Chapter 2

Definitely more Joker in this chapter. I'm writing up the next chapter, reviews and suggestions are appreciated. [:

I awoke to the irritating buzzing noise of my alarm at 7AM. Skipping breakfast, I grabbed Brody's collar off the counter. I did my makeup in the bathroom to rid myself of any blemishes and surveyed my reflection. My own dark brown eyes stared back at me from the mirror. I actually looked a lot like my dad, except for the electric purple streak that ran through my wavy, dark blonde hair. Pushing my side bangs out of my face, I applied liner and put on cargo pants and a black tank top. I slid a switchblade into the side of my leather boot.

Grabbing my short trench coat, I stuffed my new handgun into the inner pocket and leashed up Brody to go out.

My father ambled into our small kitchen. "You go out now?"

"Yep," I gave a slight nod.

"You sure you don't want me to train dog?"

I glared at him. This is probably the third time he's asked me. He trains his dogs without any interaction. If someone wanted to, they could use our dogs as their own or even set them on my father and I if they knew the correct Russian commands.

"I'm positive. Brody's doing fine," I finished with a flat tone.

Dad shrugged and got his weapons together to go to his meeting.

I left the warmth of my home and stepped out into the crisp, autumn weather, best friend alongside me.

Taking the side streets instead of bustling through streets of citizens, I darted through the alleys that led to the abandoned tattoo shop.

On the way, I bought a slab of meat for Brody and carried it in a paper bag.

The dog tried to snap it out of my hands, and I sharply yelled at him. When he left it alone I gave him a pat for a job well done.

Dad barely touched his dogs, so they weren't emotionally attached to their master, like they should be. I was going to make sure I trained Brody right.

Once at the shop, I brought Brody to the back and gave him a training session. He went after some of the mannequins I'd set up a week earlier and retrieved my weapons when I "accidentally" dropped them. He was completely comfortable around gunfire now, due to how often I took him out to get used to the sound. Once finished, I threw him his reward and sat next to him while he noshed on it.

Halfway through his meat, Brody stopped chewing and perked his ears up toward the ceiling. Listening closely, I could hear movement and laughing from the building next to us.

Normally, I wouldn't have thought twice about it. But this laugh… it was deranged. It sounded completely disturbed and a little manic.

Listening closely, I barely heard someone say, "Now… where's the Italian?"

It definitely had to be mob work. "The Italian" was usually what people called my Uncle Sal. Although it was a pretty rude way to address him with how much power he had.

I pulled out my gun and motioned Brody to my side. Instantly obeying, he abandoned his meat and padded next to me as I checked out the warehouse next door.

Exiting the shop, I inched along the side of the crumbling brick wall.

Hearing something familiar, I furrowed my brows in confusion. As I got closer, I could faintly make out the thick words that belonged to my father.

Forgetting all my precautions, I ran into the warehouse, but what I saw made me stop in my tracks.

A tall man in a dark purple suit stood with his back turned to me, watching an insanely large pile of money burn to a crisp.

My father stood a little ways away, his eyes glazed over at the sight of all that money going to waste. I stood next to him and watched as well. I noticed he had three of our rottweilers with him.

The man in the purple suit half-turned and I got a glimpse of his face.

Gasping, I noticed it was the infamous clown. The center of the mob's attention as of late.

"Dad, what are you doing with HIM?"

The Joker went into a fit of deranged laughter and tried speaking, though he was out of breath. "Ohhh, the uh Chechen has a daughter hm?"

The clown quickly licked his lips and started to bite the inside of his cheek. "And a beautiful daughter at that."

He began to circle me. I clung onto my father and my hand hovered over my gun, which was now stuffed in the pocket of my trench coat.

The Joker continued, and looked at my father. "I might just uh… take her home with me," he concluded, licking his lips.

My father spat on him.

The Joker's eyes bulged and his hand hovered over his knife. Practically hissing at my father, he continued, "You can tell your men they work for me now. This is my city."

My father glared at him as I clung to the sleeve of his leather jacket. "They won't work for a freak."

"A freakeh?" the Joker mocked him. "Why don't we cut you up into little pieces and feed you to your pooches, huh? Then we'll see just how loyal a hungry dog really is." He was growling now.

I saw my father's men advancing on us. They were going to betray him. They were going to work for the freak.

Then again, what else do you expect of the mob?

Pulling out my gun in one swift motion, I shot two of the men and set Brody on the one that didn't have a weapon pulled out.

The two men I'd shot slumped to the dirty ground like rag dolls.

Brody was tearing into the flesh of the third man, and when the screaming died down and the man was definitely dead, Brody trotted back over to me, blood on his muzzle.

Dad had already ordered the dogs in a circle around us, and he didn't seem to have a gun on him.

The Joker just watched in fascination.

"Tight knit family, uh are we?" he asked a bit aggressively, licking his lips again.

Clinging onto my dad again, I winced when the Joker grabbed hold of my arm. Hard. He was pulling me toward the exit. When I resisted, he clocked the side of my head with his arm. That hurt. And it irritated me to the extent of reaching for the dagger in my boot and jamming it into the Joker's stomach.

Brody had already been biting at the joker's legs and squealed when a hidden knife popped out of the bottom of his dress shoes. The knife got my dog square in the face.

Hurting me is one thing. But my dog?

I growled and pushed the knife into his stomach deeper, getting so angry that the sides of my vision actually went red.

The Joker choked and stumbled backwards. I pulled my dagger out of his stomach and wiped it on my pants.

I yelled specific commands at the dogs and all three of them pounced on the Joker, who was hysterically laughing at this point, despite his injuries.

The Joker pulled out his gun and shot one of the dogs, which slumped onto the concrete.

I called the others off and turned to my dad, who was frantically searching for a gun. I handed him mine and kept my knife in the other hand.

Brody was still able to see, so the Joker must not have gotten his eyes when he was knifed.

"Dad!" I yelled. "Let's go!"

He nodded and we ran. We ran faster than we ever had in our lives, leaving the insane clown behind us. I could still hear his maniacal laughter ringing in my ears well after we'd left the warehouse.