Disclaimer: No TMI ownership,

Shoutouts to reviewers: OmegaBanda14-I just love reading all the things you have to say. It's such a cool concept, isn't it? Our minds are the only truly unknown things in this universe. AnnaW14-Thank you so much for all the faith, LOVERGIRL, AngelBliss (both of you guys are guests and I love your reviews) and I am leaning towards a headstrong Clary, thanks for the insight. Oh, and the other Guest. Thanks for the reassurance.

Please, review and follow and favourite if you have not already. Thanks to those who followed and favourited last time.

I sincerely hope you enjoy.

"It seems as if you're plotting to murder me yourself,"

Clary had whispered this in the serene dawn that settled around her exhausted bones. In a shadowed ally, the man had taken her, his face made solely of smoldering darkness when he finally turned to meet her stare. It was said in a sarcastic, almost sultry tone, washing in hints of flirtation.

Clary had copied it, tone, words, and all from the times her mother, Jocelyn, was pushed into dark rooms by her father's 'friends'.

The friends Clary hated.

Clary would be sitting in the living room, playing with her dolly - a small mangled barbie with hazardously cut hair, found when digging through her neighbors' dumpster - her fathers white head bobbing as equally white powder drifted off his and his 'friends' chins. Her mother would walk by and one man would call to her, profane language whom Clary would be spanked if she'd have used. They'd even, if they were feeling particularly frisky that day, grab at her. Jocelyn would stop, drop them a forced wink and they'd pull her into darkness. Further from the dim light in the living room. Further from Clary. And after bangs and clashes and moans, a tea party with Barbie, Jocelyn would walk out smooth and careful, the man completely ruffled, handing her father a wad of bills.

There were so many memories of the same tedious routine, before the death of her dear beloved mother, that the times all seemed to blur together.

Except for that line.

"It seems as if you're going to murder me."

That was her line.

It was as if they had murdered her, killing her every time they did whatever it was they felt like. And Clary would have been completely oblivious for the truth of what happened had her father not tried to suck her in too, after her mothers untimely demise. Each time those dirty, unkempt, crack-addicts touched her, Jocelyn would die. Over and over again.

They murdered your mother.

Your mother.

You should murder them.

The thought made her eyes darken with a slightly sick desire.

To feel their blood squish between her fingers.

The first, then second. The third and forth and fifth bastard, all so equally deserving.

Oh, to see their brains explode, shattering against the wall as if the were nothing more than blown glass.

That thought made her snicker aloud. Because, they were, in fact, nothing but breakable toys that were blown too much for any real use.

The thought spurred the memories again and suddenly all Clary saw was that dark room, almost as if she were in her house again. The feel of dirt scratching her thighs on the muddy green carpet, the sound of sweet harmonics drifting down the hallway, usually accompanied by a gruff grunt, or even a chuckle at the best of times.

"It seems as if you're going to murder me..." her mother would always, always whisper...

"Well, that would be quite the unexpected twist, hm?" The man's words snapped Clary out of the onslaught of abrupt memories and into reality. Why said memories had erupted in Clary's mind, she wasn't sure.

She'd always made sure never to remember.

Because it made her mad at those men.

Then mad at her father.

And being mad at her father meant she was being disrespectful. Which led to suspicion, and then rage, and then the beast. People didn't break out of habits that quickly, did they? So why, no how could she start to remember now?

Because you're free to be mad.

That's exactly why. You. Are. Free.

Clary smiled at the man before her, her teeth flashing white in their alcove of darkness. "Yes, quite an unexpected twist..."

You can murder them, you know.

You're with an assassin.

It'd be sweet, sweet, revenge.

Clary licked her lips at the thought and felt blood lust well inside her veins. "Where are we going?" was all she said to the man before her.

He chuckled. Clary had to get used to people laughing so often. The noise made her uncomfortable. But not in a bad way, almost as if she wanted to feel that chuckle vibrate against her skin. Feel his lips on her neck, on her arms, on her legs, and feet, and cheeks. Everywhere. She swallowed back the feeling and cocked her eyebrows at the man.

"You're so...eager for everything." He smiled. "I like it."

Clary bit down hard on her slightly chapped bottom lip. She feigned the brovado in her next statement, but she took it as a good sign it came easy for her to do so. Clary never liked being that scared little girl she was with her father. She wanted to be confident, cocky. She'd always admired those who were, whom had the perfect amount of compassion mixed within. Like her mother. She'd always admired her mother until...

Clary blinked suddenly and spit out her sentence. "You never answered my question from before."

The man chuckled...again. "I'm quite skilled in the art of avoiding questions."

This time the evasion wasn't endearing, but got on her nerves. She didn't feel like being avoided. Or talked down to. In fact, he had no right to speak like that to her in the first place...

Wait... she never thought it was endearing.

She never thought about it period.

Yes you did.

You like that he holds himself high enough to not be direct. You like how in control he is.

No.

Yes.

Maybe...

"Just answer the goddamned question." Clary couldn't help but think that was the closest thing she'd ever gotten to swearing aloud. It gave her a rush.

"You didn't ask a question that time." He smirked. Smirked!

"It was implied." She snapped, liking the way his eyes glinted when she said it in that tone. Liking the way the words just...tumbled from her mouth with no restraint.

"Was it?"

Clary narrowed her brows. She couldn't help but realize in this banter he was still, unashamedly might she add, avoiding the question. And so she brought this forth. "You're still avoiding the question. You're taking me with you right? And if I'm going with you I have a right to know where I'm going."

He smirk grew. "Actually, you don't," He started moving backwards with small steps. "I'm doing you a favor, and therefore I am entitled to what information is withheld." He started walking away and Clary felt her heart flutter with panic.

"Where are you going?" she burst out. She'd been doing a lot of that lately. He stopped and turned, eyes glinting like sparks as the sun filtered the dark from his irises. He pulled something from his boot and threw it towards her. She caught the temporary UFO and fumbled it in her hands or a second or two, causing him to chuckle.

Yet again.

"Keep that with you. For protection. I'll be back in a second." And with that he disappeared into the shadows.

Clary felt utterly alone and vulnerable without his presence. Like the alleyway they were in was suddenly an ocean and Clary was smack dab in the middle. Alone. She glanced down at the object in her hands and seen that her fingers had already found the proper groves, threaded themselves with the steel.

It was a gun.

A pistol, to be exact.

Think of what you could do with that gun.

The people you could torture, maim...murder.

Those people.

The ones that killed your mother.

But Clary didn't want to think about her mother. It made her angry. She felt her free hand clench into a fist, her not-so-free hand squeeze so hard into the shining metal that it made indents in her palm. She wanted to shoot something.

Really, really, really badly.

She wanted to shoot them.

A man strolled past the opening of the alley, an early commuter, light hazing around his body. He stopped and froze, paralyzed, and Clary could almost feel his eyes widen at the scene before him. The scene of the dead motorcyclist Clary had almost forgotten about.

"Oh my god," she heard him mutter, the wind carrying the sound towards her, and as the man pulled a cell phone from his pocket, flipping up the plastic, Clary felt her hands move.

It was as if they were a separate entity, moving on their own accord. And she did nothing to stop them. She justified it as making sure she and her...companion had enough time for a quick getaway. But she really just wanted to shoot something.

And this innocent man was that something.

She aimed, blowing fiery curls from obscuring her view, and clenched her fingers, taking the metal trigger with her. Their was a soft 'puff' and Clary saw her shot run straight through the man's head, spraying a sheet of blood in a gush behind him. She smirked as he fell to the ground and felt tension recede from her muscles in waves.

She had found a new way to relieve stress.

Good for you, now here comes another way.

The assassin walked around the corner of the alleyway, only glancing at the body beside him before turning to arc an eyebrow at Clary. She beamed at him, dried blood from the two lives she'd ended cracking like a shell on her cheeks. "You ready?" his voice sounded. She decide blatantly that she liked his voice.

You want to hear it moan your name, scream it for the world to hear.

Yes, that too.

"Are you?" She answered back.

He scowled, not the response she'd been expecting but satisfying non-the-least. "What do you mean?"

She smirked. "I don't think I'd have imagined you confused before this moment. I thought it would be a completely avoided emotion."

His eyebrows narrowed. Apparently he didn't like having his questions avoided either."Listen," he said, mischief present in his eyes. "I can handle whatever you can throw at me, I'm always ready, or have you not noticed that I was the one to save your ass just mere minutes ago. Unexpectedly, might I add."

She smiled. "My...ass didn't need saving. Or, at least, not by you." Clary liked swearing. It made her feel powerful.

He just chuckled. It made her lick her bottom lip. "Are you trying to actively work against your coming with me? Because just a couple minutes ago, you seemed extremely desperate to jump into my car and let me drive you away."

"You never directly answered my question to that, by the way. Am I coming with you?" she replied, turning the conversation back on him to avoid her blip in sanity. She really needed to work on putting priority before pride.

"Of course," he smirked childishly, she couldn't decide whether or not she liked it when he looked cute. Sexy fit him more. It was written into his very being. "You've grown on me. " With that he turned and started walking. Clary knew he was expecting her to follow behind and so she did exactly the opposite, knowing it wasn't best to test the waters, but doing so anyways.

You know you want to.

You want to know what makes him tick.

He stopped when he noticed the absence of her presence, almost at the mouth of the alley, near the dead body. But when he twirled to face her, he didn't comment on her position. Instead his words were, "Do you regret killing him? An innocent?"

Clary eyed the corpse with a detached mind. "No," she said blankly, knowing that it was probably wrong of her not to. It was just that Clary had seen so many innocents pass by her house, hear her screams, and not care, that Clary no longer cared about them.

And if they died then they'd have one less moment in their most likely pitiful lives.

"He wasn't anything to me. And I wasn't anything to him. He didn't even know I was the one who killed him so...really...who cares?" She looked up and the acceptance in his eyes made Clary walk towards him.

You were going to go with him anyways...her mind whispered.

She smiled as he did, and when he said "That was exactly the answer I was looking for," Clary couldn't help the swell of pride blooming in her chest.

She followed him until they got to a sleek black corvette. The man pulled a set of keys from his jeans, one that couldn't help but fail in hiding the muscles of his legs as he strode towards the vehicle. Clary moved towards the opposite side and waited. The man pushed a button on an attachment of his key chain then gracefully swooped inside the car, closing his door with a thump.

Clary felt her cheeks turn red with embarrassment.

She'd never been inside a car before.

She'd seen them, heard them, watched people inside of them countless times, but had actually...been inside a car.

So when Clary reached towards the handle and pulled, she didn't expect the force in which the door swung open, causing her to fall alongside it. He face grew even more heated.

Clary heard the man chuckle as she clambered up and slumped into the leather seats, acutely aware of how the material hugged her thighs and back. She turned towards the golden man as he tried to hold back a smile.

"You've ah, got to close the door."

Clary blushed and sulked further into her seat before slamming the door closed. She felt immensely chagrined as he inserted the keys into a slot and the machine surrounding them purred with life.

"Never been in a car before?" He mocked, disbelief with slight asperity. Clary tried to swallow her new-found anger.

"No, my father always made me walk because he said that I would contaminate the most precious thing we owned with my disgusting body, one whom came from the whore I called my mother." She recited. At the time she felt indifferent towards the comment, too numb by her mothers death to feel anything but now she just thought of it as funny. She laughed.

She might have been disgusting but at least she wasn't dead.

The man turned towards her with a calculating gaze. Clary just stared evenly back, not caring of what her father or the man thought about herself. The man seemed satisfied with what he found in her gaze and turned to face the road before slamming his foot down on the gas petal. The car lurched forward with surprising grace.

Clary just embraced the spastic movement. She turned to him as they soared down hazy streets.

"I never caught your name." She said with implied question

"I never gave it." He replied.

Clary sighed. "What's your name?" Her words were through gritted teeth. Why should she give him the satisfaction of a direct question when he never gave her a direct answer?

She saw him smirk from the corner of her eye, face all planes and shadows as the sun intruded on this scene.

"Jace. Jace Wayland. A pleasure to meet you."

Review?

Pretty please?

I know this one may have been boring as well, a little too long for the expanse of what happened but I really want this fanfic to almost be like a book. I'm into explaining things in detail, descriptive writing and such, but please tell me if my story starts to sound too much like a school project.

Like I warned you all, I had an epiphany which just so happened to change the plot, but I thought I could sneak it into this chapter instead of having to re-write the other ones.

***Question: When do you think Clary will tell Jace her name? She didn't yet, if you haven't noticed.

Anyways, please follow, favourite, review, or even just read this again. Because I love it when people read my stories.

Lovestory112 :)