sure, but constant thoughts of Jace kept bombarding her, he hadn't returned yet, and she was embarrassed to admit to herself that she had waited to hear him go into his room.

After hours of waiting, her roof was beginning to look a bit dull and she'd run out of sheep to count, she was now starting to worry. Clary turned to look at the clock again, big red numbers flashed in her face: 4:00am, and still no Jace. From the moment he had left the office that night she had been unable to stop thinking of him.

Clary had stayed in that dark library for another hour and all she'd found were a bunch of old newspapers documenting the decline in stocks between the years 1920 and 1937. She had searched through volumes of information; numbers, meaningless words and charts began blurring together, around that time she had realized she wasn't fully conscious and had driven home in a near haze.

A loud thump in the hallway startled her out of her thoughts, it was silent for a brief moment and then another thump sounded closer to her room. A soft moan came next and by then Clary was debating whether it was best to check outside or to remain inside.

The next thump, louder and closer still, made the decision for her. Grabbing a candle holder she tiptoed to the door and opened it just enough to peek outside. What she saw was more shocking than if there had really been a thief at her doorstep.

Jace stood, barely, battered and bruised with his had pressed against the door to his bedroom as if he were building up the strength to force it open. His usually beautiful golden hair hung in clumps over his eyes, the curls partly covered in red—blood; Clary knew almost immediately it was blood, although the most blood she had ever seen was during a trip to the park when she was sixteen and had scraped her knee. But that was nothing in comparison to all the bruises lining Jace's face, and Clary deduced that there had to be more when he drew in a shallow breath.

Jace looked up, his eyes barely focusing on her, there was a cut over his eyebrow, red spilling over his lashes and cheeks like tears, and Clary had no idea what to think or do. She stood staring at him through the darkness of the halls and the dim light being cast by her candle. The shadows it cast over his face made his skin appear cold, pale; the sweat glittering on his forehead and biceps. "Holy crap." She muttered, useless as the phrase was, it seemed the most appropriate thing to say.

Jace's lips lifted slightly at the corners. "Sorry I'm late."

"What the hell, Jace?" she gasped, blowing out the candle and putting it aside, immediately moving to where he stood and placing her body against his. She was too small to sustain all his weight but she was able to carry him to her door.

"I'm fine. I swear it's not as bad as it looks" He winced as she tried to pull him through the threshold which wasn't wide enough for both of them.

Clary gave him a sharp look and reached for the light switch.

It was clearly just as bad as it looked. He could barely keep himself standing, every time he tried to breathe the effort would make him cringe and the subsequent cringe looked more painful than the breathing.

"We need to take you to the hospital." She said, as she set Jace down on her bed, small spots of blood dripped onto her pastel sheets from his hair.

"No, trust me I don't need to go to the hospital; I've had much worse than this."

"Unless you were in WWE, I doubt you could've had worse." Clary looked him over as she stood before her bed "this looks pretty bad Jace."

"Let's just say I was a bit wild as a kid." He smirked and stood momentarily to pull his shirt over his head.

"Whoa, whoa!" she moved away in a flash, instinctively covering her eyes although she really, really wanted to see what was hiding beneath that shirt. Sure, she'd seen it a couple times, but she could never get tired of seeing Jace shirtless. "What do you think you're doing?"

"What do you think I'm doing?"

Clary peeked hoping he didn't really expect an answer from her.

"I'm getting ready for bed." He said.

"Your room is next door."

"Yes, but yours looks much more inviting than mine." Clary looked around her room, at her grand beige poster-board bed, at the fireplace and at the big cream colored sofa that sat in the corner of the room. She knew his room looked very similar.

"Your room looks almost identical to mine." She argued, placing her hand on her waist and standing as if she were in control of the situation, but Jace's shirt was now strewn on her floor and he was reaching for the belt on his pants. She caught sight of the swirls of black ink over his bicep and where they branched out onto his chest and partially lost track of her breathing.

"But you're not in it." He didn't look at her, not really expecting an answer, as if this were just a simple statement of fact, which it was not, simple, that is.

He continued taking off his clothes, piece by piece: shoes, socks, and then his pants. Throughout his stripping Clary's hands had fallen to her sides off their own accord and she stood awash with heat and enraptured staring at him as the clothes came off, but right when he reached for his pants she chickened out and brought her hands up to her eyes, not daring to look anymore for fear she might maul him.

He laughed softly "you can look now."

"Are you sure? You're not naked or anything are you?"

"No Clary, I promise"

She peeked and saw he had lain in her bed and was covered with her duvet. "I don't remember asking you to stay" not that she was asking him to leave either.

"Considering you had to help me into your room, I doubt I could make it into my bed right this instant."

Clary nodded wordlessly and stepped slowly towards her side staring at her feet all along hoping they wouldn't snag on something and she'd be sent flying through the air. Despite this, she could feel Jace's eyes on her. He took up half her bed, and yet he still seemed like he'd been made to lie there every night. Though perhaps it wasn't the bed he'd been made for, but her bed. Her.

She looked at him finally, as she sat on the corner and kicked off her slippers. He was serious. No grin or smirk or low chuckle. Just him and her alone. Although his gaze told her there was something she didn't know, something big, she pretended everything was perfect and laid in his arms as he held her close.

Yet, when her eyes drifted shut and darkness settled she knew their problems were just beginning.

So, that's all, hope ya'll enjoyed it! Review if you have any comments or any way I can improve this story.

Thanks again for reading!