Oh hey there! How have you guys been? I feel like it's been forever since I've updated...and I know that can't be true. I think that's just me being impatient. Anywho, here ya go! Chapter 3.

Oh, and if you want to see the outfit that Israel is wearing at Dollies, just go to my profile page. The link is there.

Dance or Die

Her plan to get out of town was easy: Get money. Get gone. The only problem with the plan was that she only worked part time at Old Navy and she only received 9 bucks an hour for that pitiful gig. There was another way to earn money, and she'd done it before. It was a sure way to get at least one thousand dollars in a single night, and with that kind of money she would only need to do it for a night or two…maybe three if she just wanted to be sure that she'd be comfortable wherever she was going. But she hadn't been sure if she could bring herself to do it again. As it turned out, money and survival became more important than her pride, and she could bare all if it was only for three nights…and if it meant leaving Gotham behind then she supposed it would be cake.

Days and nights had passed and during that time things in Gotham had escalated. Her masked savior, she'd come to find, was named Bane. Kind of fitting, she thought. Commissioner Gordon had been shot and discovered in a drainage pipe. Israel immediately assumed that Bane was behind that. And Gotham's brooding and out of control son, Bruce Wayne, had squandered his billions, doubled down. The man was fucking broke. But such fiascos were only public, and as much as she had wished it so, things in Israel's world did not pass as uneventfully as she would have hoped. After a very heated argument with Paul, where he had confessed that he had feelings for her and she did not reciprocate said feelings, Israel had agreed to take up a temporary residence on the couch in the break room at Old Navy. Paul had been nice enough to bring her pillows and blankets from his house. And he had even brought her food and frozen dinners to keep in the fridge. She took all such gifts graciously, but did not let her graciousness go past that. She didn't want to lead him on and she was looking forward to the day he either grew out of his infatuation with her, or she was free of Gotham. Whichever came first, which she was hoping would be the latter.

She stared at herself in the vanity, noted how painted her face was. She thought the whole thing was stupid. Despite the uproar at the stock exchange and the return of the Batman, the Commissioner's brush with death…despite all those things, she was still at the charity ball for addicts and addiction. She was still going to perform. She'd tried to back out of it. She hadn't much felt like dancing lately, and she definitely didn't feel like putting on a show for the rich and powerful of Gotham City. But in the end she caved, and now she saw applying makeup for her part of the show. She'd been paired with Roger, a very tall lithe guy with bright green eyes and chocolate brown hair. He didn't say much, which suited her just fine, and he was a good partner. Together they'd come up with a routine that, she felt, would capture the essence of the charity. Mr. Barnard's face was suddenly in her vanity. He smiled down at her.

"You're up next." Once again his eyes fell over the way he wanted his hands to. "Very nice costume."

She frowned. Of course he'd think so…

She took her stance centerstage, vaguely aware that, though the audience couldn't clearly see her, they could see her silhouette. The music started; Marina and the Diamond's "Lies." The lights went up and she stretched along with the chords, her movements stiff in their fluidity, as if she weren't all human. And she knew that she looked like something otherworldly. She had white contacts in her eyes and was dressed in form fitting underwear that she had distressed and added tatters too. And her makeup consisted of black and grey streaks over her face and down her body. She'd even thrown a bit of grease paint into to hair to slick it back and add a muddied grey tint to it. An alien, she thought to herself, I look like an alien.

Roger appeared from the left side of the stage, and he balanced on one foot, stretched himself, barely touched her and they both recoiled when the bass thrummed through the speakers. Theirs was a dance of love and addiction and hate and self-loathing. She played the part as the drug, as everything he'd ever need, and he followed along willingly, gave up everything just to have her. During the bridge, she clawed her way up him, and he fought her the whole way until she was perched on his shoulders, both of them with their arms out, tried to balance. And at the beginning of the last chorus he tossed her up, caught her easily, and she curled and crumpled around his arm, tied her legs around his waist as they spun. She freed her torso, allowed it to drop back and then come up as she loosed herself from him and they went into choreographed movement. The end of the song was choreographed fighting that ended with him a beaten mess of the floor, and her standing over him panting.

And then the crowd went wild. Roger came to his feet, took Israel's hand as they both walked forward and bowed. They left the stage and Roger gave her a quick hug before heading off to the men's dressing room. She moved with the same haste. She wasn't going to stick around, couldn't stick around as tonight was going to be her last night in this god forsaken city. She only had to work one more night and then she was free. She headed to the showers, was all too happy to get the paint off of her and out of her hair. When she had dried and changed, she made her way out to the street to catch a cab. She had just flagged one down when Mr. Barnard's hand found its way into her shoulder. She jumped slightly. She hadn't heard him.

"You're leaving?" He asked. If only he understood how loaded his question was.

"Yeah, I've got to get to work."

"Work? There aren't many places that are open this late." There was a twinkle in his eyes. He'd heard about her new job. "Besides, there are at least a dozen people in there who want to meet you. Your performance is all they're talking about. One woman even teared up."

Israel removed his hand from her shoulder. "Work," she said firmly. A cab pulled up. "Gotta go. Goodbye, Mr. Barnard." He watched her leave, a bit angry that she hadn't given him the time of day. But it was fine, he told himself. She wouldn't get away from him that easily. He'd have her eventually.

The Bat had come to him, and he had expected no less. He knew that he would not have to seek him out. No, Bruce Wayne was an impatient man. Always quick to rush the inevitable. But he had left Bane disappointed. The older man had wanted more a fight out of him, more a challenge, he wanted proof as to why Ra's Al Ghul had chosen Bruce instead of him as a successor. Bane was hoping that they would at least be equals. He was Batman after all, Gotham's dark knight who had only proved to be nothing but a pitiful failure in Bane's eyes. And so, Bane had lectured him, beat him…broke him. And then he sent the Bat to Hell, escorted him there, made sure he was comfortable with a front seat view of what was to befall the scum that was Gotham City. But there had been something in Bruce's eyes, a sad sense of determination, and horror, and hope, that stayed with Bane. He knew that this man would not give up, would not lie down so easily.

The flight back into Gotham had been bumpy, but Bane had expected no less. He was not one to travel by traditional airlines even if he'd had the luxury of doing so. And he just gotten seated before a table of files when one of his lieutenants, a man by the name of Derby, appeared in his doorway, lingered there until he was granted entrance. Barsad stood nearby, watching with bleak and stoic eyes.

"What is it?" Bane asked. He sat back in his chair, folded his hands.

Derby was terrified of his leader, they all were. But unfortunately, the lieutenant had literally pulled the short straw and had been tasked with going to Bane to ask the question. "The men…we would like to celebrate before it is over."

Barsard's eyes flickered to Bane's, amused. He had heard such talk, but had dismissed it as such. He never thought they would be brave enough to ask.

Bane was quiet for a moment, and then, "You wish to celebrate before we have not even won?" He eyed his lieutenant. "Explain this to me."

"T-the Bat's in the Pit. Tomorrow Gotham with be in your hands. We…we are willing sacrificing ourselves for your vision."

"My vision?" Bane had risen from his seat, his hands clasped on the neck of his vest as he strolled around the table. "Did you not also agree that Gotham is a plague that must be wiped from this Earth?"

Derby could barely breathe, and though he wanted to, he couldn't make his eyes leave Bane. He whimpered when his leader's hand rested upright on his shoulders. "Please…wait…"

Bane stared at him, was sickened by him. He was a new recruit, but he had always been weak, had always questioned. "Barsad, tell the men that they may have their celebration." Barsad immediately left the room, and the tension in Derby's shoulders visibly eased. "However, my brother, I am afraid that you will not live to see it."

Derby's eyes widened. He barely got a sound out as his spine was snapped at the neck. The light in his eyes faded and he watched Bane's face until everything went black. Bane dropped the body, looked up as Barsard stood in the doorway. He looked down at Derby and said, "They want you to join them."

Behind his mask, Bane grimaced, but he nonetheless grabbed his coat.

Dollies was a popular gentleman's club in the Narrows, and the women there made good money as even some of the poor dopes from upscale Gotham snuck there to slum it while their wives and girlfriends held charities and went shopping. And unfortunately for Israel, this was where she had been making money for past three nights. So far, she had made a square seven thousand, and she wasn't going to return for a 4th night until the appeal of an even ten thousand crossed her mind. But that was her limit. She wasn't like most of the girls in the establishment that had been there for years, the girls who promised themselves every year that this would the last year they wasted in this hell-hole. No. This would be Israel's last night, and the next day she would leave Gotham and all the woes it had bestowed on her, behind.

It was fairly late when she got to Dollies. And she took the back door to get inside. Papa Joe, the owner and manager was standing in the middle of the dressing room fooling around with something on his phone. He was a sweet old man, tall and wide with a mustache and thick beard. He wasn't the type of man one would suspect of running a strip club. He was too nice, too gentle natured, but he looked after all the girls as though they were his own daughters, protected them to the best of his ability. She smiled at him as he gave a frustrated sigh.

"Did your phone mess up again?" She asked as she set her bag down.

He looked up, smiled. "This damned thing… My fingers are too damned big for a touch screen and for buttons. Why do they make phones the way they do?"

She laughed. "Because my generation is gonna rule the world. Here, let me see." She took the phone from him. "Well the reason you can't do anything is because your screen is locked. What's your password?"

Papa Joe huffed. "Like I remember. I'll just use the phone in the office." He took his phone and eased it into his pocket. "You know, I'm proud of you."

"Why?"

"For stickin' to your guns. For getting' outta here. You're only one of 3 who's done that. It's a big deal, girlie."

She smiled, touched his arm. "You go make that call. I gotta get out on the floor. Wish me luck."

He winked at her, left her to her own devices.

What made Israel so popular at Dollies was the fact that she threw herself into the roles. She didn't like working there, but she wasn't hooking, and there were ample body guards and bouncers to insure that, if the girls had a problem, they didn't have to deal with it on their own. Because of that, Israel felt a certain amount of freedom and safety in what she was doing. That night, in revenge against Kristen, she had opted for a long blond wig, did her makeup up the same way the other woman had done hers the night Israel had slept over. It was petty, she could admit that to herself, and no one would know she was mocking someone else, but it made her feel good to look in the mirror and see Kristen's look-a-like staring back. She pulled on a black, leather g-string along with a matching bra beneath a pair of black fishnets and a sleeveless button down that she tucked into her high waisted spandex shorts that zipped up on either side. Ya know, so she could easily take it off. She finished the look with bordello heels, a top hat, and a cane. She looked herself over. She didn't look half bad. Ugh, but the heels were going to be murder on her feet.

Every girl was required to dance a number on the main stage before the end of every shift and, since the main stage was currently empty, Israel decided that she would go ahead and get it over with. She was at the back of the stage, stared out over the cat-walk and nodded to the DJ to start the music. Britney Spears' "Piece of me" sounded loud over the speakers and when the spotlight hit her, Israel dropped into a wide squat and then pranced toward the crowd. She couldn't help laughing at herself because she knew she looked ridiculous. Some of the men cheered as she mouthed out the lyrics, using her cane as a prop as she rotated and swiveled her hips and her chest. One man, sitting at the bar connected to the stage was doing something on his phone, and Israel stuck her cane beneath his chin, raised his head so he was looking at her and then dropped down in front of him, spread her legs and watched his eyes go wide as he looked at her.

Her audience waved bills in the air and she went around to each one, getting close enough for them to tuck the money into her clothing without touching her too much. By the end of the song, she was down to the leather bra and panty set and had kept the fishnets on. She was just about to bow when two things happened that shook her so badly she thought her knees would give out. The door to the club opened, and in walked Mr. Barnard. His eyes immediately found her and he grinned wide, waved even. And, if that weren't bad enough, Bane and a dozen of his men walked in next. It was all happening so fast that it actually seemed like slow motion to her. She'd forsaken her clothes on the stage, didn't even bother to grab the bills that had fallen. The universe was telling her to get the fuck out of there and she didn't need to be told twice. She was almost to the back when a firm hang caught her harm. She turned, dreading who she'd see. It was Mr. Barnard.

"You know, when I was told you were working here, I didn't think it would be true." He grinned as if that were some kind of pick up line.

She smiled back, told herself to be polite. "I'm actually come towards the end of my shift, so-"

"Don't be in such a hurry." He produced a roll of bills from his pocket. "Let's find somewhere quiet."

A strip club. Bane's eyes hardened. Of course they would choose a strip club. He peered up at the flashing sign that read, Dollies, didn't budge from his stance as his men began to go inside. Barsad lingered behind, watched his commander as he eyed the building with repugnance. "We are still men, Bane."

Bane's eyes found him. He did not want to go into this place. It would be beneath him.

"They follow you wordlessly. You are what keeps them in line and I have had more than a few of them tell me that they are happy that you've come along."

He listened to his second's words, let them soak into him. He decided that he would go inside, but he would not stay long, not even an hour if he could help it. They were his brothers. They sacrificed so much because they faultlessly believed in his cause, in their cause. …In her cause…

When he went inside the smell of sex and perfume and alcohol filtered in through his mask, made him squint. He did not shy away from the naked women, did not avert his eyes. After all, this was the profession they had chosen for themselves. They wanted to be seen and touched and fawned over, but it still disgusted him. The entire scene of it made him angry; the way the women threw themselves at the men, the way the men happily offered money just to feel fresh, young bodies against their own. Pathetic was the word that came to mind.

Barsad had scheduled a private room for Bane, knowing that he would not want to be out in all the lights and glitter and people. He was leading the way there and only stopped when he noticed that Bane was no longer following him, that he had stopped and was staring. He followed his commander's eye line, watched as the girl from the previous night stepped down from the stage in a rush and made her way to the back. A man stopped her before she could disappear from sight, his hand wrapped tightly around arm. This made Bane's fists clench, but he turned then signaling for Barsad to lead the way, and he did. The VIP room was lavish, with black velvet walls and dark wooded floors. A leather couch sat towards the back of the room with a coffee table and a white shag carpet underneath it all. The overhead lights were imprinted into the ceiling providing minimal lighting that was supposed to be seen as seductive. Bane found it a nuisance. He sat on the sofa, leaned forward. "Bring her to me."

Mr. Barnard took her to one of the VIP rooms sat her next to him and laid a hand on her thigh. She went to pull away, but he gripped her tightly. "If you had needed money you could have asked me. You didn't have to do this."

She was uncomfortable, beginning to feel like a child being scolded. "And what would I have had to do for that money?" She countered.

He grinned wide, sat back and waved a 50 in front of him. "Let's start with a lap dance. And if you do that well…well then we'll take it from there."

She scoffed, stood up. "I'm not going to take this from you." She didn't far. His hand shot out, yanked her back so hard that she fell on the couch and her dance instructor was quick to cover her body with his own.

"Well then what will you take from me?" He was huffing, panting, and she could feel his erection through his pants. She didn't struggle hard. She didn't need to. He had straddled her, left himself completely unprotected, and she harshly brought her knee up and connected with his balls. The air stole from him, he slumped forward, rolled to the floor and Israel was quick to jump up, tear out of the door and into the arms of Barsad. He caught her firmly around the waist, led her away from one private room to another. Neither one of them said a word. They both knew where she was headed. He didn't shove her into the room, he merely opened the door, allowed her to enter on her own, and she did.

"It seems," Bane started as the door shut and she was trapped inside, "that we cannot avoid one another." It was one thing to see her in her underwear, but it was quite another to see her dolled up and on display for other men. He didn't like it, but his eyes traveled over her, found himself to be displeased with the blond wig and the excess of makeup. "I am surprised to find you here…of all places."

Israel should have been scared, should have cowered, but all the felt was anger, anger at herself. She hadn't needed this last day of work. She could have left that morning. The situation she was in was entirely her fault. She hovered near the door, didn't drop her head but looked dead at him. It was large couch, and it scared her the way he seemed to take up most of it. She didn't want to speak to him, he made her timid, afraid, but she'd always had a bit of a mouth on her, a temper that she'd gotten from her grandmother.

"Here of all places?" She asked.

"Ah, she speaks." The corners of his eyes wrinkled. "Yes, here…of all the places I could have…bumped into you. It had to be here."

It irked her how calmly the entire conversation was going. "I don't understand what you mean."

"I saved you from being raped, beaten, used, and you fought so admirably against your captors. But there had been something in your eyes, some fierceness, a viciousness. You really despised the act of rape, and yet here you are, your sex on display for the masculine filth of Gotham."

Her temper flared, but she calmed herself, reminded herself that he was more than three times her size and weight, and that she needed to survive this, had to survive him. "You're mocking me."

"You perplex me, dear child." He sat back a little, eyed her. There was too much skin on display, too much for his eyes to feast on, and he couldn't have stopped himself even if he wanted to. But this was her job, and judging by the looks she was getting as she'd fled the stage, it was a job that was at least decent at. "Come. Dance for me."

She was confused. "I'm sorry, what?"

He didn't repeat himself. He just stared at her. He knew she wasn't hard of hearing.

She sighed. Fine then. "Five hundred dollars up front. That covers this room…and me."

"You think yourself of such high worth?"

She came further into the room. "I'm a sure thing."

He chuckled then. "I will give you no money."

"Well I don't dance for free."

Oh, but she was brave, and it tempted him to test her, see how far he could push her. He rose to his feet, went to her, surprised when she didn't back down, only raised her head to maintain their tense eye contact. "My dear," his voice had dropped an octave, made the hairs on her spine stand on end, urge her to get the hell out of there. "You are not dancing for free." He bent down then, made sure that she could clearly see him. "You are dancing for your life."

She swallowed. And there was the kicker, the fatal punch line to whatever sick game he was playing with her. She turned away, headed for the door and when he caught her wrist she snatched back, and he let her wrist go, his hand vibrating from her touch. She was panting, trying to calm her racing heart. She hadn't given him permission to touch her. "I'm not…I'm not running…or anything. I just figure if I'm dancing for my life I had better make it worthwhile."

He eyed her.

"Oh for God's sake, you came in with at least 15 men! I'm sure if I tried to bolt one of them would catch me. I just want to change…" Yelling at him, she felt, was not the best way to go about things. But she knew he was toying with her, and she didn't like it.

"Barsad will escort you to your clothes and back here." He turned, went back to the couch. "You have 7 minutes."

She huffed, opened the door to see Barsad standing on the other side, and when he peered in Bane nodded to him. She stepped out, the door closed behind her and Barsad grinned, held his hand out elegantly and said, "After you."

"Seven minutes…" she pouted. "I'd like to see him shimmy into lingerie in 7 minutes." She was naked in the dressing room, staring at the array of dry cleaned costumes and outfits. When she'd first gone back there she'd tried the back door. She wasn't stupid. If she could get out there she would, but it had turned out that one of Bane's men had been posted there as well. Dancing for my life, she thought. So she had to make this dance special, had to convince him to let her go. Israel found herself wondering what a man like Bane would find erotic. He did not seem to be as perverse as most of the men who visited the establishment. No, he was simple yet complex, sophisticated yet unpolished, and she had a feeling he wouldn't go for what normal men would go for. He would want something different, and she found she wanted to give him something different. She pulled the wig from her head, shook her hair out while she removed the makeup from her face. She didn't reach for any of the costumes, she reached for the lingerie, and not the cheap ones. She reached for the outfits that were reserved for special clients like the mayor…or Bruce Wayne. She slinked into the bra and then the garter, making sure that she put the panties on last so that they would be on the outside in case he wanted her to take them off. She gulped at that thought. The tan thigh highs came on next, and after she secured them in place, she reached for a pair of black strappy heels and a set of pearls. She gave herself a matte, peachy lip with heavy mascara and a light touch of liquid liner and gave herself a once over. She was something to behold, something radiant and exotic and animalistic.

She went to the door, tried to relax her shoulders and wrenched her hands together before she turned the knob. Barsad's eyebrows rose when he saw her, but he only spared her a glance before leading her back to the private room. He reached to open the door for her but she stopped him. "I can do it," she said strongly, which was funny to her, because she didn't feel strong at that particular moment. She felt weak, and unsure, and scared. It took a few times, but she finally managed to get her hand around the door knob to turn it and let herself inside.

Bane was a patient man. After living the life that he had, he had no choice but to be. However, when the girl took three minutes longer than he had allowed her, he found himself on edge, felt the need to find her, bring her back there, to him. He was contemplating going to find her when the door opened. She walked in silently, glanced at him before making her way over to the music player in the wall. He could not take his eyes from her. She was not what he had expected. He had expected cheesy costumes and more wigs, heavier makeup, but it was not what she'd given him. She'd given him something softer, sensual, vulnerable. She'd given him baby blue lace and smooth tan stockings…and grandmother's pearls. She'd given him sex in its most basic, most stripped form…and it had made him uncomfortable. Bane was no virgin, far from it. He had been with all sorts of women, pleased and took all sorts of women, but this girl…this child, he reminded himself, she was something else, something new for him to play with, and he was fully intending to play with her.

"Is there anything special you'd like me to dance to?"

He stared at her.

A small smile touched her lips. "Or I can just choose." She went through the selection, keeping herself carefully balanced on her heels despite her knees shaking and his eyes boring into her back. She found a song that she thought would do perfectly: The Weekend's "High For This." Before she pressed play, she turned to him and though it was awkward she felt the need to ask.

"Am I allowed to touch you?" Her question hung in the air.

"Am I allowed to touch you?" He countered.

She bit her lip. "No. Not unless I say so. So, no."

His gaze on her was so intense, so invasive. "Proceed," he said.

She wanted to make him answer the question. She didn't want to touch him only to have him freak out on her. But he'd made it very clear that that conversation was over. "Or I'll just wing it…" she muttered. She pressed play and a high hum of a chord filled the room followed by an even higher one. Israel moved to the center of the room, and Bane immediately noted the change in her. This was not a girl that stood before him, it was a woman. A man's voice came over the speaker and she began to move, rocking her hips. She raised her hands above her head, held them in such a position that they could have been bound, and then they moved down over herself, ghosted over her breasts, her fingernails scratched down her stomach. She braced her hands on her knees as she lowered herself into a squat, opened her legs and then shut them before bending herself backwards. She supported her weight on her hands as she lifted her legs up, opened them in a wide split and then lowered her hips to the floor.

To say that she had Bane's full attention would have been an understatement. He was enraptured with her and the way she moved. She was so fluid. Israel climbed onto the coffee table and lowered herself on to back, arched her spine hard to that was considerable room between it and the hard surface beneath. She curled her legs up into a 90 degree angle, spread them, and then looked him dead in the eye as her hands tugged on the pearls that laid against her breasts and stomach. She let her fingers follow the little orbs down and let her hands disappear between her legs, let her head fall back and mouth part. She wasn't really touching herself, but she was almost positive that he didn't know that. Her heels touched the table, pressed into it as she lifted her hips. She was beginning to become annoyed that she wasn't getting a rise out of him, pun intended. It was as if she weren't even there, like she wasn't scantily clad and writhing for his enjoyment. She stood up then, poised herself between his open legs and extended her foot to push the table back to give herself room. She swiveled herself down to her knees and, taking a deep breath, she reached forward, laid her hands on his knees.

The moment her hands touched him, the intensity of the room changed, heightened. His eyes bore into hers and his fists tightened as he watched her climb up him, amused with the way she did her best to keep body contact to a minimum. She shook over him, fully expecting him to stop her or throw her off of him at any moment. But instead his hands remained fisted at his sides, eyes remained on hers. She hooked an arm around his neck, rolled her torso against his while she straddled him. He was so warm, and so large that her thighs shook as she stayed on her knees, completely spread open above him. And just when she thought she'd be comfortable enough to keep moving, he moved. It was a small motion, but after seeing him stationary for so long, it had startled her. He'd simply planted his heels into the floor, but it caused his knees to lift, caused her to fully seat herself in his lap and her eyes went wide when she felt him. Apparently, she was having an effect on him. They both stayed just like that, staring at one another, Israel panting, Bane barely moving, still like a statue. The only sound that came from him was the steady rasp from his mask.

There were gunshots then, gunshots and screaming and glass breaking, and despite her better judgment Israel flinched, leaned in closer to Bane as she peered over her shoulder at the shut door. Bane was looking at it too. And then the door opened, and Barsad slipped inside. He glanced at their positioning briefly before address his commander.

"Someone has tipped off the police. They've raided the place."

Bane gripped the girl behind her knees, stood with her and enjoyed the grimace and blush that ate up her face as she first clutched him to keep from falling and then slid down his body. His hands lightly caressed every inch of her backside stopping just short of her hair. "Our time together has ended," he said to her, almost joyfully. "But I will be seeing you again."

Israel was quiet, but in her head she wanted to tell him that they'd never meet again because she would vacate Gotham as soon as the sun came up. He left her then, gave her one last lingering glance before he disappeared out the door. The minute she was alone she began to shake, her knees wobbled and she took a seat on the sofa, avoiding the warm spot that Bane's large body had created. She didn't dare leave the room. It wasn't that the cops in Gotham weren't stand up guys. Some of them were. It was that strippers weren't exactly held in the highest regard and she didn't feel like taking a bullet just for being in the way. She waited, waiting until there was no more gunfire and no more screaming, until there was just music and quiet, and eventually the music stopped as well. She stood then, was about to rush to the dressing room to get her things, but the door flew open and 5 officers walked in, their guns trained at her. The lead officer, a man of some height with black hair that was clean cut and squinty, yet attractive eyes, holstered his gun and pulled his handcuffs.

She rolled her eyes. She knew this routine. And as the cop began reading her her rights, she easily turned around and put her hands behind her back.

She hated Gotham…

She hated cops…

This one was kind of erotic and it took me a long time and a lot of edits to get it to where I was at least a little happy with it. Any writer will tell you that they are their own worst critic soooo, I am asking that you guys leave me comments on what you think and how you feel about the development thus far. Also, I'd like to know where you'd like this story to go. I mean, I can't promise anything...but I'd still like to know.

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