Sins Of The Father

by DawnRed

The Untonuim girls. Perfect little girls, living a perfect life. However, life becomes drastically less perfect after the death of their father. Trying to survive and move past their grief, the girls uncover a web of secrets that are all linked to their father and them. What was their father working on? Is it what got him killed? "Those closest to you lie." Origin Story. PPGXRRB

7. Chapter 7

Two weeks ago...

Butch runs around for at least another four hours, blindly turning down corners and alleyways. He's sure that at one point he was just running around in circles. Fuck was this chick fast, and fucking sly too! No way she was part of Ace's gang. She was too good. That means HIM sent her.

FUCK!

He thought he'd been careful. Guess that proved what he thought all along. HIM is watching. Probably has been since he got out of Juvie. If he weren't so pissed him off, he'd be flattered. If HIM was watching, then he thought Butch a threat. Good.

That motherfucker was gonna get his. It was only a matter of time.

But FUCK! It took him five fucking years to get his ass back to Townsville and five days for his plans to blow up in his face. Who the fuck was that chick anyway? She looked young, probably still in high school or should be in high school. It was no secret that HIM employed high school dropouts. Rebellious little runaways with no options and willing to do whatever it takes to get by and if that meant working for HIM—killing for HIM—then that was what it took.

Butch goes back to the junkyard once he gives up his search, gets a few parts he may need, and gets the hell out before anyone can find him. It's not an easy task, finding a new hideout. How the hell is he suppose to hide a car in the fucking Rot? If he isn't careful his ride would most likely get stripped or stolen, or worse.

Butch doesn't have many options. Most of the old guys he used to roll with aren't around anymore, either dead or in prison, and then there are traitors like Ace and the gang that can't be trusted. No place to hide and nobody to trust.

Fun-fucking-tasic!

Butch growls in frustration. Fuck. With no other options, Butch had not choice but to see Jerome. He'd had been avoiding this. Five years and a stint in juvie wasn't enough time to help Butch swallow his pride; truthfully, when they dragged his ass away in handcuffs all those years ago, he'd thought he'd said goodbye to this place for good.

Didn't think he'd have to come back and own up to the shit that he did.

It's dark by the time Butch reaches Jerome's place. A little sinkhole of a place on the outskirts of town. One of the reasons no gives a flying fuck about the Rot is because it's a section of the city that's technically already on the outskirts of the entire city. You can get anywhere in the town without having to drive through the Rot, so it's easy to ignore. Like a tumor that grows on the side of your face. If you turn just right, you can pretend it's not even there.

Butch's headlights light up the dark, shabby house including the open garage where a short, dark man stands over the hood of a car. The man looks at him for a split-second then goes back to working on his car.

Damn, knew he wasn't going to make this easy.

He shuts off his car and gets out. He stands before the man, waiting to see if he's welcomed or not. A few tense moments pass, and when no guns or punches are pulled, Butch decides it's safe to continue.

"Jerome."

"Trisket."

Butch can't help but smirk, "Fuck you." He says in a friendly tone. If it were anybody else calling him Trisket, Butch would have broken their nose, and maybe a few other bones. Trisket was never a name—slur—that he enjoyed hearing, especially because it was his father, HIM, that gave it to him as a kid. But Jerome took it back, made it an affectionate nickname and not a word that was meant to hurt Butch. That's what Jerome does; he fixes things.

"You're much tanner than last time I saw you, whitey."

Butch laughs, "California sun did me some good, I guess. Don't even get me started on the babes."

"I bet." Jerome grunts and shuts the hood of his car. "So you're back."

"I'm back."

"As much as I'm enjoying this lively conversation we're having, can't say I'm all too excited to see you."

"Look, about what happened—"

"Ain't about that. You should've never come back."

Butch frowns, "Why not? I got every right to be here. Townsville's my home."

"So, what? Planning on taking your old man down?" Jerome huffs, "Cuz if so then like I said, you should've never come back."

"Don't think I can do it?" Butch snarls.

"I'd check you're tone with me, boy. Who the fuck you think you're talking to? If it's revenge you're looking for, then I suggest you drive the fuck out of here. I'm not messing with all that."

"That's not why I'm here." Butch fidgets, trying to keep his rising anger in check. "I'm not looking to involve you in this; I just need a place to crash and fix up my ride."

Jerome looks over Butch's shoulder, "You racing again?"

Butch shrugs, "Need to make money somehow. So, you gonna help out or what? Do I need to beg for forgiveness first?"

"Not that I wouldn't enjoy seeing you on your knees—"

"I'm flattered, but I don't swing that way," Butch snorts.

"But not that it would mean anything if you're back here about to do what I think you're about to do."

"It's not—"

Jerome puts his hand up, "Shut it. I don't need to know. We'll work on your ride in the morning. Get your ass inside while the pizza still hot."

"They deliver pizza out here?" Butch asks as they walk inside.

Jerome snorts, "Right, who in their right mind would deliver to the Rot? It's DiGiorno."

Butch hides it as he takes a bite of pizza, his first real meal in days, but he's relieved that Jerome took him in. Sleeping in his car was getting cramped. And man was he starved.

"So you got your old ride back, I see." Jerome states.

"Yup got old knight rider back. I've had a few other rides over the years, but she's my favorite."

Jerome hums, "And you don't think it's weird that you found your old car in one piece?"

"Pfft, everyone knew that was my car. They'd be crazy to take it."

"You don't think it's strange that your father didn't have it towed to the junkyard or cut up into a million pieces, really?"

Butch smirks, "That's 'cuz I hid it before the feds got me. Only person who knew where it was is Ace, and even if he is a backstabbing piece of shit, he wouldn't have told HIM about it, not if he wanted to keep the 50K I hind inside the backseat for himself."

Jerome chokes mid-bite, "Holy shit! You had 50K hiding in that thing. What the fuck? Did you forget that I helped you fix that thing when it was just a piece of trash? What the shit!"

"Whoa, calm down. I didn't tell you 'cuz I didn't want to get you involved. Ace would have probably shot you if he knew you knew."

"I can handle punks like Ace."

"Yeah, but not when they're on HIM's leash. Doesn't matter anyway. The money is long gone."

"Damn."

"Same." Butch grunts, shoveling his third slice into his mouth.

"So where you've been hiding?"

"LA mostly."

"No. I mean, here. In Townsville. Where you've been?"

Butch pauses, "I just got back."

Jerome snorts, "Right. Like I believe that. I may not be involved in all that shit anymore, but I keep my ear to the ground. Ace and his buddies have been expecting you for weeks. Just the other day I heard they knew you was back. Frankly, I'm surprised I didn't see you sooner. "

"Fuck." Butch spits, "I knew it was HIM."

"Knew HIM what?"

"I was hiding out at the old Mulligans place. Thought I was safe too 'till I was made. By a fucking girl too!"

Jerome frowns, "A girl? One of HIM's spies you think?"

"It's gotta be. I don't think she's part of Ace's crew. She wasn't wearing a bandana, no piercings, no gun on her neither or she would have used it. Looked clean, a bit skinny, definitely a runaway. Must be new too, she looked scared as shit."

Jerome hums, "I don't know. If Ace was expecting you, then HIM would have already known you was here. What would be the point of sending a spy?"

Butch pauses, taken aback. Now that he thinks about it, Jerome is right; it doesn't make sense. "Huh."

Jerome laughs, "So you just got owned by some random little girl? Man, have you lost your touch."

"No! I went easy on her, maybe a little too easy. But I'm telling you, man, she's hiding something. She came in all detective-like taking pictures and looking around my car like she's seen it before. Then when I asked her what the hell she was doing she, get this, lies and tells me she's looking for parts. Parts! Like she's a mechanic or something."

"You know, she could have been a mechanic."

"Nah. Like I said, she looked clean. No way she gets her hands dirty."

"Well did you check? Her hands I mean. Were they chipped, greasy, dirty, calloused? Did they look like a mech's hands?"

"Ugh…no. I didn't check."

"So let me get this straight. Some strange girl starts sniffing around your car, you get a funny vibe from her, and when she tells you her story you don't check to see if she's telling the truth?" Jerome asks seriously as if he can't believe Butch's stupidity.

"Don't look at me like that! It was a long trip, and it's been a while…so I got a little distracted…I didn't think it was necessary!"

Jerome takes a swing of his beer, "Un-fucking-believable. Forget it. I'm sure it was nothing. What you should be more worried about are HIM and Ace. They know you're here and they haven't done anything about it. Don't you think that's strange? Considering the lengths your father went to last time to get rid of your ass."

"You know HIM; he tries really hard to make it seem like he isn't scared of anything. I'm sure he's just doing it to piss me off, but that's fine. I can wait."

"No you can't," Jerome snorts, "You're like the most impatient person I know. Look, let's make a deal, alright. As long as you're here, under my roof, you can do whatever you like as long as it has nothing to do with HIM. You won't talk about HIM; you won't fuck with HIM. You're a thief, a street racer, a gang banger, but I draw the line at father-killer. And I'm not just saying this to cover my own ass, if you want to do this, there's nothing I can do to stop you, but you're going to do it right. You're not going in half-cocked."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"I'm serious, Butch. It's not just HIM and Ace you got to worry about. Brick is back."

"Brick…he's back?"

Jerome nods his head.

"Son of a BITCH!" Butch slams his hands on the table. "Just what I fucking needed! The fucking golden boy ruining everything! What the hell is he even doing back?"

"I figured HIM's plan always was to bring Brick back so he could take over the business."

"That should be years from now! What about college? I'm sure that smart bastard would like to go to some rich fru-fru school. Piece of shit thinks he's so much better than everyone else!"

"I don't know man, but you've got to be careful. Like I said, the only way you're gonna stand a chance is if you don't go in half-cocked. If I was you, I'd play nice with Ace and his crew."

"What for? They're lying rat bastards—who needs them!"

"You do! You can't get close to HIM without getting close to those guys. Try to act like all that shit is behind you, it has been five years, maybe they'll buy it."

Butch snorts, "Doubt it. But I get what you're saying. If I want dirt on HIM the only way I'll get it is through those guys."

"Exactly! Knew you had more than one brain cell in that pinhead you call a brain."

Butch rolls his eyes as he bites into another slice of pizza. He didn't want to play it this way, but fuck, with Brick back in the picture the stakes just got higher. Things couldn't go down like in an old-fashioned shootout. HIM, at least, was a thug and would probably welcome Butch's violent approach, but Brick was too smart for that kinda of shit. No, it was time to act like a Mercer and play this their way, then once and for all, HIM would finally see who the better son is.

Then his father would regret ever fucking with him.

No. Better yet.

He'd make his father regret not killing him when he had the chance.

---

It takes a week to fix up his car, so that's it's primetime ready. All that was left for Butch to do was find a race. Luckily, that's what Jerome is for, he may be a retired old mobster, but he still knew his shit. Jerome locates a race going down tonight, and Butch isn't going to miss it for anything.

"You sure this is a good idea? You never really know who's hosting these things. It could be a trap that HIM set up to draw you out."

Butch snorts, "I doubt it. HIM is a bad guy but like a lame, B-movie bad guy. He doesn't know shit about any cool crimes. He doesn't give a fuck about drag racing."

"Maybe so, but I can guarantee that Ace and his buddies will be there. They're bound to report back to HIM if they spot you."

Butch snorts, "Like I give a fuck." Butch does give a fuck—a small fuck—but the thought did cross his mind. Still, Butch planned it out this way. To make his big debut back in Townsville by winning a race. The reality is that it could be Ace and the gang or any other lowlife that works for HIM—doesn't matter, after tonight, HIM will know his crazy, revenge-seeking son is back in Townsville.

The message will be sent. A big fuck you to HIM and a giant warning that his days are numbered.

Butch takes one last look under the hood of his car. When everything looks perfect, he shuts the top and steps into the driver seat. "Like you said, I can handle punks like Ace."

Jerome chuckles, "You're going to get yourself killed, you know that right?"

Butch turns on the car, the engine cutting off Jerome's laughter. "We all have to go sometime!" Butch yells out as he drives away.

He makes it to the spot Jerome told him about. It's an old factory not too far from Jerome's home. Probably how the old fart learned about tonight's race.

The party is already in full swing, cars of all types lined up on either side of the race track, and music pumping through the car's massive speakers.

Most cars are, predictably, painted in bright and colorful patterns. Butch smirks, he didn't have to paint his ride some stupid color. Knight rider is beautiful enough on her own; muted in its solid black paint job.

Butch looks around trying to find the flagger. He spots him, a man standing in the middle of the dirt path that makes up the race track. He is currently taking money, the buy-in amount for those that want to participate in the race. The man's back is to Butch as he approaches.

"Yo, what's the buy-in?"

The man turns around mumbling to himself as he counts the cash in his hands, "500. Bets are another thing; you have to arrange that—Holy shit!" The man shouts out as finally he looks up and gets a good look at Butch. "You're Butch."

"No shit. Now you gonna take my money or what?" Butch holds up five 100 dollar bills in front of his face. It's not a steep price, the buy-in, but Butch doesn't have much money. The five bills in his hands are some of the last few dollars Butch has on him. Not that Butch intends to be broke for very long.

"Yeah, man." The flagger laughs nervously. "Fuck, I heard rumors, but I didn't think you were actually back. Between you and me, I don't think any of these guys stand a chance."

"You can stop the ass kissing. Real talk, who's the competition?"

"Nah, man. I'm serious. Most of these guys are newbs; it's why the buy-in is so low."

"That sucks. My first day back and no action?"

"Well, there is one. His name is Bud." The flagger nods to someone behind Butch. Butch turns around to see a tall, skinny man with a green mohawk standing a few feet away. "I know what you're thinking. He's not much to look at, and honestly, he's a poser, but his inexperience works for him. I don't know if it's stupid bravery or just plain stupid, but he's crazy enough to do anything to win. Last race, his engine went up in smoke. Barely had time to cross the finish line and jump out before the car went up in flames. He won, though."

Butch hums, "Thanks. I'll watch out for him."

The flagger nods, "I'd get your ride. The race is about to begin." Butch runs off to fetch knight rider. A sharp whistle cuts the music off, everyone's attention shifts to the flagger. "Alright! Listen up! We're about to start. Racers! To the start line." Four cars line up beside Butch. A hot pink Honda, a green and gold Toyota, a silver Toyota, and the bright blue Nissan belonging to the green-haired punk, Bud.

Cheap cars, for cheap racers. I got this in the bag.

"Racers, start your engines!" The flagger yells out; a sexy girl stands beside him, flag raised in the air. The cars start revving their engines, making the crowd go wild. "On my mark! Get set!" The girl drops the white flag and off the cars go, tires screeching and the crowd cheering.

Butch has raced on this track before. It's a commonly used place, as it's off from the main roads and abandoned. The only downside is that the track is small, so racers have to loop around three times. First person to pass the finish line during the third loop wins.

Butch keeps his speed constant, letting all four flashy cars pass him. The silver Toyota takes the lead, that is until they reach the first turn. The silver Toyota doesn't slow down and clearly doesn't have enough experience to make a controlled turn. The silver car ends up sliding uncontrollably until it crashes into the silo. The hot pink car takes the lead, the green car right on her tail.

The four cars still in the race finish the first loop. Butch is disappointed. According to the flagger, his only competition is Bud, the blue Nissan, but he's unimpressive so far. He drives like a drunk, to be honest and while Bud's constant swerving is making it hard for Butch to pass him, it's really annoying and won't keep Butch from winning.

They near the end of the second loop when the green Toyota seems to have enough and rear-ends the pink car, trying to pass her. The pink Toyota appears to have forgotten she's in a race, having reacted like a common driver and not a racer. She slams on the brakes, the sudden stop making her skid sideways. The green car, too close to her to avoid impact, ends up ramming into the pink's car passenger door.

Butch and Bud go opposite ways, passing the damaged cars. They cross the start line, into the third loop, at the same time. Bud tries swerving into him, trying to drive Butch off course. Butch snorts, amateur shit. Butch gets the lead once Bud starts to lose control trying to swerve into him. All in all, pretty boring shit.

Butch is nearing the turn when he hears the familiar sound of nitro. He catches sight of green fire shoot out from the blue Nissan, going off in the wrong direction. Guess, he's more stupid than stupid brave.

Butch makes the turn, feeling smug and bored at the same time. He can see the finish line, not too far from the turn when out of nowhere the path in front of him darkens. It confuses Butch at first until he realizes it's a shadow. A large and growing shadow.

"HOLY SHIT!" Bud's car is flying over him! That crazy fucker must have cut across and jumped a ramp. It's stupid, crazy, desperate, and—he hates to admit it—fucking impressive!

Butch hits the nitro, mostly out of self-preservation. He's sure he could've won without it, but at this point, he'd rather not be flattened by Bud's car. The nitro hits just in time to avoid impact. Bud's car crashes into the ground behind him and Butch crosses the finish line. He shuts off his engine and hears the loud crowd cheer for him. When Butch steps out, he spots Bud angrily kicking at his ruined car.

Stupid motherfucker.

The flagger is at his side, excitedly announcing his name and declaring him the winner. He gets mixed reactions from the crowd. It's still a lively crowd, only those that recognize him or know his name gasp and pause in surprise.

Butch holds out his hand, "My winnings."

The flagger slaps the cash into Butch's hand. "Yeah, man! Here you go. It's great to have you back!"

Most people go back to partying, and only a few people go up to him to congratulate him. Mostly drunk people that don't recognize him—mostly hot drunk chicks.

"That was so awesome!" A busy blond breathes into his ear. "How do you drive like that?"

"90% skill. 10% Luck." Butch winks. The blond girl laughs and fuck, Butch's night just got better. He's got a cool couple grand burning his pocket and a hot, easy, girl at his side. Could life get any better?

A slow clap gets Butch's attention, drawing them away from the blond girl's chest. "Congratulations. That was some race." Ace says in his slimy voice, his crew standing behind him. "Lacey, sweetie, you wouldn't mind letting Butch and us boys talk, would you?"

The busty blond's eyes grow wide, and she shakes her head nervously. "N…no, Ace. I'll catch ya' later."

Butch looks away at retreating blond. Damn. She was so hot." You must have some balls, Ace."

"Don't worry about her. I can guarantee she spends the night with you if that's what you want."

"I don't want shit from you." Butch spits. "Now, you gonna let me enjoy my night? 'Cuz if not I have better places to be."

"Like Jerome's? Oh, yeah. We know all about that."

Butch steps closer to Ace, "You leave him out of this."

"Fine. But you're gonna have to play nice with us first. We got something you need to hear. In private."

"What makes you think I want to listen?"

"Come on, Butch. It's been five years; things don't swing in your favor no more. You've got to show the proper respect, just like we're doing now. 'Sides, if you don't listen, then we can't promise that HIM won't hear about this."

That gets Butch's attention. "You mean to tell me HIM don't know?"

Ace smirks, "HIM don't need to know 'bout nothing." He nods his head to the side and walks away. Ace's lackeys following after him.

Butch watches them for a few seconds, debating over going with them or not. It could be a trap, not the first Ace has pulled on him, and frankly, the only thing Butch feels like doing is breaking the motherfucker's face in.

Butch feels his anger rising, it feels almost like a physical object that he has to squash down by fisting his hands. Play nice with Ace. That's what Jerome said, not that Butch wanted to listen to his advice, but the last time he ignored Jerome's advice HIM had Butch sent to a Juvie out on the west coast.

Lesson learned. Jerome is always right.

"Fuck," Butch mumbles walking after Ace. They find a little secluded area, not too far from the party, but far enough away that no one can hear them. If Ace wanted to start something, there'd be a lot of witnesses, not that anyone would say anything. Butch wonders if Ace did this purposely for Butch's protection or his own.

"I'm here. So talk."

"What? No greeting? It has been five years since we last saw each other."

"Fuck you. Like I ever wanted to see your piece of shit face again."

Ace drops the smirk, "I know. I ain't going to apologize for that. What's done is done. But, man, it took a lot of work to get you back here."

Red hot anger courses through Butch at Ace's words and this time, he isn't strong enough to push it back. He grabs Ace by his shirt and slams him into a nearby wall. "Did you have something to do with that?" Butch snarls.

"Boss!" Billy shouts out.

"You're going to regret that." Snake threatens. The rest of the guys getting ready for a fight.

"Settle down boys." Ace winces, calming his friends before they try something stupid. Getting into a fight with Butch is never a good idea. They all know he's always packing something. "If you're talking about what went down in LA, I had nothing to do with that."

"You better not be lying to me, Ace." Butch grits, pushing harder on Ace's skinny frame.

"I swear! I'm not! I don't even know what happened. Alls I know is what HIM told me." Ace pleads, holding up his hands in a sign of peace.

"What did HIM say?"

"All he said was you were coming back. To be honest, he looked pretty spooked about it. Whatever it was that he did, I know he crossed a line."

Butch pushes Ace back, letting go of his shirt, "Like you care."

"I do." Ace gasps, catching his breath. "Look, none of us are saints, but none of us is HIM neither. And honestly, I'm tired of working for the guy."

"You should of thought about that before you decided to fuck me over!"

"I know, okay! You want me to say it? Fine! We fucked up! We should have never turned our backs on you!"

"Fuck your apology, Ace. I ain't exactly the forgiving type." Butch begins to walk away, too pissed off to listen to any of Ace's bullshit.

"I'm not trying to apologize! I want to make things right! Get even!"

Butch pauses, "And how exactly are you going to do that? Go to prison for me? You gonna do the time I had to?"

"I'm not the one that sent you to juvie, Butch. That was HIM." Ace sighs, "I want to get back at HIM."

Butch turns back around, stunned. "You mean…no fucking way. Did HIM put you up to this? Is this some kind of trap?"

Ace approaches, signaling his crew to stay behind, "No joke. I'm serious. I want to bring down HIM."

Butch pauses for a bit, then lets out a deep and short laugh, "You must think I'm the biggest idiot in the world. Why the fuck should I believe you?"

Ace smirks, "I thought you'd say that." He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a small black microchip. "You know what this is?"

Butch rolls his eyes, "A sim card. So what?"

"This is ain't just some sim card. It belonged to city attorney Jeremy Kenny."

Butch raises an eyebrow, "Is that name suppose to mean something to me?"

"It should. Jeremy Kenny is dead. No one knows, not yet. Nobody even thinks him missing yet."

"Ace, I know it's been a long time. But if you're waiting for me to get it, you're going to be waiting a long time. Just fucking spit it out."

"Jeremy Kenny was killed by your car. A drunk hit n' run. It happened about a month ago."

Butch frowns in confusion, "But I wasn't even here—YOU SON OF A BITCH! You framed me!"

"Hold on!" Ace yells, arms up to block Butch's fist, "It wasn't me! I mean, we did drive the car. But it was all HIM's idea. He wants to frame you and turn you over to the cops. He's got all the evidence he needs to make you look guilty."

"Bullshit! Then why hasn't he turned me over?"

"'Cuz he don't know you're here, not yet at least. As soon as you came back to Townsville and took knight rider back, I replaced it with another car. Same color, different year, but it's not like your old man can tell."

"Wait. He knew where my car was stashed? Did he know about the money?"

Ace snorts, "Right. Like I'd tell him that. I wouldn't be alive right now. I just told him I happen to have found your car while's we were stealing and stripping other cars. Don't think he believed me at first, until I started taking your car apart. Luckily, I spent that dough long before then. I'm sure he thought you hid it in the car."

"Right. Lucky."

"Anyway, once he knew you were coming back, he set up this whole plan. As soon as he knows you're here, you'll be leaving in handcuffs again."

Butch crosses his arms, "And I should just trust you why?"

"Because my ass is on the line too. You think HIM won't find a way to get rid of us once you're gone. We can only play stupid for so long, be useful for so long. HIM never keeps people around for long." Ace sighs, "Look, you've been gone a long time, Butch. Things aren't like they use to be. HIM…his power. It's dying. I don't know how it happened, but your old man isn't as sharp as he used to be. He goes out of town a lot, isn't on top of his shit no more, and his old businesses are starting to fall apart. It's like something else has his attention, something big. Whatever it is, it just means he's at his weakest."

Ace places a hand on Butch's shoulder. "The time to act is now. You and me, we're the only ones that have ever gotten even close to taking him down. Were older now, stronger, we can take HIM out and then, this city is ours!"

Butch narrows his eyes, looking into Ace's reflective glasses, "And if I'm not interested."

Ace smile drops, "Despite what happened, I still consider you a friend Butch, but this is high stakes, and if you're not with us, then you're against us. Can't have too many players on the board." Ace drops his hand. "Think about it! You want the same thing I want. If you work with us, I can promise you HIM will never have to know you're back. We'll keep our mouths shut and make sure to take care of anyone that wants to rat you out to HIM.'"

Butch nods to the sim card in Ace's hand, "What about that? HIM can still stick the cops on me, even if he don't know I'm here."

Ace waves him off, "Don't worry about that. Like I said, your old man is slippin'. I've got all the evidence on me, and if you work with us, no one will ever have to know about what happened to poor Mr. Kenny. Here." Ace gives the sim card to Butch. "As a sign of good faith. So what do you say? Partners?"

Ace is making a lot of promises. Keeping promises isn't Ace's strong suit. He betrayed Butch once, and that fucker is likely to do it again. Still, as much as it pains Butch to admit it, he has no other options. He can work with Ace—that lying, rat, scum of the motherfucking Earth—to take his father down, or he can go to jail.

FUCK.

Play nice with Ace, that's what Jerome said. For once, play it smart.

"I don't have to like you to work with you."

Ace smirks, "Fair enough." He extends his hand, and Butch reluctantly shakes it, a bit too forceful but the wince Ace barely manages to hide is worth it. "Great! Now how 'bout we go back and join the party?" Ace begins to walk away, the rest of his crew following after. The lot of them looking fucking pleased with themselves.

Assholes.

"Wait!" Butch yells, "You said no one knows this guy is dead, right? No one knows he's even gone missing?"

Ace nods his head, "Yeah, why?"

"Well, what about when they do find out? You may be willing to keep this secret but what if someone saw you? Saw my fucking car? What if someone knows something?"

Ace snorts, "Don't worry about it! We're professionals, no one saw a thing. And even if they did, it was in the Rot. They know better. Now come on! You need some booze; you're too tense."

Butch lets out a weak chuckle, "Right." He's the last to join the party, lagging behind everyone else. Something about what Ace said is nagging him.

It's not like Ace is lying, Ace truly believes he's professional enough not to get caught, only Butch knows better, and they always made too much noise to ever get away with anything. Butch ignores it, but the thought lingers behind in the back of his head. It's not until later that night—or early morning—when he's heading back to Jerome's that it hits him.

Someone most likely did see something. Most likely not someone that would go to the police. Not someone that works for Ace either. So, who could possibly want to break the most important rule in the Rot and rat him out to the cops? Maybe someone that was spying on Ace. Making sure he got the job done. Someone that would benefit from seeing his ass hauled off to jail.

Someone working for HIM.

But who?

Holy shit!

He knows who. The girl! From the junkyard!

She fucking knows!

---

A few days later…

Brick did not enjoy venturing to such desolate, unclean places such as the Rot, but when dire situations called for it, Brick made exceptions.

"Do you think it wise to drive around this place in a limousine," Morgan asks, a touch of nervousness in his voice.

"HIM's name is on the license plate; there's nothing to worry about." Brick reassures the short man. "What did you find?"

"Not much. I know your fa—HIM controls the police, but their report is just downright sloppy. The whole thing just as well could have been blacked out with the information I got. All I know is that a gang, whose name isn't even written down despite their identity known, attacked a man named Jack Martin. That's it. There's no mention of who this Jack Martin is nor a list of injuries or items damaged or lost. And on the final line, it just reads witness: Blossom Utonium."

"You're right. That is sloppy. Who wrote the report?"

"An officer by the name of Mike Brikowski. Says he and his partner Michael Wings were the first on the scene."

"Wings. That's the officer I spoke with. He's new, a transfer from Chicago. Clean too. No doubt Brikowski switched the reports and gave HIM the real one. Brikowski has been on HIM's payroll for years. This must be why he's so interested in that Blossom girl."

"I doubt HIM would find a young girl so threatening. Besides the conversation at the diner and the initial incident she hasn't really made any noise about the whole incident, and it's not like the police are going to do anything about it anyway."

"I suppose you're right." Brick reluctantly admits. Morgan rolls his eyes, quite used to Brick's stubborn pride. "Blossom doesn't know anything, and if HIM did find her a threat, he'd just get rid of her. She's a young girl, works downtown, walks home alone; it would be easy to make it look like an accident." Brick huffs, "Then what is his fascination?"

"Isn't that why we're here? To get more information from those undignified idiots HIM employs. Although, now that you mention it, I don't think it would be as easy as getting rid of the young Utonium girl. From what I researched her family is quite beloved in this town."

Brick huffs in disbelief, "I find that hard to believe." His mood still sour over the bitter confrontation he just had with the Blossom girl. It wasn't how he pictured their first conversation going, but really, it's her fault. She's just so…frigid.

"There is nothing to like about that girl. Nothing. She's neurotic, rude, and generally, unpleasant. She is such a waste of my time and energy. I can't imagine she's anything but a bitter chore and punishment for HIM to torture me with." Brick trails off, noticing Morgan's confused gaze. Brick hand't said much to the man since leaving the delightfully, uncharming diner ten minutes ago. Having just told the driver their next location and demanding importation from Morgan. Really the whole encounter with Blossom had left such a bitter taste in his mouth he just wanted to focus on the next task.

Morgan doesn't need to know that his first contact with the Utonium girl had gone horribly wrong. Not that it was his fault— that ungrateful shrew.

"Stop. This is the place." Brick announces.

The gang green gang's hideout was a well-known secret. With all the enemies those boys made you'd think they'd be more careful about where they conjugated, but since they worked for HIM, they had his protection and thus no one was willing to mess with them.

Brick steps out the car and stands in front of a run-down looking house sitting next to a warehouse. With what HIM pays them Brick finds it hard to understand why the gang green gang would purposely live in such a pigsty.

Brick opens the door and steps inside, not bothering to knock first. The first thing he notices are empty boxes, bags, and takeout containers littering the floor. Disgusting. He spots four members in the living room—if it could be called that as it resembles more a trash can than a living space. A large guy takes up a couch, asleep, one is sitting on the floor texting, while the other two play a rather loud video game.

Guess this is what they spend their money on.

"Guys! Who ate the last of the Cheetos? I swear if it was—well, ain't this a nice surprise!" Yells Ace as he walks into the living room. "Boys shut that off!"

The two playing video games turn to look at him in surprise, noting their guest for the first time. "Whoa! Look it! The bossman's son."

"Arturo, manners. That's not just the bossman's son, that's his heir. You know what that means, don't you? Brick, here, will be our bossman one day."

Brick merely raises an eyebrow, "Unlikely, unless you want to start proving that you're worth keeping around."

Ace smirks, "Well, golden boy, how can we be of service?"

"Jack Martin. You had an altercation with him. I want to know who he is and why."

Ace snorts, "Wow. I wish I could do that. Get anything I want just by asking for it. That's a neat superpower, but sorry to say this goes above you. You know how your father likes his secrets. But since you're all buddy-buddy with HIM I'm sure you could just ask him yourself."

"I already know the answer to this, but are you at all familiar with the game of chess?"

Ace rolls his eyes and says nothing.

"Right. Well, I don't expect you to understand. Despite what you think, I don't get everything handed to me, I demanded it, yes, but I seek it out for myself. Asking for daddy's help is frowned upon in my family. So why don't we try again. Jack Martin. Tell me everything you know."

Ace walks up to him looking incredibly tall but underfed. Ace stops inches away from him, and Brick supposes he's to find the whole act intimidating. How hilarious. Ace is aware that the same man he fears, his bossman, is the same man Brick is forced to call father, right?

"I ain't telling you nothing. Now I suggest you get your fancy ass back in your fancy ass car and get the hell out of here. The Rot ain't no place for pretty boys like you."

"What do you intend to do, Ace? Shoot me? Hit me? I won't fight back, it's not my style, but we both know you can't kill me. So if you intend to hurt me, make me bleed, remember whose blood you'd be spilling. My father may not be a caring man, but he is prideful, so I'd tread lightly."

Ace smirks, "You're right. I can't hurt you, and you're not willing to get your hands dirty, so I guess we're at a standstill. I'm not telling you nothing, but since you are the boss's son, feel free to make yourself at home. You can stick around as long as you like."

Ace laughs, believing himself the victor of their little spat, Brick almost smiles himself, thinking the whole thing humorous. Almost.

Brick crosses his arms behind his back, keeping his calm demeanor. He really didn't want to resort to this, but his patience is wearing thin. "You know, when Butch was a child, he had a horrible habit of hiding things. Maybe it's because he stole them or because he had an inability of sharing. Regardless, he was good at it. He got really creative with his hiding spots too. He once hid a gold necklace inside one of the couch cushions."

"Is there a point to this, red? 'Cuz I got better stuff to do."

"Seeing the way you live, I'm curious. What did you do with the 50 thousand dollars Butch had stashed in his car? Did you gamble it away, spend it on drugs, women?"

Ace's smirk falls right off his face, "What?"

"Did I not make myself clear? The money, Ace. I know all about it. I may not be fond of Butch, but he is the only one to ever best our father in some respect, so even though my father desperately wanted the money Butch stole from him, I decided to keep quiet. As did you. I may not have known where the car was hidden, but I'm sure Butch told you. His best friend." Ace's shocked, fearful expression shows a hint of guilt.

Brick pauses, enjoying the sight and giving Ace a moment to let the revelation sink in. "Now that I've cleared up a few things, I'll ask again. If you refuse to answer, then I guess I'll just have to take your advice and run off and ask daddy for help and while I'm at it I suppose I could ask him if he knows what you did with his 50 grand."

Ace stares at him in unfiltered rage while his lackeys stare on in horror. Good. They know the price for betraying HIM.

"What do you want?"

"Jack Martin. Speak. Now."

Ace lets out a long-suffering sigh. "Boys step outside." The other members look at each other before heading out quick, but not before waking up their sleeping friend and dragging him outside. When the door closes, and it's just the two of them. Ace speaks. "Martin's some finance guy. Works for city hall."

"The finance director?"

Ace shrugs, "Probably or works for the finance director. Anyway, he just got the job about a year ago and, as you probably guessed, is on HIM's payroll. Martin is responsible for siphoning money into some of HIM's projects and is essentially our payroll guy. He'd been doing a good job, but while HIM was away, he started slipping. The money didn't add up. So HIM sent us to deliver a message."

Brick frowns, "HIM was away? When? Where did he go?"

Ace groans, "I don't know, a few months ago? He was gone longer than usual, maintained radio silence the whole time. As for where I have no idea. It's not like I asked."

"Were you aware that there was a witness?"

"I figured someone was there, we heard 'em, but can't say who it was. Not like it matters, heard one of ours was first on the scene."

"Yes, but HIM knows who it is."

"Really? Well, he ain't said shit to us, or trust me, we would have taken care of it already."

"Do you know what projects Matin is funding?"

"Nope. Not my business to know, ain't part of the job description. But if I had to guess I'd say it was that new complex they're building out in the Rot."

"He's still working on that?" Brick mumbles to himself. "Why isn't it being funded through the company?"

"Don't know that either. Now, we done here or what? Threat or no, I don't have all the answers, no one does. If you want to know the whole truth, you know who you have to ask."

Brick hums, "I guess that'll do for now. I don't want to be here any longer than I have to." He turns around ready to walk out when Ace stops him.

"What makes you think I won't tell HIM about the money? He'll think you and Butch planned the whole thing together. Then you'll really be sorry."

"I suppose you could tell him, but then you'd be telling him the truth about yourself. Essentially, it'll come down to who he'll be more upset with and who he'll believe. Is that a gamble you're willing to lose?"

Brick walks out before Ace can answer. Once inside the limo, the driver takes off; in the reviewer mirror Brick can see all of the gang green gang standing in the middle of the road. Ace pointing a gun straight ahead.

"Did you get what you needed?" Morgan asks.

"Yes."

"And?"

"And there is a lot morethatHIM is keeping from us and I intend to find out."

---

"…Officer Wings was very clear. The case is closed, and although Blossom seemed distressed with the fact, it's highly unlikely she'll pursue the subject farther."

HIM takes in the view outside his office as he listens to his eldest son. A few seconds pass after Brick stops speaking. HIM sighs in disappointment and spins around in his chair, trading in his view of the clear skies for the poised and polished view of his son. "Is that all you've managed to find?"

Brick barely manages to rail in his frustration, doing a half-decent job of remaining impassive. "Besides the basics, such as school, family—"

"Public records? Information any idiot with a computer can find?"

"I wanted to be informed on the target. Besides, I'm just keeping you updated as you requested."

"Telling me something that I already knew isn't exactly keeping me updated, now is it?" HIM grins, enjoying the subtle cracks in Brick's veneer. Brick may be his favorite but oh how HIM loves to mess with his head. See, Brick is defined by control. A delicious sort of irony given his upbringing. Brick had everything HIM always wished he had growing up. Money, power, privilege. Only Brick didn't enjoy it or make use of it the way a typical teenager would; he didn't throw parties or waste ridiculous sums of money on useless things. Brick was not excessive. He was smart.

He was dull.

He was predictable.

It tickled HIM to no end how his favored son was so different from himself. Excess defined HIM, if he wasn't so greedy and materialistic, his hunt for more money, more power, more everything, would have come to an end years ago. Perhaps that was why Brick didn't indulge; maybe Brick felt he had to earn it for himself before he could truly enjoy it. HIM respected that.

"I knew you were already aware of the situation, and I know this incident isn't what has you so invested in Blossom Utonium, but I'm merely doing as asked. It would have seemed careless, if not suspicious, of me not to report all that I've learned."

HIM smirks at Brick, pleased his son is acting like the loyal spawn he raised Brick to be. HIM's investment in the young Utonium girl is no laughing matter, no passing fancy, so although this mission is of the utmost importance, Hannibal decided not to provided Brick with any information. This mission is equally about Brick proving his loyalty as it is about Hannibal getting what he wants. What he desperately needs.

"You haven't figured it out yet, I see," Hannibal states, referring to the why behind his request that Brick pay attention to the Utonium girl.

Brick suppresses a sigh, "No, but—"

HIM gets up laughing, "Brick. Bricky. What you have in intelligence, you lack in creativity. Perhaps that Jojo fellow isn't doing enough digging, hm?" He says, a threatening edge to his voice. "Oh? Weren't aware I knew? Doesn't bother me what you have that egg head do, just remember what your focus should be, alright?"

"Yes. Of course."

"Good. So, have you made any progress befriending the girl?"

This time Brick does sigh.

Ooh. Interesting.

"Not yet, and not for lack of trying either. She seems to have already made up her mind about me, which is absurd considering I've never done anything to her."

"Haven't you shown her your best side?" HIM laughs, "You are good at first impressions."

"Apparently not." Brick mumbles, "I don't see why it's necessary that I befriend her. Can't I obtain whatever information you want from her some other way?"

HIM laughs, a high pitched giggle. It's so funny when Brick whines and pouts, he's not aware that he does it and would be mortified to learn he acts just as every other child does. "Why, Bricky? Are you saying you aren't up to the challenge?"

Brick grits his teeth, "That's not it at all, sir. I just think it a waste of my valuable time."

"Are you questioning me, boy?" HIM asks, a dangerous edge to his giddy tone. He only ever called Butch boy, sometimes Boomer too—never Brick.

"No sir."

"Good. Don't forget. Your time is my time, and I'm all too familiar with how valuable our time is." Hannibal spins around in his chair, his back to Brick and with a clear view of the Townsville skyline. "We never seem to have enough of it." HIM sighs, "You may leave"

Brick, presumably confused and frustrated, takes his leave. His loud footsteps betraying his mood.

"Children." HIM sighs. He watches as his son, a speck from where he sits high above the streets of Townsville, walks out of the building and into his limo. The faithful ape, Jojo, at his side. If Jojo weren't such a spineless egg head, he'd realize how strong his physicality is, thick arms and dark hair. Delicious and probably fun for a go around in the sack if only that man didn't talk so much. Still, not so much a waste of a man, not if it meant keeping Brick in line.

The phone rings, breaking HIM away from his devious thoughts.

"Sir, it's a Mr. Hardy. Says it's urgent." Ms. Grey's voice announces.

"Put him through to line one."

"Yes, sir."

HIM picks up the phone, "Dick. You better have good news."

"Hannibal, hey!" Dick greets, overly enthusiastic.

"Save the pleasantries, Dick. I don't like you, and the only reason you're still alive is that you're the only person in the whole world that has even a remote understanding of Professor Utonium's research. So cut the crap. What have you got?"

"Umm, well, hello to you too," Dick replies, oblivious to HIM's threat. Hannibal rolls his eyes in annoyance. Hardy is by far his least favorite person at the moment.

"Get. On. With. It." HIM hisses.

"Okay. Okay. So good news and bad news. Which do you want first?"

HIM lets out a disgruntled sigh.

"Right. Right. Bad news first. So, we weren't able to retrieve any of Utonium's notes. He destroyed everything. And I mean everything! That's like government official documents. I don't know how he made such official documents disappear, but he did. I mean even his personal computer turned out nothing."

"But it was heavily encrypted. Why bother if he had nothing to hide on it?" HIM asks while massaging his head. This bad news and Hardy's obnoxious personality are giving him a killer headache. Hannibal reaches for his top drawer, needing pain meds to take away the throbbing headache. He uses his ring to open the locked drawer and pulls out a bottle, popping two pills into his mouth. He drops the bottle back into the draw where is hits and rattles around with various other pill bottles.

"I know. All those months of trying to crack it for nothing. I'm sure he was just sending us on a wild goose chase. Trying to stall us."

"Motherfucker." HIM slams his hand on his desk. "What's the good news?"

"Well, luckily, we were able to retrieve a sample." HIM can practically feel the smile on Hardy's face.

"You don't mean?"

"Oh yes. We thought nothing had survived the fire, but after the computer was a bust, we decided to take a second look. Granted, it's small, but I remember John theorizing the compound could reproduce under the right conditions."

"And has it?"

"Uh, no. Not yet. We only got the one sample, and we don't want to do anything that will contaminate our only sample."

"Hm. Very well. But remember time is of the essence. Congratulations, Hardy, you've earned the right to live another day."

Hardy laughs, "Haha. Real funny."

HIM says nothing.

"HIM? Hello? You're joking, right?"

HIM hangs up. "Irritating man." He dials his secretary, "Ms. Grey, hold my calls for today. I have to make a site visit."

"Will do, sir," Venus answers, hardly hiding her disdain for her boss. HIM chuckles, oh Venus, a beautiful and useless woman.

HIM stands up to leave his office when a dizzy spell comes over him. He catches himself on his desk as the room spins so as not to fall. "Guess this is why I shouldn't mix alcohol with pain meds." He mumbles. The rooms stills and HIM shakes his head, ignoring the dizzy spell, and heads out.

---

HIM tries to avoid the Rot when he can. He spent years trying to claw his way out, but, ironically, all that hard work lead him back where he started.

Hannibal has a lot of dealings inside the Rot. He doesn't directly deal with business there; that's why he has low-level employees like those pathetic gang greens to do these unpleasant dealings for him.

However, somethings can't be helped.

Hannibal steps out of his limo, buttoning his grey suit jacket. He looks up at the unfinished building in front of him, various men in hardhats walking around. HIM spots the project manager and walks up to him.

"Jorge, tell me you have something." HIM says with urgency. The sooner this is over, the sooner he can get out of this hell hole.

"Señor," Jorge, a middle-aged Hispanic man startles, "I did not know you were coming today."

"Well, you did say you would have something for me soon. Times up. You have something for me or not?"

Jorge rubs the back of his neck, "Uh, well…"

"Jorge." HIM coos, "You're one of my best workers. I'd hate to have to let you go for not keeping your word."

Jorge sighs, "Come with me, sir."

HIM follows Jorge into the manager's office, a private bungalow off to the side of the construction site. HIM makes himself comfortable and sits in one of the lounge chairs, a gift Hannibal gave Jorge for meetings like these.

"So, Jorge, what have you got? I have a shareholder's meeting in a few days, and I'd like to have tangible evidence for why this project isn't going anywhere." HIM's tone was oddly relaxed when talking about the failure of the Rot complex, but HIM's intention was never to see this project to fruition. Of course, if his shareholders knew that, it would spell bankruptcy for his company, and HIM couldn't have that.

"Uh, well, I know you wanted me to forge something—"

"It's hardly forgery." HIM interrupts, "I just wanted you to give me a fake presentation that I could give to the board. I've had enough false official documents coming in from City Hall, and some of my investors are starting to get suspicious. That's why I hired you, honest Jorge. You have a good reputation in this town, and that makes you a credible source."

Jorge looks down in defeat. An honest man he was, and under normal circumstance would never have agreed to work for HIM; however, there were such few jobs left in the city, and his family desperately needed the money. "To be honest, sir. I'm not too comfortable about lying—"

"Jorge." HIM breathes out in a low voice, "Don't do this."

"But!" Jorge chimes in quickly, "I did find some actual proof that could work in your favor. It's not exactly lying."

"Oh?"

Jorge accesses a video on his computer and turns the screen around so HIM can see. It's a security camera, four actually, showing different parts of the construction site. It's night time, so the video is a bit grainy. He sees four figures on the screen, teenagers, in various states of inebriation, throwing beer bottles around and causing general mayhem.

"When did you find this?"

"About a week ago. We were doing maintenance on the security systems when I found this."

HIM leans back in his seat, "This could work. Tangible proof. And I assume these hoodlums caused untold property damages." HIM infers with a smile. "Of course, the date on these video feeds will need to be changed. The board won't believe the delay has been caused by an incident that happened a month ago. But that will be a job for my tech guys. Good work, Jorge."

"But sir, won't the board want to go after these kids?"

"I suppose so, I could have my men look into it, not that their search would yield much. I doubt these kids have criminal records. It would be hard to find them, let alone persecute them."

Jorge nods and looks down, wringing his hands.

"Jorge? Why so nervous? What aren't you telling me?"

"I…um, I recognize one of these kids."

"Oh? I'm guessing that's why you didn't want to say anything? Awfully noble of you, but I respect those that can bite their tongue. Who is it? Show me."

The video keeps playing as Jorge points to a boy on screen. He's arguing with two people, a boy and a girl, whose backs face the screen. "It's this one. His name is Donnie. He's new on the construction team. Not friendly, but a real hard worker."

HIM laughs, understanding Jorge's uncertainty. "Don't worry, Jorge. It's not like I truly care about what he did, I'm not going to fire…" HIM trails off as he spots a familiar figure on the screen. The girl and the boy arguing with Donnie suddenly turn around, the girl marches forward until she pops up on another security camera. The angel is odd, but one second she's on one of the top floors and the next she's jumped onto one of the lower floors.

Jorge, realizing what his boss is seeing is quick to point out, "Yes, that actually did cause damage to one of our mixers. There was half a skateboard suck inside. It ruined the cement. I didn't have access to the security cameras at the time, or else I would have done a thorough investigation."

"The third sister." HIM whispers to himself.

"Sir?"

"Where is Donnie?"

"Uh, here. Working."

"Take me to him."

---

Donnie wasn't a real active person, not outdoorsy either, but anything beats sitting in a stuffy classroom or hanging around his shitty trailer. Still, Donnie thought this job would be a whole heck of a lot more exciting.

Don't get him wrong; he was making good money. Truth be told, any money was good money, but man was this job boring. He spent half his time on a break and the other half doing what felt like the same shit he did every day. He moved shit around, he hanged shit, he dug occasionally—but for what purpose, he didn't know—and sometimes he got to put in cheap drywall or flooring. Seriously, the materials were so cheap that he felt like he had to replace them every other day.

The highlight of his day—besides making out with his girl, Jenni—were the times he spent gambling with the sons of bitches he worked with. They've played poker, blackjack, arm wrestling—shit, they've even played Go Fish. Donnie was king of Go Fish. Basically, anything they can bet on, they played. Currently, they were playing a game of dice. The first three times Donnie rolled, he kept getting snake eyes, which, okay, weird, but he wasn't going to give up.

"Double or nothing," Donnie says.

"I don't know man, three snake eyes in a row. Today is not your lucky day, compadre."

"Fuck it, you in or out."

His coworker thinks it over a bit before nodding his head, "I'm down."

Donnie shakes the dice in his hand, "Come on, papa needs some dough!" He blows on the dice and lets them roll.

"Sevens!"

"Puta Madre!" His coworker cries out.

"I guess it was my lucky day after all." Donnie gloats.

"I bet." A mysterious low voice says behind them. "Mind if I play?"

Everyone turns around to see Jorge, their boss, standing next to a tall, sleek look man, and Holy shit! It's HIM. Everyone freezes in terror.

Jorge clears his throat, "What are you guys standing around for? Get back to work!"

Everyone scrambles to get back to their posts. Donnie is quick to pick up his winnings and run out when he is stopped by Mr. Mercer himself. "Not you." HIM says, "I need to speak with you."

Donnie freezes, not sure what HIM would want.

"You're new." HIM starts, "Look young. Hold old are you?"

"Eighteen."

"Right. Have an ID to prove it?"

"I, uh, left it at home." Donnie gulps. He is only 16, but HIM is usually lax about age; he's notorious for hiring high school dropouts. Still, HIM doesn't need a reason not to like you. Donnie once heard HIM fired a guy for wearing the same tie as him. Hell, HIM once killed a guy for getting his suit dirty.

Donnie takes a few steps back. His hands are filthy and he doesn't want them anywhere near HIM's crazy expensive suit.

"Sure. Let's say I believe that. No, you know what? I'm sure you're not eighteen, You must be at least 21."

"Huh?"

"21. The legal age to drink. Which is what my security cameras caught you doing the night you decided to wreck my construction site." HIM brings out a tablet and holds it in front of Donnie's face, showing him the surveillance footage.

"Oh, shit!"

"Oh, shit is right, but doesn't exactly capture the severity of the trouble you found yourself in."

"Look, I'm sorry. We were drunk, and we were just messing around—we didn't mean no harm."

HIM circles Donnie with his hands clasped behind his back. "And yet, harm you did."

"No! I swear! We didn't break anything."

"Lies. A broken skateboard was found in one of my cement mixers. It caused a huge delay and untold costs in man hours and equipment."

"That wasn't me! Fuck! It was that bitch—it was Buttercup's fault!"

"Buttercup? A friend of yours?"

"Fuck no! She's my friend's girl. Not like I enjoy having her around."

HIM hums, "Regardless, this building is not solely mine, and my partners will want to punish someone. And well, it's not going to be me." HIM stops his pacing and stands still in front of Donnie. His dark eyes narrow in on the young man, like a hawk that's spotted its prey. "You're quite lucky you know. Having gone all this time with no one knowing what you did. I wasn't even aware the security cameras were working then. You could have almost gotten away with it. Almost."

Donnie backs away in fear. "But it wasn't even my fault! Come on man! I'm sorry! I'll make it up to you! I'll do anything!"

"Anything?" HIM's dark eyes gleam.

Donnie nods his head rapidly, "Anything! I swear."

HIM's smirks that snake-like grin of his, "Good. There's something I need you to do."

---

Boomer isn't a stranger to silence. In fact, he prefers it. There is no harm in silence, no madness. The stillness is a great comfort to him. Having grown up with two older, rowdier, brothers and his father's "business partners" coming and going at all hours, Boomer grew to enjoy the time he could spend by himself. Alone. Quiet. Nothing but him, his music, and his sketch pad.

Currently, he listens to a low, mellow song and draws on his sketch pad. He's just gotten the eyes right when a bang startles him. He jumps up on instinct, dropping the sketchpad.

The front door is thrown violently open, impressive considering it's massive size. His older brother, Brick, marches in, his expensive, shiny shoes squeaking against the tiled floor. He looks frazzled, irritated. That could only mean one thing.

"That pompous…unbelievable…the fucking nerve…" Brick mumbles to himself, making his way towards the living area. It's the closest one to the entrance, highly decorated, inviting, and with the best light. Boomer's mother was in charge of the mansion's interior design, and as the first room that guests walk through, she focused most of her attention on it.

Boomer usually skulks in his room, but when he sketches, he likes being down here as the grand windows bring in the most light. Of course, Boomer is use to being alone most of the time. His brothers hadn't been home in five years, and it was talking some major adjustment, mostly on Boomer's part. Brick acted like he was entitled to everything, and Boomer did his best no to get in the way. Mostly, because wherever Brick was around, HIM wasn't too far away.

Boomer quietly gathers his things, hoping to make a quick and quiet escape to his room. But like most things in Boomer's life, he isn't that lucky.

"Can you believe that cocky bastard we're forced to call father?" Brick announces, stalking into the living area and killing all of Boomer's chances of escaping.

Shit. Too late.

"He thinks himself so smug. As if he knows everything." Brick begins to pace. "Like a God, or something. I wouldn't be surprised if he thought himself a God. In reality, he's just some thug in an Armani suit."

Brick continues to rant and Boomer's mind starts to wander. Brick does this a lot, complaining about HIM. It's all he seems capable of talking about anymore. Brick and him have never been close—closer than either of them were to Butch, but, still, not much.

Despite the awkwardness around Brick's sudden arrival, Brick broke the ice with his constant whining of their father. Boomer gets it, honestly he does, but give it a rest! He knows how horrible HIM is and that is why Boomer does his best to stay invisible. If Brick hates HIM so much, he should follow suit and fall of the face of the planet. Make himself invisible so their father can never bother Brick again.

As annoying as Brick's rants are, they are also a little entertaining. Brick is not one to usually lose his cool so fast. HIM has always been a terrible father, that hasn't changed, but Brick's attitude is definitely out of left field. Even as children, when HIM gave Brick a reason to be upset, he was never this upset. If Boomer cared, he would have questioned Brick's abrupt change in demeanor. But honestly, Boomer just wanted his peace and quiet back.

"Boomer." Brick snaps his finger, "Are you listening?"

Boomer shakes his head, "Um…yeah."

Silence.

"Well?" Brick insists.

"Huh?"

"Dammit, Boomer. Pay attention. I asked you a question."

"Oh. Um…yeah…I wasn't paying attention." Boomer relents, "But, if you're asking about dad, I don't know anything."

"No. I gathered as much when I found out he no longer resides here. I asked if you knew anything about Blossom, Blossom Utonium. Despite your social ineptness, she does go to your school. You might have heard of her."

That peaks Boomer's interest, "Blossom? What about her?"

"So you know her?"

Boomer looks downs, fiddling with his pencil, "Um, I mean, not really. I know she has two sisters. One is like on all the sports team and the other is a cheerleader. I don't think Blossom is on anything."

Brick huffs, "That doesn't surprise me. Doesn't strike me as a social butterfly."

"You know her?"

Brick raises an eyebrow, "Perhaps. But it doesn't concern you." Brick makes to walk away, but hesitates and turns back. "Hypothetically speaking, let's pretend you aren't a complete hermit."

"Thanks."

"And let's say, you confined to social norms and had a crush on a girl—a cheerleader, someone completely out of your league."

Boomer blushes, "Wh—what? Why—"

"How would you go about getting her attention?"

"Um, wha—I mean, wh—why would…I couldn't—what?" Boomer stutters out.

"Because, being who you are and your lack of presence, the first step is to make her realize you actually exist. So go on, how would you do it?"

Boomer looks down again, his pencil tapping rapidly against his leg. "I don't know?" He shrugs, "I guess…it doesn't matter."

"What do mean?"

"It doesn't matter if you try to get her to notice you, not if she doesn't seem interested—in being your friend I mean."

Brick sighs in frustration, "And how would you go about being her friend."

Boomer shrugs again, "I wouldn't really know. I don't have many of those myself."

Brick narrows his eyes, understanding Boomer's light jab at Brick's own lack of social life.

"But." Boomer is quick to add, it's never a good thing when any male member of his family is upset, " If I had to guess, I would say…try to be nice? You know, try to get to know her as a person. It's easy to like a cheerleader when you've never talked to them. They're pretty, but sometimes the illusion shatters when they speak."

"Get to know them." Brick scoffs, "Useless. I don't know why I even bother." he sighs, dismissing everything Boomer has said and walks away.

Boomer shakes his head, not understanding how he puts up with his own family either.

His phone rings then and Boomer, grateful for the distraction, is quick to pick it up. "Hello?"

"Hello, this is Dr. Whale from the Sunrise Institute. There's been a minor incident."

"I'm on my way." Boomer quickly answers. He grabs his hoodie and sketch pad, the two items he never leaves home without and leaves, letting the heavy doors shut behind him.

---

The sun is starting to set by the time Boomer steps out of the Sunrise Institute. Luckily, the minor incident Dr. Whale had mentioned was just that, minor. No harm done. Still, Boomer is grateful for the call. Dr. Whale kept her promise about alerting Boomer of any changes. However, instead of being relived, Boomer walks out feeling like always.

Defeated.

Despite its name. The Sunrise Institute is not a very happy place to visit.

Boomer pops his earphones in and starts his long walk home. He walks slow and with his head down, hoodie up. Invisible. Not like he's all that eager to get back to the mansion and with no place else to go, Boomer takes the even longer way home. He had a car drive him here but ordered the driver to leave. He doesn't like people to wait on him, especially when he didn't know how long he would be.

Boomer makes a turn into a rather deserted, narrow street, loud sad music blasting in his ear, when a hard force like a battering ram slams him into a wall, pinning him.

"Hello, little brother. Long time no see."

Boomer gasps, a soundless, wet choke that keeps him speechless as he looks up in surprise and horror at Butch. Brick, sure he's annoying, smart, and a drag to have around the house. But Butch, oh Butch is lethal. "Wh…Wha…What…" Boomer stutters, unable to form coherent thoughts, let alone sentences.

"For Fuck's sake, Boomer! Calm the fuck down. You look like you're gonna piss yourself." Butch smirks, releasing his hold on Boomer. "I just came to ask you something."

Boomer could use the time to run away, he's certainly faster than Butch, but Boomer's flight or fight system never seems to work when confronted with any member of his screwed up family. And if there is anyone besides his father that Boomer fears most it's Butch.

Butch clicks his tongue, "Well? Aren't you going to say hi to your older brother? You know you're being rude, you dumbfuck."

"Um…just surprised…is all…" Boomer mumbles quietly, trying to look anywhere but at Butch's face. He read once that staring a wild dog in the eyes is a sign of aggression. And the last thing Boomer wants is to get into it with Butch.

Butch ruffles Boomer's head in a gesture of dominance more that familiarity. "Come on, Boomer. I need to talk to you and I can't exactly do that if you're eye-fucking the ground."

Boomer catches the outline of a gun tucked into Butch's front waistband. As scary as it is engaging with Butch, not giving him what he wants it worse. So, Boomer takes in a deep breath, sucks it up, and faces his crazy half-brother.

"Now that's more like it."

"What do you want, Butch?" Boomer says in the most non-threatening voice possible.

"What I want, Boomie, is for you to one, keep your mouth shut about this. I don't need anyone knowing I was here, or anywhere near Townsville—especially not Brick or HIM."

Boomer nods his head in agreement. It's not like he wants anyone to know Butch is here either. It's easier to pretend Butch doesn't exist most days. Of course, this is like one of Boomer's greatest nightmares. He didn't want to think about the day Butch came back because Boomer knew there would be hell to pay and he just prays he doesn't get caught in the crossfires.

"I mean it. Swear you won't tell anyone." Butch snarls.

"I swear." Boomer breaths.

"Good. Two," Butch continues, "I need you to draw something for me."

Boomer's fear resides a bit as confusion and curiosity take hold. "Draw? Why?"

"None of your business." Butch grunts, "Now you going to start drawing or waste more time asking stupid questions?"

"Fine."

"Good," Butch smirks, in that obnoxious way he does when he's bullied his way into getting what he wants. "Follow me. My car is not far from here."

Once inside the car, Boomer takes out his sketchpad and pencil. Leave it to Butch to ruin what is suppose to be an enjoyable activity.

"What am I drawing?"

"A person—a girl." Butch answers.

Boomer raises his eyebrow in question but Butch refuses to say anything else. Great. Seems like Boomer will have to do most of the talking—not his strong suit. "Okay, um. Just a random girl? Or, are you thinking about someone in specific."

Butch bites his lip in thought. Whatever Butch has in mind with this drawing, he clearly doesn't want Boomer to know, which works just well for him. Boomer doesn't need to know what Butch has planned. The less he knows the better.

"It's someone I know, sort of." Butch finally answers. "I'm trying to find her, but I'm not having much luck. I thought if I could show her picture around, I'd have better luck."

Boomer doesn't believe him, but he figures if this girl knows Butch then she can't be much better than Butch himself. So, Boomer doesn't feel guilty about helping him. Boomer just wants to get the whole thing over with. "All right. What does she look like?"

"I don't know. She's got dark hair and…you know, eyes and stuff."

Boomer finishes drawing a general face shape, "I figured, but if you can't give more detail she's not going to end up looking like anyone specifically."

"Fine." Butch groans, "She has short black hair, shoulder length—shorter, I think. She's got green eyes, light green eyes, and, um, long dark eyelashes." Butch pauses, thinking over any other details he remembers. "She's got a normal nose I guess, dark eyebrows. Sharp looking, like she's always frowning. Oh! She has a few freckles on her nose, but they're kinda hard to see." Butch smirks, "She's got a mouth on her."

"Is she a girlfriend or something?" Boomer asks, too distracted by his drawing to filter his thoughts.

"What? No! I just need to get in touch with her is all. What the fuck made you think that anyway?"

Boomer flinches, "Sorry. It's just the way you described her is all. Okay, give me a second." A few minutes pass by. Boomer draws, and Butch listens to the radio, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel.

Butch eventually can't take the quiet and tries to make conversation, "So Brick is back, huh?"

Boomer pauses, "Yeah." He wonders how Butch knows that, but it's best not to ask. Butch probably knows a lot about stuff Boomer wants no part of. Boomer looks out the corner of his eye, Butch looks tense, his grip white from holding onto the steering wheel too tightly. Butch hates Brick. Honestly, Boomer isn't sure why Butch even brought him up if it upsets him so much. "Sucks. Having him back, I mean. He's really whiny."

Butch turns to him, a grin slowly stretching across his lips. Food, girls, and Brick-bashing, only certified ways to get Butch to relax. A happy Butch is a less violent Butch, usually.

"I bet." Butch laughs. "What he complaining about now? His bras don't match his panties?"

Boomer lets out a small, hesitant chuckle. "Funny."

Butch hits him on the arm. Ouch! "No, seriously. What's gotten up his ass."

"Dad. Brick complains about him every day. I guess he wishes he was still Europe." Boomer answers, distracted by his sketching.

"You don't know why he's back?" Butch presses.

Boomer shakes his head. A few more minutes of silence pass as Boomer continues his drawing. "I'm finished." Boomer announces, showing Butch his sketch.

Butch whistles, "Wow, who knew your sissy drawings would ever get this good?"

"If you didn't think I was good, then why did you ask me to draw?" Boomer asks, a hint of annoyance in his voice. Brick has his smart,s Butch has his guns, and this is all Boomer has. His drawing, his art, it's the only important thing he has going for him.

"I had to ask someone." Butch shrugs, "Hey, can you fix her jaw? Her jaw is more squared, and her cheekbones are a little higher."

Boomer fixes the drawing, "Like this?"

"Perfect." Butch punches Boomer in the arm, harder than a friendly gesture would be, but Butch can't suppress his violent tendencies. "This could work. I mean it looks almost life-like." Butch holds up the drawing, giving Boomer another look. Now that he's not focused on drawing individual features, he can see the whole picture. The nose and mouth catch his attention first, they remind him of a nervous blond at school. Then it occurs to him why this girl and his Chem partner look alike.

It's kinda of hard to miss. Miss athlete, consecutive wins, champion sports star is on like all the major sport teams and one of the most popular girls in school.

"You know Buttercup?"

"Who?"

Oh, fuck! Boomer realizes his mistake too late. Butch doesn't know this girl. A girl that goes to his school, the star athlete, sisters with a cheerleader and the smartest girl in school, a girl who just lost her father. A totally random and innocent girl. A girl he just put in his crazy brother's crosshairs.

Boomer shakes his head and tries to get out the car, but Butch pulls back the door. Trapping them both inside. "Boomer, what aren't you telling? You know this girl?"

"N—No! I mean, she just looks like someone I know."

Butch looms over Boomer, "Boomer, I swear to GOD if you don't come straight with me, you're going to regret it. Talk. Now."

"I…it could be anyone…" Butch's glare only hardens, "But…it could…it could be this girl I go to school with."

"Townsville High, right?"

Boomer could lie right then and there, try to keep his beast of a brother away from an innocent girl, only he can't because Boomer is chicken shit and has never been able nor will ever be able to stand up to his brothers. Besides, he really does not want to face the consequences of Butch finding out his little brother lied to him.

Boomer nods his head in shame.

"What did you say her name was again?"

"Buttercup. But that's all I know about her, I swear!"

Butch rolls his eyes, "Relax. I believe you. This girl and you? Yeah, no shit you don't know her." Butch frowns, looking over the drawing, "You sure she goes to Townsville high? I was sure she lived in the Rot."

Boomer shrugs, "Like I said, it could be anyone." Boomer fidgets, reaching slyly for the door, "Can I go now?"

"Yeah, but one last thing." Before Boomer can react, Butch pulls a gun on him. Even though Butch has yet to pull the trigger, Boomer experiences this surreal moment where he swears he's looking down the barrel of a smoking gun. Dead. Gone. He should feel sad, upset, scared, but really, he always knew it would end like this. "If you tell anyone about this, I. Will. Kill. You. And you know I'm not fucking around."

Boomer is too scared to react to Butch threats, but his scare-shitless expression must be enough for Butch as he puts away his gun. "Now get the fuck out of my car." Once the gun is gone, Boomer is able to think clearly. He's still slow to react but once his legs finally get the message his brain has been sending—get the hello out!—he does.

Boomer is pretty much emotionless the rest of the day. The interaction with Butch was traumatizing, but no more so than the worst days of his childhood. In reality, being emotionless is the only tool Boomer possess. He can't fight back, he can't get even, not if he wants to stay invisible. Stay alive.

Most days, Boomer wishes he'd never been a part of this family, but even when he does nothing, stays quiet, stays inviable, he's sucked into this fucked up life. The massive web of violence, lies, and revenge his brothers and father have created.

Later, at dinner, when Brick coldly asks why he looks like he's seen a ghost, Boomer says nothing. Brick doesn't really care, he only asks because he can spot a secret from a mile away. Brick always wants to know everything.

Boomer's mood only worsens for the rest of the night. He doesn't touch his sketch pad or play his music. He doesn't even sleep, staring at the ceiling and picturing a gun staring back. He tries to shake the image away but the gun follows him wherever he turns. In the morning, when he wakes, he's already dreading the rest of the day. Usually, his days, although boring and lonely, are full of so much color, shapes, and textures. Things he wants to capture on paper. But today, everything is this same sad shade of dark blue, almost gray.

Shit. It's a blue period. Boomer hates his blue periods.

He tries to force himself out of this depressing state by sketching but nothing is coming out right. By homeroom, he's resigned to just give up when he hears this small sound and it reminds him of bells—no, chimes. Bells are purposeful but chimes only sing with the wind. He turns to face the giggling cheerleader. He sees his first hint of color since his run-in with Butch, the subtle hint of pink on her blushing cheeks. She ruins it by talking and then by talking some more.

He gets it. He's the bad guy and she's the sweet innocent girl. He's really not that bad. Really. But while his brothers have some insane, probably no good, intrest in her sisters, Boomer is the asshole because he knows about all of it and does nothing. Nothing. He's letting his brothers get away with it.

He may not be all the horrible things this school thinks about him, but he is a bad guy. He's an uncaring, selfish, spineless guy.

But then, something odd happens. The nervous blond, Bubbles, apologizes. She wants to be friends. With him. No good Boomer. The idea is startling. Boomer has never had friends. He almost doesn't know what to do, but then as the class goes on, the color of the world returns and nothing is more vibrant than the yellow of her hair and the sky blue of her eyes.

Boomer has never had a blue period end this quickly before. He's almost terrified about what it means to let go of the reason for that. The giggling cheerleader. Her life must always look like this, like rainbows and clear skies, full of vibrant, warm colors.

She walks ahead of him and Boomer feels the importance of this moment. He could let her go, away from the mess of his life, or he can be friendly. He can use her for all the color she has and all the clarity she brings to his dull, gray world. He could be self-sacrificing or he could be like his brothers, selfish.

Boomer is quick to stand. "Morning." He whispers as he passes her.

He chose to be selfish.

---

Butch hardly feels bad for the shit he does, but this feels skeevy even for him.

Boomer's drawing proved useless. No one he asked in the Rot recognized her, which meant Boomer's ID was the only thing he had to go on. Not that he doubted Boomer, he seemed like he was telling the truth. Normally, blue boy is good at lying, since he's already so good at hiding his emotions, not nearly as good as Brick but that bastard is a psychopath and has no emotions.

So, here he finds himself, stalking high school girls in search of this Buttercup. Even as sneaky as Butch can be, this seems awfully suspicious. He blends in well, though, as he is only 17 himself, and every time he approaches the wrong girl he can get away with flirting with them. He already has six phone numbers. Man, if only he didn't have to stay hidden, he'd gladly make use of these numbers.

At one point he is able to sneak into school and tries to find Boomer. If he recognized the girl then she must be in at least one of his classes. But of course, he doesn't find Boomer because the little shit is so fucking good at being invisible. He could show the drawing to someone, but if that person knows Buttercup then she'll be tipped off and then who knows what the little fire cracker would do. Go tell a teacher? The cops? HIM?

No fucking way.

His phone buzzes, alerting him to a message from Ace. It's a phone from Ace with only his number on it. He keeps insisting they hang out, and talk, and all this unnecessary bullshit. And God! It's exhausting. All they've been doing for the past week is "hanging out", which by the way is so fucking boring. They are not twelve anymore, hanging out getting drunk, or stoned, playing video games is not his idea of a fun time. Spending time together must be Ace's way of trying to build their trust, or some shit. But seriously, who is he going to go to? And if Butch wanted them dead so badly (he does but like, bigger picture and shit), they would be dead.

The message reads, Kegger. 2night. U pick up.

A demand disguised as an invitation. Fucking Ace. Five years and he thinks he's the boss? Butch begins to skulk out of the school, his mood spoiled. Looking down at his phone he almost runs into a teacher. He stops and presses up against a trophy case, keeping himself hidden. He watches as the teacher slowly walks away.

Shit. That was close. He doesn't know how Boomer does it. Being invisible is harder than it looks. Butch makes to leave when a picture grabs his attention. Next to a trophy there's a photo of a girl's team. Soccer. And right in the middle is the little fire cracker herself. Buttercup.

Gotcha.

Butch is not a patient guy, so by the time soccer practice ends his mood is near volcanic and he is ready to erupt. He just wants to get this over with. Of course, he's going to have a little fun first. Who can resist a pretty girl in shorts? Not him. What is he suppose to do? Not say something? Please. Not his style.

"I love a girl in shorts." He smirks. "Not that I'm a leg man, but a little skin never hurt." Before she can try to get away he grabs and pulls her back. He doesn't intend to pull her so close to him, but she is practically dead weight in his hands. "Hola, bonita. I've been looking all over for you. We need to talk."

"I don't know what you're talking about. Let me go!" She grits, keeping her head faced away from him.

"Oh. Not gonna work, Buttercup." She freezes. "Didn't think I knew your name, huh?" He leans in closer, "I know a lot more than you think and—FUCK!" Butch doubles over, cradling his favorite body part, "AUH! You BITCH!"

Buttercup slips from his weakened hold and runs off. Butch struggles to get up and chases after her. It's an awkward chase, Buttercup, although much faster, is weighed down by her backpack and duffle bag and Butch, honestly, is just trying to focus on his breathing and will himself not to cry. No need to be any more humiliated than he already is.

Honestly, his boys? Low blow. This chick is pure evil.

Thankfully the street is long, narrow, and deserted with hardly any side roads. Wherever she was going, this was clearly a shortcut. For a girl with such an important secret she clearly doesn't care about her safety much.

"Hey! Stop! I just want to talk!" Butch yells, but of course the girl keeps running. She makes a turn down an alley way and Butch stops. He can try to keep chasing her, but he knows how that will end. Instead, Butch runs back towards his car. He hid it a few blocks away from the school, not wanting anyone to spot him.

He drives down the street she ran through and finds both her backpack and duffle bag thrown on the ground near a fence. Butch circles around but can't find her, he's sure she must have hidden somewhere, because as fast as she is she can't out run his car. He has her corned, but he won't find her from inside his car.

Butch goes back to the fence and picks up her bags. He searches through them, hoping to find something when he hears a buzzing. Inside her duffle, her phone lights up with a text message.

You coming? Sent by Mitch.

He looks through her phone and finds the pictures she took of his car and of him. He deletes all of them. He keeps searching her phone and finds pictures of different people. In one picture there's a group photo of Buttercup next to two other girls, a blond and redhead, and a middle-aged man. He keeps looking and finds a video.

He plays the video and the blond from the other photo pops up in a girly bathing suit. "Happy Birthday, Daddy! So, I'm using Buttercup's phone because someone" the blond pouts and looks off screen "just had to push me into the lake! Even though I had my phone on me!" The screen moves and Buttercup enters the screen. "I said my bad! Learn to take a joke!" She laughs. The phone then moves suddenly, and he can't make out anything but blurry trees. When the phone stops the redhead from the same group photo is facing the screen. "Sorry about that, dad. Anyway, we would like to wish you a very happy birthday and as always, we wish you were here." She kisses the screen. Buttercup and the blond appear behind the redhead and all three begin to sing, "Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday dear DAD! Happy birthday to you!" All three laugh, "We love you!"

The video ends.

Butch smirks, partly because the video is corny as hell and partly because he has what he needs to draw out that Buttercup chick. He gets out of his car, phone in hand, and starts walking. He plays the video and turns up the volume as loud as possible. The video plays on a loop as he walks. He doesn't say anything, but he doesn't need to. The threat is obvious.

Talk to me. Or I'll talk to your sisters.

A few minutes pass and nothing. Now Butch is really getting impatient. "FINE! Your sisters are hotter, anyway! Maybe they'll be willing to talk to me!"

"You stay the fuck away from them!" Buttercup yells, jumping out from behind him. He turns just as she barrels into him. Normally, the force wouldn't be enough to throw him but she had a running start. Also, she's using a trash can lid as a shield.

"Ahh! Fuck!" Butch yells as he goes down, hitting his head on the ground. The force throws Buttercup down and on top of him. She grabs her phone and scrambles to get off of him. Butch turns and grabs her ankle, pulling her back down. She falls and hits her knees. Ouch. That must hurt.

"Ugh! Let go of me!" She tries kicking him with her free leg, but Butch grabs her other foot. He flips her over and pulls her legs, dragging her under him. Closer now, she swings her arms and nails hims a few times on the head and scratches him right under his left eye.

"Christ! Would you calm the fuck down! I'm just trying to talk to you!" She ignores him and continues to struggle. Butch climbs on top of her pinning her legs with his knees then reaches over and pins her arms over her head. With her limbs held down, she is less of a threat.

Or so he thinks.

"Okay, now. Would you just listen—" Butch doesn't get to finish his sentence as Buttercup swings her head up, head butting him in the nose. "Motherfucker!" Butch yells in pain. He lets go of one hand as he holds his bloody nose.

Buttercup squirms, trying to use her free hand to hit him again. But fuck no! Butch is done. He is beyond pissed! "I said," Butch growls, slamming both her wrists on the ground. "Calm. The. Fuck. Down!" Using his free hand he pulls out a pocket knife and holds it up to her neck. She stills instantly.

"I really didn't want to use this. But you left me no choice. Now are you gonna be the good girl I know you can be and fucking listen! Or are we gonna have to do this the hard way?" Butch digs the point of his knife into her skin to make his point clear. He is done fucking around.

She winces slightly, but continues to glare at him. Her whole body, from her deep, angry breaths, her curled fists, her snarl, and her unwavering glare are like a giant fuck you and as irritated as Butch is, he has to say, he's a little impressed.

Where the fuck did HIM find her?

"Well?" Butch asks, digging the knife deeper into her neck. Buttercup finally looks away from him and down at the knife. Good. Finally, they're getting somewhere.

"How do I know you just won't kill me?" She grits.

"Pfft, don't be silly. I have some questions for you first. Then, depending on how nicely you answer, I might let you live."

She pouts. Butch can tell she's bitting her tongue, probably holding back some stupid comeback. Butch kinda wishes she'd say it, but he really needs to get this over with.

"I don't do nice." She says instead.

"How about honest? Tell me everything you know. Why did HIM hire you? Does he know about Ace? How did you know where to find me?"

Buttercup's glare melts away as her lime-green eyes grow wide "What?"

"Don't play cute with me. As you can tell, I'm not exactly a patient guy. Why did HIM hire you? What does he know?"

Buttercup shakes her head, "I don't…I don't know…"

"Don't fuck with me!" Butch presses the knife deeper, drawing blood.

"Arrgghh! I don't know what the fuck you're talking about!" Buttercup begins to shake underneath him.

"Yes, you do! Tell me!" Butch growls, pressing the knife just a tiny bit further.

"Ahhh! No, I don't know. I don't know HIM! I don't know any Ace! I don't know who the fuck you're talking about!" Buttercup almost pleads, trying to remain strong through her fear. Stubborn to the bitter end.

"Then why were you looking for me! Tell me the truth!" Butch presses down his knees, increasing the weight on top of her. She grunts in pain and start to squirm, which only makes the knife dig deeper.

"Because! I know…I know…I know what you did! I know… who you killed!"

Butch freezes. "What?" he asks releasing some of his weight.

"I know…I know you…killed Jeremy…Jeremy Kenny!" Buttercup grunts. "You ran him over…I saw…I saw the whole thing!"

Butch relaxes a bit. Oh. That's who she thinks he killed. But, wait. That's means…that means she can't be working for HIM. Unless HIM is keeping her in the dark about his whole plan. But then why would he send her looking for him? Unless…she has no fucking clue about any of this. Which would me she was A, telling the truth and really was looking for parts and just happened to find him or B, looking for the guy who killed Jeremy, as in on purpose. That's fucking stupid who the fuck would put themselves in that position?

"Do…Do you know who I am?" Butch glares.

"Does it matter?" Buttercup spits.

"What about HIM? Or Ace?"

"I don't know who the fuck they are! I mean HIM is that rich guy, right? And I don't know who the hell this Ace guy is but that's all!"

"Swear to me or I'll slit your neck." Butch growls, pushing his face close to her. Close enough to see gold flecks mixed with the greens of her eyes, and close enough to see the almost invisible freckles on her nose. He needs to know. He needs to make sure.

Buttercup grunts, throwing her head back, "I swear! I have no clue what the fuck you're talking about!" Her eyes glisten, unshed tears coating her eyes. Chick this tough proabbly doesn't cry easy. That means she's telling the truth. Butch drops his head, resting it on her collarbone, "Fuck." He sighs then he pockets his knife and gets off her. Buttercup sits up, clutching the small cut on her neck. She catches her breath as she glares up at him.

Butch grins, "Well, this is a little awkward."

Buttercup snorts, "What? Not gonna kill me anymore?"

Butch rolls his eyes and reaches his hand forward to help her up, "Okay, I don't know what you're damage is, but do you have like a death wish or something? You're first question when you have dirt on someone isn't if they're going to kill you but what they're willing to do for you to keep you quiet. Blackmail 101."

Buttercup glares at his hand and slaps it away, getting up on her own. "And I should be taking crime lessons from you, why? You're like the worst criminal, ever. You seriously just gonna let me go?"

Butch laughs, "You are unbelievable! Who the fuck are you?"

"Who the fuck are you?" Buttercup counters.

Butch smirks, "Why? So you can go to the cops? Please, if you had anything you'd would have gone to them already. What I don't get is how a girl like you manage to get mixed up in all this."

Buttercup shrugs, "Wrong place. Wrong time. Doesn't mean it's right what you did. And I was the only one there, so yeah, "a girl like me" is the only that can go to the police, but those lazy, fat fucks, couldn't catch a blind mice with a block of cheese. I had to give them something."

"So what? You playing hero?" Butch asks, puzzled by why anyone would go out of their way to do that. No one with two brain cells would be stupid enough to put themselves in that kind of situation.

Buttercup looks away and shrugs.

Butch sighs in frustration. "Ugh! Fuck! I didn't kill him, okay! It wasn't me!"

Buttercup snorts, "Right like I believe that. You haven't exactly convinced me you're innocent in all this." She points to the cut on her neck, "You haven't exactly made the best of impressions."

"Honestly, I'm guilty of a lot of things, but this shit went on behind my back. I had nothing to do with it! I'm innocent! I swear!"

Buttercup glares at him then begins to walk closer. She stops a few inches away from him. Her head reaches his neck but she glares up at him. Bight green eyes peering into his dark forest eyes. There's nothing innocent about him, so if she's trying to find the truth in his gaze, Butch might be shit out of luck.

"We done here?" She hisses.

"What?" Butch blinks.

"Are you gonna kill me or not?" She juts out her chin trying to appear tough, but Butch catches the slight shake of her plum lip. Damn, Butch always had a weakness for pretty ladies.

Butch sighs, "No. I'm not gonna kill you."

She nods her heads and pushes past him.

"You don't believe me, do you?" Butch calls after her.

She turns her head, "What do you think?"

She walks away slowly and with a slight limp. This is bad. This is really bad. Butch has enough to deal with and if Buttercup goes to the cops then it won't be too long before HIM hears about it. She doesn't know his name, but this girl is stubborn (and stupid), she probably won't reset until she finds out all about him. While crazy and impressive her actions might be they do interfere with his plans. He can't kill her, so he can't get rid of her. That leaves him with only one option.

"Hey! Hero girl!" He yells out.

"What the fuck do you want!" She calls back, not turning around. Butch runs up to her and blocks her path.

"I thought you said you were letting me go?" She asks with irritation. Well, fuck, and she's irritated? Seriously, no sympathy from this girl.

"Listen, you want to catch the bad guys, right? You want to get back at those sons of bitches?"

Buttercup crosses her arms, "And why should I trust you?"

Butch groans in frustration, "Fine! You want trust. I'll give you trust." He runs back to pick up the phone she left on the ground then runs back to where she stands, punching in a number as he goes. "Here. I put my number in your contacts, under my real name. Fairs fair, right? I know you're name, now you'll know mine."

Buttercup frowns, "That doesn't exactly make you trustworthy."

"This will." Butch says, handing her the sim card Ace gave him. "This has all the proof you'll need."

"How do you know I won't go the cops with this?" Buttercup asks, confusion wirrtten all over her face.

"Okay, fire cracker, you're lucky you're dealing with me, because you would have been dead like five times over for all the shit you've said. Seriously, tone it the fuck down. I don't know if you'll go to the cops or not but I hope you don't, and not just for my sake. The cops are more than lazy, fat fucks. They'll turn on you. Don't trust them. Look over the card first. You'll see I'm telling the truth."

"And if you are?" Buttercup questions, looking down at the sim card in her hand.

Butch grabs her chin and tilts it up, "Then, bonita, if you're not scared off. Call me." He winks. Butch walks away feeling pretty good about the situation. Stubborn and crazy she may be, but no girl can resit his charm. He looks backs, an irresistible smirk on his face that he's sure will win her over. She stands in the same spot, not breathless as he imagined he left her, but with a frown on her face and a middle finger pointed at him. Butch quickly turns back around and continues walking.

What the fuck did he just get himself into?

---

Author's Note!

Butch is in a pickle! His good looks and charm won't help him with this girl, no sir! Also, quick question, Did I make Birck too whiny in this chapter? I wanted to show a little more emotion with him, and he is an entitled brat so...yeah, was it to ooc? I don't know. Only two people get under his skin, HIM and now Blossom. Also, Boomer may seem a little too weepy but there is a reason behind it! Bear with me, the happy blues you all know and love will eventually emerge!

Whoa, this chapter took much, MUCH, longer than I intended it. It's such an important chapter like so much happens and I just could not get it right, but I'm glad I gave myself time to finish without being rushed because I did end up changing a lot of things and I'm really excited for how it turned out! And I hope you all like it too! On the plus side (for taking so long to post), this is my longest chapter yet! 70 pages on WORD! Wow!

Okay, also, this may be premature, but I'm really excited to share that I'm writing another Powerpuff girls story! I was working on it while I had writer's block for this chapter. It's a small story, around 10 chapters. I've only outlined it and I've written a little of it, but I think I'm gonna post it. Not all at once but once I have half of it written, hopefully sometime during the summer. It will be like a little break from this story, that I promise I won't abandoned. I have so much planned for this story and it's going to be really long, so the other story will be a much shorter story and a bit of a writing exercise.

First! I want to give a big THANKS to all that have favorited and followed this story (since the last chapter): SatanSpeaks, Rowdypuff, MagyBear17, I'm very lazy, LOLimdead, Aim13

REVIEWER ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Ash141: If you thought Buttercup was a badass before! Look at my homegirl now, she headbutted Butch! HEADBUTTED! lol. She hurt a lot more than his pride this time! Now the tables have turned, Butch is the one that is screwed and Buttercup holds all the cards. We shall see what happens! You are so right, Brick was 100% assuming that Blossom would fawn over him like that's what he expects everyone to do, and no, he doesn't exactly know how to make friends. He's clueless enough to ask Boomer—BOOMER! He's like the most antisocial of all three. So Buttercup doesn't know all the details of the case with Blossom and the Jack Maritn, so no she doesn't know that the guy on the news was the same guy Blossom saved. That was more for the reader's benefit than hers. As always I really love reading your reviews, they are a HUGE motivation for me, it lets me know that my story is good and people actually like reading it! So Thank you!

Ti (Guest): Wow! High praise! I'm also very picky about the stories I read so I completely understand and I am incredibly flattered that you enjoy my story! It's often really hard to give a new story a chance like if I don't like the first chapter I'm out. Buttercup is my favorite puff too! Writing her is so much fun. Also, so kind! Writing is very hard, especially when you're writing for free, so thank you for being understanding and patient. I'm not overly fond of review that tell me to hurry up and pst the next chapter like I get it, I feel the same but don't push me. I hope you did check back to find this chapter! I would love to hear your thoughts on this chapter!

sirenmergirl: THANK YOU! I was having such a hard time finishing this chapter and your review was a very big motivator! I appreciate your review! I don't write this story for comments but it's nice to hear back from readers to let me know if I'm doing a good job, or if they're liking it. It really pushes me to write the next chapter. Ultimately, a story isn't a story if there is no one around to read it. Thanks again!