lindsayhonaker: You're welcome! I'm glad you liked it. Well, it's about to get rockier. My bad.
SuShadowhunter from Ravenclaw: It's been too long. Me too! I've always like unusual date ideas instead of the cliché ones. She acts like it sometimes, doesn't she? I'll try to update as quick as I can.
The next morning Jace was woken by slamming doors and shouting. Clary was not in his arms. Warmth that came with Clary lying in his arms seemed long gone, though Jace's arms were settled in the position they were the night before with the illusion that he was still holding her.
With a grunt and a sigh he got up to go seek out the red haired girl. He reached to stretch, wincing as his back popped and rubbed his eyes to get the sleep out of his eyes, all the while mentally psyching himself up for the destructive storm ahead. Tentatively taking a single step into the hallway, he braced himself for any missiles that could come his way, like a plate trying to imbed itself in his forehead. More than likely to be thrown by Clary. In the living room doors were still being slammed, things smashed, words shouted.
Jace picked up his pace and reached the living room where immediately sought out Clary, who had her phone jammed to her face and an expression on her face that could scare the most fierce of people. Included Jace himself. A little bit. She was dressed - unlike Jace, who was still in his boxers - in all black. A black vest top, black skinny jeans with black combat boots. What Jace supposed was her ass-kicking gear.
"Listen. Very. Carefully. You find out who the fuck it was and if you don't do it within the next twelve hours I will make you into a nice new rug for my boudoir." Her voice took a mockingly sweet edge towards the end before abruptly going back to the hard tone she used at the start. "I want names, I want background checks and to be perfectly honest, I want their heads." She ended the call, not bothering to wait for an answer. Still not realising Jace was standing there leaning against the doorframe, she ran a hand through her hair and sat down heavily onto the sofa.
"I see your mood has improved." Jace finally spoke, words confident much unlike himself as he remained in the doorway.
"Be quiet Jace." Clary's eyes were closed as she now rubbed her temples in small circles, probably fending off an approaching headache.
Seeing that Clary actually wasn't a woman-turned-machine provoked Jace to step up behind her and replace her fingers with his. She purred contentedly, sounding a bit like a cat - Jace mused - as she relaxed and tilted her head back against the back of the sofa. Her eyes gradually opened. She looked tired, Jace noted.
"Hey." Jace whispered so to not encourage her headache.
Clary sighed before answering. "Hi."
"What's up?" Jace didn't relent with his rubbing yet avoided the elephant in the room by asking what was obvious.
The response was a weak snorted laugh. "Stuff. Work stuff. You stuff."
Jace's ministrations stuttered. "Me? What have I done?!" He didn't bother to keep his voice down now - though he wasn't shouting - quite bothered by the fact that despite what he'd done for her last night (or this morning), he was still somehow the focus of her annoyance.
Her eyes closed again like Jace's louder voice pained her. Regret flashed through Jace and he felt obliged to press a kiss to her vibrant hair in order to compensate. "Being nice. It's weird. Different."
Her boyfriend couldn't help but smirk almost imperceptibly against her hair. His voice quietened again. "What, is this you telling me I should stop?"
"No." The gang leader exhaled heavily through her nose as her headache began to ease. "Definitely not."
Jace hummed, smiling faintly. "Didn't think so." He stopped massaging to join Clary on the sofa, sitting to her right and putting his arm around her when he got there. "What's this about work?"
Clary's head flopped to the side so it came to rest on her boyfriend's shoulder, putting said boyfriend's face into her eye line. "I think you know."
"Yeah, of course I do. Was that what you were doing on the phone? Trying to find out who did it?" Jace made a mental note to assist her on that if her attempts proved fruitless.
Clary's eyes hardened. "Listen, Jace." She took a deep breath and Jace's mind went into overdrive at her words and the action combined. "Last night when I was in that state, it was because of what Jon had said to me. He told me- how can I put this?" She asked rhetorically, giving herself time to pause and think. "I think you've already gathered that my father wasn't a very good person. I mean, which 'very good person' would whip their child, right?" Jace nodded solemnly. "I haven't seen him for a while. Years, in fact. Now Jon finds out from my mother that he's looking for us. Has been for five years, leading Jon to believe he was responsible for the tailing. He's-" She leaned forward, planting her elbows on her knees, clasping her hands together and resting her chin on them. "He's not a patient man, Jace. He must be going insane with anger at not having us yet. I don't know what he wants us for but it definitely cannot be good, that's why I won't stop until this is ended. If that means killing him with my bare hands, I will happily do it. He is not only endangering my life, but he's endangering my gang's, your gang's - like Meliorn and Jordan last night - and Jon's. God, he could even go for you Jace. I can't allow that to happen. You must understand." Clary's breath was heavy and laboured at the end of her tirade.
Jace leaned forward placing a hand on her back lightly: a simple gesture letting her know he was there. "That's what you were doing on the phone? Trying to find him?" Your father, Jace meant but they both knew it was unnecessary to clarify.
"Yes. He's a sneaky, slimy bastard. It'll be a gruelling process and some days we probably won't see each other because of it but I have to do this, Jace. I need to keep you all safe." Green eyes were on Jace's golden ones, pleading with him to understand.
He nodded. "I get it, doll face, I do. But be careful. I know you have innumerable security, as do i, but you can never be too careful."
She gave a sad smile in return. "When am I not careful?"
Jace leaned back, his hand wrapped around Clary's shoulder forcing her to lean back with him. "I could name a few occasions." They were quiet for a moment before Jace spoke again. "Day off today by the way. I cancelled all of my duties."
Clary's lips quirked up as she sunk further into his embrace. "Good. I cancelled mine too. Other than that... debacle."
Jace made a faint sound of agreement and held Clary tighter when she came closer. "What are you going to do to him if they get hold of him?"
The newly familiar woman next to him didn't respond and the silence they were suffering in was tense - especially to Jace - surrounding them like a dense fog.
Clary moved a inch away from Jace as if she'd been stung, as she turned to make eye contact with him. "You mean when. Not if. Never doubt my gang, Jace. They are just as capable as yours, if not more." She glowered at Jace for a fraction of a second. Her jaw clenched, showing she didn't appreciate the jibe no matter how unintentional it was.
To anyone else, her response would be completely uncalled for and would be seen as an over reaction. But to Jace, who knew the feeling of protective attachment to your gang - the men who sacrificed their lives working for you - it was perfectly justified. Very few gangs were as close-knit as the likes of The Thorns and The Bronx. Sure, Jace had his fair share of eyes and ears scattered all over America but he knew all of those in New York City by name. He figured it would probably be reasonable to assume Clary did, too. And he would kill for them. He has killed for them and he'd do it again.
He placed his hand over hers, rubbing at her finger tattoo. He hummed signalling his unspoken apology which made Clary melt against him again.
"But when they do get him I'll show no mercy." She spoke with such conviction and finality that Jace didn't doubt it.
He slapped her knee playfully in order to lighten the mood. "You," he squeezed gently, "Need to eat."
"Is that you offering to cook?" Clary mumbled, indicating her somber mood had returned.
"Of sorts, I suppose." Jace replied. Clary gave him a confused look. "It's me offering to tel someone to go get food from a diner nearby." He clarified.
Clary rolled her eyes and muttered something that sounded like 'lazy prick', though he could've misheard. He knew probably hadn't.
20 minutes later and there was a knock on the door. Jace shouted his permission to enter - "Come in... if you have the food. If you don't, fuck off." - and in walked a man, who was clearly someone who worked for him, with arms full of food in paper bags. The man silently gave Clary one, gave Jace a slightly larger one and put the rest on the kitchen worktop as ordered by Jace. After Jace's employee left, he explained to Clary that he'd just put the rest in the refrigerator so he didn't have to cook for a bit.
The crisp, white paper bag Clary now held was adorned with a simple, vintage, red logo on the front. It said 'Taki's'. Taki's. Something clicked in Clary's head.
She turned to Jace. "I hope that bimbo didn't spit in my food."
Jace stopped mid-chew, his mouth full of burger. "Huh?"
Clary tutted. "Wow, attractive." She shook her head. "I said, I hope that bimbo didn't spit in my food."
Jace's frown indicated he didn't know what or who she was talking about. Clary was grateful he didn't try to speak this time.
"The one who pounced on you when we went to Taki's." She held the bag up and rustled it, showing how the thought came to her head. She began taking out her meal - also a burger - anyway.
By this time, Jace had finished his mouthful. He seriously considered Clary's suggestion. "I doubt it."
Clary's own burger was halfway to her mouth when Jace said that. "What do you mean 'I doubt it'? You'd better be certain."
Jace smirked. "I'm joking, I'm joking. Calm down, doll face."
Clary eyed her burger warily with a crease between her eyebrows, before deliberating that everything was fine and taking a bite.
Jocelyn's entire body throbbed. Heat that radiated from her deep gashes contrasted drastically with the cold stone floor she was currently strewn upon. Her breath was coming to her in painful, ragged gasps and she knew for certain at least a couple of her ribs were broken. Pushing her forearm underneath her, she tried putting her weight onto it. This helped her ease the pain off her shaky wrist as she used her left hand to push her self up ever so slightly. After an unstable second, her wrist gave way forcing her body back to the solid floor with a thud and crushing her other arm underneath her in turn. She heard herself groan without even realising she did it and quickly realised she was probably about to faint again.
Resting her cheek on the paved floor she could see her arm in her eyeline and saw with a start that she was shaking. She sighed, a feeling that echoed in her lungs as she tried to keep the pressure off her injured ribs. This was quite a feat considering they hadn't quite enough to put her on her back. They hadn't cared even a little bit.
The barbarity of the situation made Jocelyn think how this could've possibly happened. How she could be like this because of her husband. Her once loving husband. 25 years ago they were happy. Just married, young, wealthy. A year later Jonathan was born and they were still happy, perhaps even happier than before; Valentine was overwhelmed with joy that they'd had a son. He was their pride and joy. However, a few months before Jonathan was due to have his first birthday, all that seemed to change. Jocelyn could suppose that he cared in his own way and did what he thought, and still thinks, was best for his child.
A few months before Jonathan was due to have his first birthday, the Morgensterns 'came into some money', as Valentine had put it. Jocelyn didn't question it; she knew Valentine had an extensive family and they often received smaller amounts of money, whether it was inherited of otherwise. But once they got that incredible amount of money, Valentine had insisted they move out of their small - but cosy - two bedroomed house and into some countryside estate with a mansion that had an innumerable amount of rooms - space for a nursery for Jonathan, an art room for Jocelyn, an office for Valentine, and the rest. They wanted for nothing and anything Jocelyn asked for she received.
However, her husband soon became driven almost solely by power, money and greed. Power. Valentine had so much power which Jocelyn had assumed had stemmed from the money. Admittedly, she never really knew what Valentine did for a job - although he often said he needed to work - as when they first met, both aged 18, he'd say he didn't have one because money was simply in the family. Valentine had seemed innocent enough so she didn't pry and she certainly didn't feel the need to push further. Especially since they were that young that she didn't really expect him to be pursuing a certain career yet. Aged 19, they were married - the year after that they had Jonathan - and all seemed well. He told her that he began working for the family business in order to provide for their family and Jocelyn accepted it; the Valentine she knew never liked relying on others.
Back to the point of power, and Valentine clearly knew of his own importance. He embraced the fact that people scampered after him, got off on it even. It was almost like it stimulated his mind, he loved it. With hindsight, Jocelyn can say that the power was not because he worked for the family business and not even totally down to his money, but revolved around being dangerous. He was a criminal, he was that man behind it all, the mastermind, the brains. He wasn't really a fighter: though he could, he preferred not to get his hands dirty. He was never seen out of an expensive, crisp, dark suit. Expensive enough not to get blood on, Jocelyn thought begrudgingly. Back then, she loved his suits, she loved how he always looked smart and proper. He was extremely handsome and still is, as it Jonathan.
Jocelyn repressed a shudder at that because Jonathan was nothing like his father. He should never be compared to him. It was surprising that he wasn't like him, since at the age of just two years old, (the year Clarissa was born), Valentine began indoctrinating him. It began with Valentine teaching him things. Every now and then, Valentine'd do something, then lean into Jonathan and give him some sort of 'life lesson': "It's better to be feared than loved", "Never be afraid to show them who's in charge", "Money can buy you the world". Jocelyn often saw Valentine talking to his son in this manner but the messages were always whispered. It wasn't until Jonathan was older that she asked what his father had been telling him throughout his childhood, and her little boy told her.
By the time Jonathan turned five, Clarissa was three years old and her father had started telling her what he told her brother. Not only that, but he was teaching Jonathan martial arts. Jocelyn often saw bruises on her young son's body from where Valentine had gone a little too rough, but Jonathan insisted - with a toothy grin - that he enjoyed martial arts, and Jocelyn didn't have the heart to stop it. Although, Valentine was rarely around anymore. He often went away "for work matters", some weeks only coming back for Jonathan's lessons (which Valentine always asseverated was self defence).
By the time Jonathan turned five, Clarissa was three years old and her father had started telling her what he told her brother. Not only that, but he was teaching Jonathan martial arts. Jocelyn often saw bruises on her young son's body from where Valentine had gone a little too rough, but Jonathan insisted - with a toothy grin - that he enjoyed martial arts, and Jocelyn didn't have the heart to stop it. Although, Valentine was rarely around anymore. He often went away "for work matters", some weeks only coming back for Jonathan's lessons (which Valentine always asseverated was self defence). When he was there and around the children, it was obvious Jonathan was his favourite. Clarissa was four when he started training her in martial arts - a year younger than Jonathan was because Valentine had said she needed it earlier since she was a female and he saw her as significantly weaker. At the same time, at six years old, Jonathan started being trained with knives.
Jonathan and Clarissa were inseparable, though, with Jonathan even training her when their father was away. The boy never vied for his father's attention, and it was apparent thought more of Clarissa than Valentine ever had. Jonathan saw his red-headed little sister as strong, intelligent and brave. It was only he big brother that made her start to draw and paint aged six. She was nervous about what her father would say which, at the time had confused Jocelyn but in retrospect, her young daughter had been a lot more perceptive than her mother. And she was right to be nervous. Valentine had exploded. At the time, he had been away for just over a week and while he was away, Jocelyn made a smaller version of her art room for Clarissa. Upon learning about this, Valentine had approached his wife, screaming about how he 'didn't want his daughter corrupted by anything that he hadn't approved'. That meant anything that wasn't going to mold them into perfect soldiers. Now that Jocelyn really though about it, that was probably the first moment that it had occurred to her that Valentine was dangerous. He had dangerous ideas, dangerous behaviour and dangerous actions. And Jocelyn was living with him with their young children.
It was only when Jonathan was 10 and Clary was 8 that Valentine first started becoming really violent. By then, Valentine and Jocelyn were arguing everytime they saw each other with their children often overhearing. Although, it was more of him shouting at her than arguing. The training had become more aggressive too, with the children progressively using more hand-to-hand combat weaponry. Clary was using swords and Jonathan was not only swords, but the likes of nunchucks and axes. Jocelyn had a sneaking suspicion that it wouldn't be long before he started making them use guns. And she was right.
The first time he hit her was when he first spoke of his plans to buy both Jonathan and Clarissa a gun. She was outraged, and rightfully so in her opinion. Over the past couple of years, she'd learned not to get angry with him or argue back; it only resulted in him getting angry too. But he was talking about buying a gun for a couple of children, it was ludicrous. It was insanity. So she spoke up, rather hostilely, and he back-handed her. The scariest part, Jocelyn recalls, was the look of sheer anger. There wasn't a flicker of guilt or regret. Even the next day or the day after that or the day after that. Soon after, he began hitting the children, much to Jocelyn's horror. Jocelyn managed to prevent it more often than not but there were times when she couldn't, and it ate her up inside. A few times, Valentine made the muscular men that served as his bodyguards to hold her back. The times when he locked Clarissa up, he told the servants and maids that he'd kill them if they so much as went near the basement where she was.
Then Lucian was employed and it changed her life. It was when she realised she no longer loved Valentine. That she despised him. Loving her husband was one thing that she clung onto whilst he did all of this to her and their children; that she loved him and wanted to help him get better as he clearly wasn't mentally stable. But they were not the actions of a mentally ill man - they were the actions of an evil man. She also ended up falling in love with Lucian - Luke. She couldn't help it, honestly she couldn't, it just happened. He was the one who patched her, and sometimes the children, up after Valentine's beatings. He was the one who secretly helped her cook dinner so it'd be done for when Valentine wanted it done. And he was the one who stopped her from getting lonely. Over time, it became apparent that they both felt the same and with Valentine always away, it wasn't difficult to find time to spend together. They had even converted one of the bedrooms (on the other end of the house, of course) into their own cosy room. It was like their living room, bedroom and dining room rolled into one. Jocelyn wasn't spending much time with the children and she knew that wasn't fair, but she and Luke had been planning to run away for a while by then and she needed to distance herself as much as possible before actually leaving. Up until then, any interaction with the children - *her* children - was restricted by Valentine. That was until Jonathan was twelve and Clary was ten. After that, she was allowed no contact at all. They lived in the same house, for Angel's sake, yet the children were always monitored. Yet, Jocelyn wasn't. Well, that's what she thought. The day Luke was dragged away with Jocelyn being held back, screaming his name, Jocelyn realised that the children weren't the only one being monitored, unfortunately. A week later she managed to escape. She was locked up in her and Valentine's bedroom 24/7 in punishment for her adultery. However, being with Valentine for so long had its perks: she climbed out of the window, climbed down the three storey building into the gardens, which was practically a maze (one that she had memorised due to her plan to escape with Luke), then hitched a ride with someone to the furthest place they were willing to go. She went to her own bank account - which Valentine did not know about - and withdrew all $40,000. Which was stolen from Valentine and, even though he was bound to find her, she could hardly bring herself to care without Luke. He was dead. She hadn't seen him killed nor had she been told, but she knew Valentine would. Just to spite her. Just to take away her only hope just like he had with their children as soon as he started militarising them. It was selfish to the children, she knew. But Valentine had raised them as soldiers and soldiers they were. They were strong, brave and more than capable of looking after themselves. She could only hope that they followed in her footsteps and escaped his clutches.
Consciousness was escaping Jocelyn now as she faded into darkness, her last thought being her children.
Jocelyn was on the precipice of waking up fully (as she thanked the Angel she didn't choke on her own vomit or something just as fatal while she was out cold, she thought bitterly) when she heard the sound of scuffling on the floor. Even though Jocelyn now suspected it was daytime, she couldn't see much in the extremely dark room. Even less since she had only recently awoken and her eyes hadn't fully adjusted yet. However, just because she was without sight, that didn't mean she was stupid, and she quickly realised there were two sets of footsteps - male, probably quite large: Valentine's men then - and a dragging sound with occasional stumbling. It sounded as though another barely conscious person was being half-frog marched, half-dragged back to a cell. She heard the sounds stop, then another sounded started almost just as suddenly. The sound of metal grinding against metal. Like a chunky key in a lock. If it was closer she would've thought Valentine's men had come for a second helping. It wasn't close enough to be Jocelyn's but it sounded like it was right next door.
An involuntary wince racked Jocelyn's slim frame, paining her because of her injuries, when she heard a crack as the person was thrown to the cold, hard, paved floor. She knew they were awake - and alive - because she heard a baritone groan. Male then. She felt sorry for him; chances were he didn't really deserve to be there. She wondered if he had a family: a wife, children, siblings. Whether he was young or old, rich or poor. None of that mattered though, she thought sadly. If Valentine had anything to do with it, he'd die in there and probably soon. Jocelyn sighed and closed her eyes deciding to resume sleep.
She vaguely heard Valentine's guards mutterings as they walked away.
"How long has he been here now?" One said.
"I'm not sure. Five, six years, maybe?" replied the other.
Their voices echoed more as they got further away. "Why d'you think Boss is keeping him alive?"
The other didn't reply for a moment. "I'm not sure. He probably just wants to make him suffer as much as possible. I wonder if the Boss'll reintroduce him with her."
Jocelyn's eyes shot back open.
I tried to make this longer than usual (it's nearly 5k words long yay) because I thought I owed you guys, otherwise it would've posted something a while ago. I am literally mid-exams right now but in about 3 weeks I should be able to update again because they'll be over so hold tight. IN THE MEANTIME, PLEASE REVIEW. Because you guys said you be okay with waiting for the chapters but I only got two reviews last time which makes me sad :(((( thank you if you're still reading my shitty writing, you're too kind.