Hello everyone! I just got back from vacation so sorry this took a bit to update. A few side notes about this chapter, firstly, the painters I name within the chapter are made up. They are not actual artists nor persons. This is just for story purposes, so forth and so on. Secondly, I do use light French in which I did use Google translate. SO, apologies in advance if it is not a hundred percent.

Other than that, please, continue enjoying the story! Reviews always welcome! :)

"You can be the boss, daddy

You can be the boss
Bad to the bone, sick as a dog
You know that I like, like you a lot
Don't let it stop."

- Lana Del Rey, "You Can Be The Boss"

I let my fingers methodically strum the guitar in my hands,

humming with the notes. If I had to be holed up in this place I figured I'd get back into the groove of writing. Since the other day, Joker hadn't said much towards me. Towards anyone, really.

He must have had a master plan mapped out for me but learned very quickly that I was easily influenced. Well, sort of. My problem was that I tried to justify why things happened in the world. It wasn't hard to make me feel guilty for the choices I made.

I imitated confidence because I didn't actual have any. An imagined starlet continuously putting on a show. He didn't like that. He seemed to envision a version of me that I just don't think could exist…and yet…

I rested my chin on the body of the guitar. The psycho that exuded from me back at Carmen's motel told a different story. She was about the same person who murdered Donnie and the same person who hurt Arnie. If I told you that that power wasn't intoxicating, I'd be lying.

And J sensed that. Maybe even from day one. He did pay a hefty sum for the serum running through my veins after all. Why not turn me into an almost undefeatable killer?

I set the guitar down onto the bed. I suddenly wasn't in the mood to write anymore. Not that I had made much progress anyway.

I flopped back into the mattress attempting to understand my place in this universe. I was beginning to wonder what awful thing I had done in a past life to deserve this life. I reached, I really did.

"You're a good girl. That's why it happened to you." Angelo's words ghosted through my brain.

Was I though? I knew my heart was in the right place. However, my actions were so obscure from my original train of thought. I may not have been dipped in a vat of chemicals or blasted with electricity but there was no denying this slow burn of change.

A loud slam shook the entire house as loud voices followed after it. I jolted up right, picking out one of the voices as J's. I tiptoed to the door to crack it open slightly.

"I don't care what it takes, you find her!" Joker spat. I don't think I've ever had the dubious pleasure of hearing him so vexed.

"Sir, we've sent our best men-"

A gun shot rang out followed by a thud followed by a distraught laugh. "I'm sorry fellas, did I hire you for emotional support? To tell me things I already know? Hm?"

I could make out low murmurs of "No, sir" from what I was assuming were the remaining men. I gathered the courage to leave the safety of my room as I met the scene from the upstairs railing. Joker was soaked to the bone with a gun shaking in his grasp.

To the left of him, an unmemorable henchman laid sprawled in a pool of his own blood. The other goons stood there with their heads bowed, unmoving. Or rather, too scared to move. Mister J was especially unhinged tonight.

"Excellent." He tossed the hunk of metal in his hand to the floor. "Now clean up this mess!"

They all scrambled to do as he ordered, bumping into one another like fools. J turned in my direction with a sour expression on his mug. He must have had eyes of ice because I immediately felt myself freeze to this spot. His mouth hung open slightly as he trudged up the stairwell.

My grey hues remained on him his entire ascension up the marble steps. I started to notice little details about him the closer he came. He had small, fresh cuts on his face and with each step he left a trail of water in his wake. He definitely went for a swim.

Then I noticed something else, where was Harley? The two of them went out tonight. She proclaimed it was their "date night" but to me, going to a club that he owned and practically visited every day didn't seem so intimate. To each their own I suppose.

My heart pounded thinking he was going to stop and say something or worse. He didn't. Instead, he looked through me as he walked right past my presence. Still following his movements, I watched him retreat to one of his many offices. This was bad. Real bad.

I debated whether I should pursue him or not. I was absolutely terrified at the prospect of what he'd do in such a state. However, the curiosity of what happened to his Queen itched at my insides. And then, there was this strange need to comfort him.

I exhaled, closing and opening my eyes once. I was trying to gather enough courage to even knock on his door. Although, when I got there, the door was already opened a sliver. I knocked anyway.

No answer.

Peeking through, I could see him moving objects around on the floor. I knocked again. He didn't even flinch, just continued to shuffle about. So I pushed the door gently. "J?"

When I was fully inside his monotonous behavior became more apparent. The clown was gather similar objects in the room and placing them side by side on the ground, forming a half circle. It was pretty extreme.

I clenched my hand to my chest, "Mister J?"

He finally paused, realizing I was in the room now. He glared at me sideways.

"I'm sorry."

He chuckled, "For what?" His attention now on me.

Good question. I'm not even sure why I said it. Things were just falling out of my mouth lately.

He sighed, placing the random hunting knife onto his desk. "She's gone, Olive."

My hands cupped my mouth. Was he insinuating what I thought? His icy blues met my eyes. "That damn Bat! I don't know where he's taken her…but when I find out…" He slammed a fist into the wood of the desk top.

I could see he had definitely broke skin. I instinctively advanced on him, showing genuine concern. "Mister J, your hand-"

"-Bah, what does it matter?!" He shoved papers off his desk.

I halted several feet away from him. Something inside me ached to help and yet another part of me wanted to watch him suffer. His eyes shifted abruptly, honing in on my person. For a minute, I legitimately believed he had read my mind again.

Instead, he tugged at a chunk of my hair. "What's this?"

My features displayed confusion. I traced his fingertips and the silver strands that sat there. I frowned. There were more. "I'm not really sure why that happens."

Joker lost himself for moment. It was like my hair had become a crystal ball where he'd find the answers to all of his unanswered questions. His fingers played within the texture of it, admiring it's pearlescent beauty. Then he snapped back to reality. His eyes now gazing into my soul.

These seconds alone always triggered a funny feeling within me. Regardless if it was mutual or not, I couldn't help but want him. These little windows of silence allowed me to read only his body language and nothing else. He could hide his emotions behind a smile but in times like this there were no distractions to prevent me from really seeing him.

His right hand gripped the underside of my face, letting the hair strand go. I felt feverish as he leaned in for a kiss. But before our lips locked, Frost barged in with urgent news.

"We've found her, sir. They have her locked up in Belle Reve."

We both pulled away quickly from one another. I faced my back to Frost while Joker had his hands on his hips, grinning. "Excellent." He licked his lips. "They're that threatened by her, huh?"

Neither of us spoke as he clapped his hands together. Joker began to pace the room. "We should formulate a plan. Belle Reve has quite the security. It could take at least a month to bust ole' Harls out."

"A month?" Again, I spoke without thinking.

Joker continued to smile, "She knows how these things work. She'll understand."

I nodded, "Right"

He came up to me, resting slender digits on the side of my cheek. "Now if you'll excuse us, pet, we've got business to talk."

I looked between Mister J and Frost. I feigned a smile while making my exit. My brain didn't feel attached as I reentered my room. Instead, my cranium had become a jar for pickling the soft organ. Why did I have no self control?

I face planted into my pillows, cursing my indecisiveness. I couldn't help but feel exhausted even though I was holed up in my room all day. Something about that man was ever draining. Rolling onto my back, I let myself drift off to sleep and Joker run rampart within my dreams.

The next morning, as I awoke, I could feel a weight shift in the mattress. At the end of the bed my feet seemed to slope a little to the left. I scrunched my eyelids for a few seconds before fluttering them open. There, a painted face greeted me.

"Good morning, Chrysalis." Joker's metal grin stretched from ear to ear.

I rolled my eyeballs, unamused. "Why can't I ever just wake up alone?" I twisted myself more into my pillows.

He laughed, "Isn't that what you've been doing your entire life anyway?"

I shot him a glare. "That's not what I meant."

He stood up to pace in front of my bed, his fingers delicately gliding over miscellaneous objects around the room. I sat up, adjusting the straps of my shirt. "What time is it?"

"I've got a job for you." He said slowly.

I arched an eyebrow, "Another one to mess up?"

His ghostly features turned in my direction. "Oh no, my little bug. It's actually something I believe you are well versed in." I looked apprehensive as he leisurely strolled my way. "Originally I was going to take Harls for fun but-" He paused to stare off in the distance before returning his focus on me. "-well, you know."

Joker waved his hands about dismissively. Then he placed his palms on the mattress on either side of me, leaning in. His breath tickled my nose, "Heres the thing, I'm making a rather prestige purchase today. Well, over seeing it technically. A painting, I'm told, that will make me millions."

I rested my chin on my curled knuckles. "I didn't know you dabbled in such things, Mister J."

The clown straightened up with a hearty laugh, out stretching his arms. "Look around, doll face. If you haven't noticed yet, I like the finer things in life."

I smiled. He wasn't wrong. This single room alone could prove he had money to splurge. I swung my legs over the edge, interested. "So where do I fit in to this puzzle?"

His arms drooped, "Why, you're gonna tell me if I'm being swindled or not. I usually have a guy for that but why pay him when I've got you?"

I'm almost certain that was supposed to be a compliment. I looked down at the carpet, swinging my feet back and forth. I knew a thing or two about art. I read a lot books and visited the museums when I could. It's one of those things among many that separated me from the small townies.

I beamed at Joker, "Alright, let's go."

"Good girl." He cooed, running a knuckle briefly under my chin.

He insisted I dressed like the aristocrat I so badly wanted to be with a baby pink cocktail dress that hugged my kneecaps and a pair of nude heels to match. Feeling fancy I ventured to add some gaudy jewelry which he seemed to approve of.

I was probably the most elegant arm candy he'd had in several years compared to Harley. She was wild and inept where I could be wild but poised. Composed and vindictive. By no means was I a good girl. However, I sure could play one.

This was all my job, though. I'd been playing this part for years.

My heels echoed loudly through the grand marble hall we walked. This partner of his sure had exquisite taste. Everything was lavished in expensive Italian silk and French architecture. It dripped with stone hues and reds to accent. I was almost even afraid to breath around such riches, it was overwhelming.

Mister J seemed unfazed, naturally. He probably had the equivalent to this only didn't feel the need to show it off in such a way that this man did. It was one of the many things I respected about him.

Our arms were looped as we approached a huge room with many windows and many paintings hanging from the walls. A short, thin man sat behind an ornate desk. He had a baby face but his tired eyes told you he was older than his features let on. He gestured to the seats in front of him.

"Ah, sit. Please, Mister Joker." A French tongue clicked.

His green eyes trailed my body as we sat in the unreasonably comfy chairs. I could tell he had questions but knew better than to ask. J rested either elbow on the arms of the chair letting his fingers intertwine. I followed his gaze to a painting on a stand, just a few feet off from the Frenchman. It was a gorgeous view of some European cathedral with an 18th century woman crying on the steps.

The more I stared the more I felt for her.

Pushing at his tiny spectacles the man in front of us coughed, "Yes, well, this is the artwork I had mentioned. A Jacquard DuBois one of a kind."

I tilted my head. A Jacquard DuBois piece? I'd never heard nor seen such a painting and DuBois was quite well known. I bent forward curiously.

Joker noticed this and grinned. "You wouldn't mind if we had a closer look, would you Benny ole' boy?"

Benny, presumably Bernard, fidgeted in his seat. "Why of course! I'll have you know though that I've had it certified myself. With this undiscovered treasure we'll make a fortune, Mister Joker!"

J hunched over. "Oh I'll be rich either way, I have no doubts about that. What I'd like to know is why you'd want to do business with me in the first place."

You could tell Bernard tried to understand what he meant by "rich either way". I did and I prayed this nervous man had an inkling of what he was doing. I stood up to get a closer look at the artwork. It was definitely a beautiful piece. The strokes so carefully placed blending the brown hues together.

I reached the tip of my finger out to trace the signature in the corner of the art. Then Benny shouted, "Ah, Miss! Do not touch please! Your finger oils with ruin the work."

Joker chimed in, "Oh come on now, Benny. My girl here is a professional."

Benny's face turned a shade of red, "Then she would know not to touch the artwork."

I stepped back from the painting to glare towards the Frenchman. "That would be true if this painting were an authentic DuBois. It's not."

Mister J howled with laughter as Benny tried to compose his rage. "Exusez-moi?! And what does a little girl like you know?!"

I placed a hand on my hip. "I may not have a degree in art but any idiot who is well versed in DuBois work knows he never actually capitalizes the 'B' in his last name and he never signs it so clearly in a corner. It's always within the strokes of the work."

The man looked taken aback. "This is outrageous!"

"Is it, though? All of Jacquard DuBois' work is accounted for and hanging in museums all over the world. There are only a select few which are owned by private buyers. So unless you've made some national discovery, you ain't got shit." I slammed a palm onto his desk, making him flinch.

J picked at his ear, "So how did you come across it, Benny boy?"

Our eyes bore holes into Bernard as fumbled to find the right words. Another painting on the wall caught my line of vision. I clacked my way to a 36"x48" oil artwork of a dark castle painted in front of an intricate of stars. This one I knew well.

"However, this Margot Bisset is exceptionally real."

The clown's head turned my way, "How much is it worth, baby?"

"Not as much as a Dubois piece, but still an excellent find." I winked.

"We'll take it!" He grinned.

Benny was having none of it. He stood up to protest, "Y-you can't! It's not for sale!"

Mister J grabbed the man by the scruff of his sports coat. "I assure you I can and I will."

He pushed the man back into his seat where he clumsily fell to the floor. With a snap of his fingers, Joker's men gathered into the luxurious room. I watched as Bernard tried to reach for a panic button under his desk. I dug my heel into the back of one of his chubby hands.

As he cried out in pain, I growled, "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Mister J gave a sickly sweet smile as he made his way over to us. He tugged on the collar of his button down and pulled at ends of his suit jacket before squatting eye level with the Frenchman. Bernard was visibly shaking at this point.

"Benny, Benny, Benny, you're in way over your head."

"Mister Joker, this is madness! Who even is this woman anyway?! I can-"

J placed the tip of his gun in Benny's mouth. "Oh, my apologies did I not introduce my papillon d'argent?" He mocked him in a broken French. "She's my current right hand woman-" He paused to rethink that. "-or left. A man could use both." He chortled at his own joke as he cocked his gun. "But you can just call her, Papillon." Then he ended his life with a loud bang, commenting afterwards, "Or not."

My heart soared at his words. I recognized that I had finally flourished in his eyes. Papillon was French for butterfly and from what I could remember he'd never called me anything even close to it.

Suddenly, drunk with power while watching him change his mind and direct all of his men to just take everything to sell off, I understood where I wanted to be. Where I fit in. Where I belonged. I didn't want to be just his left hand girl. I wanted to strive to be his only.