AN: Wow, you guys rock! I'm so touched by how much everyone loves this story. Big hugs all around! I couldn't ask for any better fans. In case anyone noticed, I finally went ahead and renamed all the chapters and titled them (versus the confusing numbers). I've never done chapter titles before, and I'm really enjoying the extra little oomph I can give to the chapter. I've also updated the playlist.

Thanks, as always, go out to my amazing beta, JosieSwan (who just posted her new story, An Unexpected Lady-check it out), and my cheerleader/pre-reader, Izzzzy.

Chapter 19: A Prodigal Son

Emmett

"Two outs, bottom of the 8th. . . .looks like they're bringing Daniel Bard in. What do you think? Is Bard going to be a good replacement for the All-Star closer the Red Sox just lost for good?" Don Orsillo asked Remy through the crackling on the shitty television with the even shittier reception.

"Honestly, I don't believe Whitlock's replaceable. He'll be a legend in Boston for a long, long time. Two World Series rings and one of the lowest post-season ERAs I've ever seen. Bard's got huge shoes to fill, that's for sure."

I glanced away from the game on the flickering screen as I heard the thick heavy soles of Jane's combat boots approaching the living room. "Still watching the worst sport ever created?" she hissed, her cold, dead eyes sliding over me like I was a piece of meat she couldn't wait to bite into and chew up.

I barely restrained the shudder that passed through me at her possessive look. "Baseball is America's pastime," I told her, careful to keep my tone of voice neutral. During the best of times, Jane was a fucking scary bitch, but with Niall here, she was honed to a knife edge, and I didn't want to tangle with her.

"I can't believe that you find this interesting," she sneered, gesturing to the TV , where the Sox were hosting the Toronto Blue Jays at Fenway Park. "Of course, with your mental capacity, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised."

Unscrewing the cap off my water bottle slowly and deliberately, letting the liquid slide down my throat, and wishing that it was whiskey or maybe arsenic, I still refused to look directly at her. She was fucking Medusa in the flesh, a nightmare brought to all too real life. And maybe, I thought absently, aware that my thoughts were taking a dangerously pessimistic, nearly-nihilistic turn, if I didn't look directly at the problem, I could forget all about the shit storm I had brought down on us all.

"Did you give Edward and Bella dinner?" I risked asking, because at this point, I wasn't sure I cared about my own skin more than I cared about theirs. Of course, if I really cared, I would have been able to do something to get us out of here, but every time I nearly made my move, I could only see Rosalie's ocean-blue eyes staring reproachfully at me. What about us? she would ask, her lip trembling, those eyes overflowing with bitter disappointment, what about our future?

I couldn't fucking do it—I couldn't sign away my future before I'd even had a chance to live it. And I knew, if I betrayed the Red Hands, if I managed to save Edward and Bella, I would be consciously choosing their future lives over my own.

It was selfish and it was weak, but I loved Rosalie too much to give her up.

Instead of facing the problem, I'd spent the last three days hiding in the living room, gorging myself on cheap junk food and guilt. I'd finally turned on the television, and the Sox game that was on had sent a sharp jab of self-hatred right through my gut. Edward and I, we were supposed to have been at that game. We both loved baseball, and while I wasn't from Massachusetts initially, Edward had eventually worn me down into embracing the Red Sox. We'd made plans to catch a few games at Fenway while we were in town, and I wanted nothing more than to simply close my eyes, and open them to see the raucous crowd of believers, holding Fenway Franks and plastic cups of overpriced beer.

"I was just about to," Jane said, and I finally glanced over to see a pair of sandwiches in her hand. "But you're coming with me."

So she'd noticed that I'd been avoiding ever seeing Edward when I wasn't directly ordered to go into the room and escort either one of them to the bathroom, and she'd decided in that fucked up, emotionally-blackmailing brain of hers, that it was going to be a fun game to play.

I hit the power button on the remote, the Blue Jays and the Red Sox disappearing off the television screen. "Fine," I told Jane shortly. "Though I'm not sure why that's necessary."

She stared at me for a moment, without replying, and I knew what it felt like to be meal right before a cobra struck. "Because you don't want to. That's reason enough. Shame," she told me, as we walked down the hallway to Edward and Bella's jail, "is for the weak and the stupid. I thought you wanted to be with us, join us."

Her hand paused over the locks, and disgust with her, but more at myself, rippled dark and angry in my stomach. "I never said I'd join you."

"You brought them here." Her voice was smug.

"I had to," I insisted, in a low menacing growl. "You fucking forced me."

She stared back at me with cold reptilian eyes. "There's always a choice. And you made yours."

As she slid the locks free of the door and stepped into the dark room, I followed behind her, wishing that I could argue with her. But facts were facts, and regardless of why I had done what they'd asked, I'd still done it.

"Surprise," Jane hissed with derision as the door shut behind her. My eyes, still adjusting to the black gloom, could only make out the vaguest outlines of the two figures on the bed. Bella sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes, as if she had just woken up, and to my astonishment, it looked as if she had been sleeping withEdward, their legs and arms tangled up together. But before I could contemplate what that meant, Edward looked right at me, and another wave of nauseous guilt hit me full on.

"After you eat," Jane barked like a drill sergeant, "you're to see Aro."

By this point, I had grown used to the darkness and I couldn't help seeing the discomfort that flashed across Edward's face. I hadn't really understood until this moment just how Edward didn't want to be part of the Red Hands. I'd suspected it before, but I knew without a doubt that I had done him a major disservice and I ought to do whatever I could do get him out.

If only I didn't understand what doing that would mean.

Bella was only picking at her sandwich, not eating it automatically, as Edward did, chewing and swallowing as if eating was simply a physical function at this point. But there was something white and drawn about Bella's face that I didn't like—and her lack of appetite was even more worrisome. I was about to say something, despite Jane's presence, when she latched onto it like a rabid dog with a bone.

And that was when I understood why Bella didn't have an appetite: Jane had started her war of emotional attrition and it wasn't against Edward, like I'd expected it would be, but against Bella. Which, in retrospect, made the most sense. Edward was a man of strong opinions and a stronger personality. She wouldn't see him as a challenge, and besides, it was likely that Aro had already instructed Jane not to fuck him with specifically. I was pretty damn sure that no such instructions had been issued to protect Bella.

I had enough experience with Jane to know that her own sex held very little respect in her eyes. She saw most women as automatically weak and defenseless. Of course, she would latch onto Bella as a much more suitable target than Edward. And it had appeared that this had already begun, and somehow, through my malaise of guilt, I'd missed it.

"Not hungry?" Jane crooned to Bella, her posture, her voice, her actions all patronizing of the younger girl. Bella stiffened and glanced up, like a deer caught in the headlights of a particularly menacing eighteen wheeler.

I could tell by the way Edward stiffened next to him that he was all too aware of Bella's fear of Jane, and I tensed for an inevitable altercation. I just hoped that it didn't go as far as I feared it would. Aro, who didn't give a shit about Bella, wouldn't put Jane on a leash, and Jane without necessary precautions was something I'd yet to encounter, but her reputation proceeded her.

Bella shook her head firmly, trying—and briefly holding—Jane's dead gaze for longer than I'd expected she would. "I'm fine," she rasped out and I saw her swallow convulsively.

I gave Bella credit for trying, but Jane was like a shark; once there was blood in the water, you were done for.

"Oh, I think you're fine alright," Jane purred hypnotically, taking a step closer, and then another. "You're fine because rock star over here is giving it to you on an hourly basis."

"No," Bella stuttered, shock all over her pretty face, "no. . . .no, we haven't been, you sick twisted bitch."

Jane just smiled, and I didn't blame Bella from recoiling from that unappetizing show of teeth. "Sick, am I? If I am, then you are too. We're both the same—we like it when powerful men take us and we can take them. I'll wager that Edward's got nothing on Aro though. Perhaps I should let you have a little taste of him, see what you've been missing."

Bella's eyes grew wild at that moment and her face impossibly white. I had to swallow down the awful guilt that threatened to spill out of my throat, along with the Doritos and the cans of cherry coke.

"No," Bella insisted, but her voice wasn't as insistent as it was scared shitless. "I'd rather die first."

From my vantage point, I saw Bella reach out and grip Edward's hand, and I was so surprised by that I didn't anticipate or block what Jane did next.

Her hand struck like a cobra and hit Bella square in the face, forcing her head back, and then I saw only red. Blood on Bella's hands as she held her hands up to her bleeding nose and blood on Edward's shirt as he bent over her and tried to staunch the flow. My visual field went flat and red, and fury pumped through me, hot as lava.

I wasn't consciously aware of attacking Jane, but one moment I was standing to the side, reeling from what Jane had just done to Bella, and the next, Jane was against the wall and her throat was in my hands.

I could feel her pulse under my fingers, and I longed to extinguish it, but I hadn't traveled far enough on the expressway to hell to tighten my grip and finish it once and for all.

But Jane wasn't a scary bitch and Aro's #2 for nothing. I only had the upper hand for a brief moment, and even though I was probably twice her size, she twisted out of my grip and I was gasping as she slammed a rock hard fist into my midsection.

"Trying to be a hero? " she sneered. "Don't even think about it."

"Keep your hands off of her," I gasped, as got to my feet. "Do what you want to me, but don't you fucking touch her again."

"Emmett," I heard Edward hiss from somewhere behind me. But all my attention was focused on the grinning bitch in front of me, and I wanted to wipe that smile away by fucking demolishing her face.

I was stronger, but she was faster, and I caught her arm in my fist, mere inches from my face. "You can only touch me if I let you; right now I'm not feeling inclined," I growled as I flung her arm to the side and followed it up with a sharp hook to her jaw. The crack echoed through the room, and as Jane's head flew back and my knuckles made jarring, painful contact with her chin, I thought it might have been enough. An eye for an eye, anyway.

But as her gaze swung back to me, I realized that I'd just made a tactical error. She was angry now—angry and humiliated, her authority questioned in front of both Edward and Bella—and she would never let me get away with that. I braced myself for the impact of Jane in a rage, but before she could fling herself at me, there was a sharp exclamation that could have only been an order, issued in Gaelic.

Jane's fighting posture instantly went slack, and I glanced back to see Aro, hard lines of fury etched into his already worn face, standing in the open doorway.

"No more," he ordered again, and I forced my muscles to relax, one by one. Jane might have been scary, but Aro was scarier only because he was a psycho on a power trip. At the end of the day, Jane was just a garden variety psycho. I wasn't going to cross him while in an adrenaline fueled rage; if I was going to do it, I was at least going to think about it first.

I thought Aro was going to interrogate Jane right here and now about what had happened, because he was giving her a cold, deadly look that screamed "what the fuck did you just do, bitch," but he only said, "Jane, bring Edward with you. But first, remind Emmett who's side he's on." And then he was gone, leaving an unsettled silence in his absence.

I tensed, sure that Jane's reminder would surely be physical. But she only gestured to the doorway. "Edward, Emmett, you heard Aro. And believe me, his orders are to be obeyed."

Jane was a freak of nature, and if even she obeyed Aro without a single word, then I didn't even want to consider how terrifying the man in charge could get. As I walked towards the doorway, I forced myself to look straight at Bella, my stomach churning with guilt and self-hatred.

Her face was still drawn and pale, red splotches of blood marring her white skin. It didn't appear that her nose was broken, thank god, and she looked mostly unscathed from Jane's attack. In fact, I thought, as I met her eyes, she seemed a bit steadier, more determined. And Edward. . .

Edward. I'd seen him in towering, flaming rage lots of times. Weekly, in fact. He was notorious in the music industry for his temper, and I realized for the first time since I'd entered the room that it had been him who'd kept it under control and me who'd lost the tenuous hold on my self-control. And it wasn't because he wasn't angry. I could see his fury in his eyes, in the set hard line of his jaw, and the way that his shoulders seemed so tense they might rip through his thin t-shirt.

But he wasn't in Jane's face, he wasn't screaming or yelling or trying to kick her ass. Instead, he was cradling Bella's face in his hands, holding her tightly to him, and he didn't even glance up to see me staring. I'd never seen him look at anything the way he was looking at Bella, and the shock of it knocked the breath out of me. I knew that look—more than knew it; I was intimately familiar with how it felt to wear it.

Because that was exactly how I looked at Rosalie.

Never had I wanted more to be worthy of her, of her love, but I realized that the one thing I could do to be worthy would probably mean that we'd never be together. It hurt so fucking bad, giving up on the last vestige of hope that I had with her, but Edward's expression as he'd stared at Bella trumped even the ache of losing Rose.

And as Edward finally rose, giving Bella one more reassuring rub to her back, and followed me out of the room, what I had to do was taking shape in my mind.

Edward

I'd never understood why Esme's temper could be so icy, so controlled. Mine had always been an explosive volcano of rage, and I'd never been able to control it—and I'd never wanted to.

I understood today. When that fucking bitch had hit Bella, every molecule in my body had gone cold and hard and frozen with fury. I'd shook with the sheer power of my anger, but in that moment, I hadn't done what I normally would have expected out of myself. I was the guy who got in fights, who got kicked out of bars for brawling, who punched assholes out at the slightest provocation.

But today, all I could think of was Bella and the blood dripping onto my hands, and the fear and the pain in her eyes and in the lines around her mouth as she'd clutched at me. The anger had faded, had been ultimately insignificant in the face of the worry and the undeniable need to make sure she was alright.

I sat in front of my uncle, and felt, for the first time since it had happened, my temper begin to thaw. He had permitted this. He had allowed Jane to do what she'd done—and if not specifically, then by the very act of never forbidding it. He was her keeper, her leash, her master. That much was abundantly clear, based on the little show he'd put on for all of our benefit. He was the puppeteer and we were dolls on strings to him.

"I apologize for you having to see that," he said as he settled behind the massive desk.

My jaw tightened as I realized that he hadn't apologized for the act itself; only that I had been a witness to it.

"Our lives. . .they aren't pretty," Niall said by way of explanation, spreading his arms wide, a smile on his face, as if he was begging my pardon. Begging me to understand that this was simply the way things were, as if he had no real choice in the matter.

But I would be stupid to not know that the only one making decisions around here was him. The jovial, semi-concerned uncle, that was the act. The cold, hard in-control machine from earlier was the real Niall. I'd always wondered what my father had been like, and now I was no longer sure I wanted to know.

"You father, he never liked it either," Niall continued, "but war is violent by nature. It's unfortunately unavoidable."

I couldn't help the interest he roused in me at the mention of my father, as if he'd been reading my mind and knew that I'd been thinking of him—as if I could think of anything while sitting in a room with his only brother. I didn't want to cooperate with Niall in the least, especially not after what his second-in-command had done to Bella, but it was impossible to erase twenty six years of desperation with a week of fear and attrition.

"Ah, so you want to know about him, then." I looked up to see Niall staring at me, a sly, knowing smile on his face.

I wanted nothing more than to shake my head, and tell him to go to hell, but I couldn't. Not after Esme's tight-lipped scraps of information and all the years of wanting more.

I nodded.

"I thought you might. I thought that might change your mind. You're more like him than you realize. He felt everything so strongly—love and hate. At first, it was all hate, all anger, all resentment, and he channeled it all into the Cause. He was relentless. Desperate. He would have been appalled to see all our brethren give up so damn easily."

I wanted to correct Niall and insist that it hadn't been "giving up"—that the diplomatic solution had been so much better than the bombs and the machine guns and the blood and the death. But I knew better this time. So I kept my mouth shut and just listened.

"Then Eoghan met Esme. She was beautiful and fine and so innocent. Naïve. But sweet."

"Sweet?" I laughed without humor. "Esme?"

"Aye. Maybe not now, eh? But it's buried in there somewhere. She was so sweet, and Eoghan was crazy with love for her." Niall leaned his head back, and something unpleasant and terrifying coalesced inside my mind. Something that he hadn't elaborated on, but I couldn't help but add two and two and get four. I hoped I was wrong, but I thought with a sickening sense of foreboding that I didn't think I was. The point Niall had made had been too marked to ignore. Maybe he hadn't even realized he had said it.

At first, it was all hate, all anger, all resentment, and he channeled it all into the Cause . . . Then Eoghan met Esme.

I swallowed hard; I had to ask, but I wasn't sure I wanted to know. "What happened after he met my mother?"

Niall's head snapped up, and his eyes met mine. "What do you mean, boyo?"

"You said he was all hate. . .all vengeance. And then he fell in love. Did he quit the Red Hands after he met my mother? I thought he died from an English bullet."

There was a single beat of terrifying silence as Niall stared me down, and I wanted to cower, like the five year old that I no longer was, but Bella had held her own with Jane—I could hold my own with Niall. I stiffened my back and forced myself to stare back.

"And he did. He was arranging a special surprise for some visiting dignitaries. English, of course, and they had a tip of where he would be. Quit. Quit." Niall thought that was apparently funny enough that he started laughing, vastly amused by the idea that someone would actually quit the Red Hands.

Or that they would ever be permitted to.

I understood then what my father had likely sacrificed for me, to get me and my mother out of the Red Hands clutches, and why Esme had done everything she could to protect me and dissuade me from learning more about them. They were dangerous and psychotic, and clearly didn't stop at anything to get what they wanted.

"You are to join us, boyo. To avenge your father's death. To carry on his legacy. It's in your blood."

Unbidden, Bella's words from earlier echoed in my head. But you're not like them—blood isn't everything. Actually, blood isn't anything.

I wanted to believe her. I did believe her—at least I was beginning to. I didn't think, as low as I had sunk in my life, that I would ever want to sink this low. My moral compass might not hit true north, but it also wouldn't ever condone death and destruction.

Seeing the blood dripping from Bella's nose, though, had solidified my resolve to save her, even if she refused to be saved. I opened my mouth to tell my uncle that yes, I would join him. Just as I was about to sign my own death warrant, the office door flew open and Jane stood there, her eyes huge and wild in her chiseled face.

"Aro, he's gone." She sounded shocked as if the concept of anyone fleeing from her particular brand of crazy bitch had never occurred to her before.

Niall stood so abruptly that the huge chair fell to the ground behind him in a terrible clatter. He set his hands on the desk and leaned forward, the dark green eyes burning in his face. "Who? Emmett? He would never."

Jane simply nodded, and I felt as I was seeing this in a movie theater. This wasn't my life. It couldn't be. Emmett couldn't have left me. I felt like laughing, or maybe like crying. I couldn't decide. There was no options anymore. I would have to join Niall if I was to get Bella out, and suddenly, that was all that mattered. To do one fucking thing that would have made my father proud, if he had lived, and I knew, knew so deeply that it felt inscribed in my core, that he would never have approved of all this. He had loved my mother. He had given his life to see that me and her could get out safely. There was, I decided, a certain poetic justice, an irony, in the way I was following in his footsteps.

"Take him back to the cell," Niall barked. "We will hunt for where Emmett has gone."

I didn't like the word hunt—it implied big game and even bigger guns. Our lives. . .they aren't pretty.

As Jane roughly pulled me to my feet, Niall had one last thing to say. "And Edward. You will decide and give me your answer when we return."

I wanted to give it to him now, before I had more time to second guess. More time for Bella to weasel her way in and convince me to change my mind, but before I could, Jane was shoving me through the doorway, her claw-like hands gripping my shirt as she pushed me forward, driving me faster than my feet could move.

Jane threw the locks on the door, and then I was shoved into the dark room. Stumbling forward, I heard the door clang with a horrible finality behind me, and just as I was sure I would lose my balance and fall, a hand caught me.

Bella.

AN: Next chapter, we're briefly back with Esme and the gang for a loooooong (the longest yet) chapter, then it's more ExB for two more chapters. In case you hadn't noticed (yes, you, hiding under that rock), things are becoming fairly bleak. And yes, they are only going to get bleaker.

By the way, I did upload the outtake/prequel one shot that I wrote for FicsforNashville, titled, Trangressions of the Mother. While you can definitely read SotF without reading TofM, I think that it adds a lot, especially to the Esme chapters (and yes, hint hint. . .next chapter is a HUUUUUUGE Esme chapter).