A/N: Hey guys! I'm gonna cut to the chase and give you this chapter because I am exhausted and I really wanna go to bed. So please enjoy!

Damian's POV

"Explain to me again why exactly she is here?" I growl at my father while he types away on his computer deep in the bowels of the Bat Cave. He doesn't even bother to look up from his work as he answers me.

"She needs our protection until the serial killer is apprehended. She's in danger. I already told you this, Damian. The Manor is the safest place for her at the moment. If anyone tries to make an attempt on her life, we'll be here to defend her."

I narrow my eyes at the back of Father's head. That was decidedly not the answer I was searching for. This… girl has been here for a week now. An entire week I've had to suffer though her presence looming over me everywhere I go. A week I've had to go to bed each night knowing she's lounging in the room right across from mine. A week I've been going out of my way to prevent another unfortunate run-in. I shouldn't have to sneak around my own home like some sort of criminal just to avoid being forced to engage her in conversation again. I've had enough of it.

Either she goes or I go.

"And why would she not be safe in a secure juvenile facility?" I ask tensely. Father takes a break from his rigorous typing to glance back at me. He opens up his mouth, as if he plans on giving me an explanation for this ridiculous living arrangement, but he quickly shuts it. Instead, he simply reaches out and taps the 'enter' key on his keyboard.

Immediately, the computer screen floods with image documents that spread out across the monitor. All of them are the same premise. A young girl lay post-mortem in the street, clothed in nothing but her undergarments and covered in her own slightly congealed blood that once gushed from her open neck. Each picture is a different girl, but they are all in the exact same position. Their arms are spread out at their sides and their legs are wide open, almost as if they're making a snow angel. Their eyes staring at the sky, glassy in death, and their skin a sickish pale color.

It's nothing I haven't seen before.

However, it is not the brutality of the killings that alarms me. It is the amount of pictures that came up.

It covers a good portion of the already large screen.

"He's upping his average of kills already," Father informs me, turning back to his files. "Five girls in the past 2 days. Either he's much more intelligent than we originally thought, or he isn't working alone. No matter what it is, he is more of a threat now than ever. He's sending letters to the GCPD mocking them for their inability to track him down. They've given him an official name; the East End Ripper."

East End Ripper?

Hm. Cliché, but well fitting. Much better than just the East End Killer.

There's been plenty of those.

"We can't risk leaving his only surviving witness in an institution where people are in and out on a daily basis. It's a risk I am not willing to take. At least in here, she's under our protection. And until the suspect is apprehended, it's going to stay that way."

He turns his chair around to look me straight in the eyes, his face as cold and hard as the stalactites lining the cave walls.

"You are going to do more than just tolerate her presence here. You are going to be civil and courteous to her. She is a guest in her home and I expect you to treat her as such. Are we clear?"

Father's firm tone leaves no room for negotiations. As always, his word is law in this household. But that has never stopped me from questioning his decisions before.

"She shouldn't be our responsibility!" I hiss. "This case should be in the hands of the GCPD, therefore making the girl their burden to carry! I don't see why –,"

"She is staying here and that is final," Father interrupts, his tone harsh and strong. "The GCPD is already scrambling to break up the human trafficking ring coming into Gotham. They don't have the time to devote themselves to this case in the way it requires. We, however, do."

Father visibly rolls his eyes, shaking his head at me.

"I still don't understand what it is about her that bothers you so much. She's a well-mannered and quiet girl. I barely even notice she's here."

I struggle to find words that can properly describe my disdain for her presence in my house. At least, words that would satisfy my father. I don't feel the need to explain myself. I'm just… not comfortable with her being here. I'm not comfortable with seeing her while I'm out of uniform. I feel like I'm baring my very soul to this girl I barely even know by inviting her into my home, my inner sanctum. Seeing her out of uniform is like seeing her when I'm completely stark naked.

I'm not fond of letting people get this… close.

"I just don't like it, okay?" I mumble. "I don't like sharing my area with a complete stranger. It's uncomfortable."

Father raises an eyebrow at me.

"That's not a viable reason to kick her out, Damian."

I roll my eyes.

Why couldn't that be a viable reason? I live here, she doesn't. Doesn't my comfort in this situation matter?

"Fine," I groan, letting the topic drop at last. "I guess I will tolerate her presence… Maybe… Perhaps… If I have to."

Father lets out a small chuckle and swivels his chair back to face the computer, focusing his energy back on his work.

"Good. We're in agreement then. And speaking of Dee, I want you to do me a favor…"

'Dee' and 'favor' in the same sentence? I'm not sure I like where this is going at all…

"What, Father?" I ask, crossing my arms over my chest. Father turns around in his chair to look at me with a small smirk gracing his normally stoic face.

"Well, Alfred and I are both going out later…"

I have a feeling I know what he's going to say, even before he opens his mouth.

And I don't like it at all.

My eyes scan the floor of the guest room where Dee is currently residing, pretending to have some sort of interest in the bland wood panels. I want nothing more in this moment than to leave this room. Hell, I want to leave this house. But Father insists I check up on our 'guest' while he and Pennyworth are out, and who am I to question Father's will, right?

Why a sixteen year old girl needs to be checked up on like a senior citizen at a retirement home is beyond me. What could she possibly do? Fall and break a hip?

"Do you require anything?" I ask in the politest tone I can possibly muster, which barely passes as polite. She gives me a small smile in response. I'm not sure why exactly it bothers me, but it does.

Why does she insist on being kinder to me the more I'm rude to her? It's like she knows exactly how to get under my skin. It's... infuriating and intriguing at the same time. The only other person who has ever tried the 'kill them with kindness' method with me is Grayson. But she is nothing like Grayson.

Thank God for that.

"I'm fine," she replies as she plays with the fringes of the bed covers. "You?"

I wasn't aware I opened up the door for a discussion.

"Fine," I snap back. "Just peachy. Good talk, Dee. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have more important things to do than do a bed check for someone who should be able to take care of herself."

I regret my words when her lips slowly curl into a frown.

"Would it kill you to at least pretend you don't hate me?" she asks angrily. Her brow is furrowed and her arms are folded across her chest in a defiant manner. I marvel at how quickly she went from soft-spoken to furious, like a switch was flipped in her.

"I don't hate you," I admit through clenched teeth. "I'm just not necessarily thrilled about your presence in my home."

She scoffs and unfolds her arms.

"That makes two of us, rich boy."

A manor isn't good enough for a girl from the slums of the city?

Hm.

She's quite the piece of work, isn't she?

"Are we not accommodating enough for your tastes, princess?" I ask in a haughty voice dripping with sarcasm. She simply smiles back at me. An angry, tight lipped smile that tells me she is having none of it.

"I was sorely disappointed with the lack of mint on my pillow," she replies sardonically, leaning back to lay her body flat on the mattress. "I'm afraid I have no choice but to give this hotel a very strongly worded review on my blog."

I can't help it; I let out a small chuckle and shake my head at her. Her dramatics are more entertaining than I thought they'd be. The nagging urge to strangle her is slowly ebbing away.

"Would you like some caviar as well? Maybe a joy ride in our Porsche?"

I expect her to snap back at me with a continuation of our witty banter, but she doesn't even seem to acknowledge the fact that I spoke. Instead, her head perks up in an almost violent motion, like she's been smacked across the face, and her eyes scan the area suspiciously.

"Did you hear a noise?" she asks with narrowed eyes.

I didn't.

That's strange… I'm always aware of my surroundings. I hear everything that goes on around me. You can never be too prepared.

I whip my head around to focus on the door, listening in more closely. I hear the clacking of Titus's nails on the hardwood floor, the whoosh of wind flying through an open window…

And the cracking sound of glass being smashed into a million tiny pieces.

My instincts from my many years as Robin kick in, urging me on. I immediately jump into action, marching over to Dee's bed and grabbing her by the arm, hauling her stiff body up to my level.

"Hide now," I hiss in her ear, pushing her roughly in the direction of the walk-in closet across from us. She braces herself against the wall, rubbing her sore arm and glaring at me.

"I'm not hiding in the closet like a coward," she snaps back in a whisper, her eyes darting around as if she's afraid someone will hear her. I scowl deeply. I do not have time nor the patience to deal with her bull-headed ways, not now. Reaching out, I attempt to grab her by the arm again. She tries to dodge by shimming away from my hand, but I'm far too fast for her. I grip her arm so tightly I'm almost sure she'll have finger-shaped bruises later as I shove her squirming body into the closet. I quickly slam the doors shut behind me.

"Stay put!" I demand. Before she has a chance to argue with me, I storm out the door and click it locked behind me. If that doesn't hold her, I don't know what will. With a deep breath and a fighting stance set in place, I turn to face the end of the hallway.

Only to be knocked off my feet by a large, muscular body crashing into my own.

I go down hard, having the wind knocked out of me when I hit the hardwood floor. Glaring up at my masked attacker, I let out a feral growl.

He doesn't realize how grievous his error is.

"Sorry 'bout that, pretty boy," he drawls, his thick Jersey accent unmistakable to my trained ears. "But I know you Waynes are harboring the girl. If you'll just hand her over, we can all forget this ever –,"

I cut him off by hooking my leg on his and pulling hard, tearing him down to my level.

The scumbag wheezes when he hits the ground and at once, attempts to get back up. But I'm ready for him. I get up before he gets the chance and deliver a sharp kick to his ribs. He clutches at his injured middle and wheezes even more, the pathetic waste of a life-form. Snarling, I reach down to give him a powerful right-hook right across the jaw. Flecks of blood splatter out of his mouth and dribble onto the wood floor like red raindrops. It gives me a sick sense of pleasure.

-tt-

If the East End Ripper really wanted his target dead, he should have sent a more capable man to finish the job. He must have underestimated the Wayne family. We're just ignorant rich pricks to the outside world.

Good.

I lean my head down, getting close enough to this scum's face to smell the sweat, cheap cologne, and fear all oozing out of his pores.

"Tell your boss that the Wayne boy knows simple self-defense, unlike you," I hiss in his ear. When he gives a slow, painful nod – along with a small whimper of pain – I kick him in the head. Not hard enough to kill him, of course. Just hard enough to give him a nice, long trip into glorious unconsciousness.

"And never call me 'pretty boy' again," I add as an after-thought.

"Wow," I hear a gasp from behind me. I know who it is before I even turn around.

Why does that damn girl insist on defying my orders? I do not remember telling her they were optional.

I want nothing more than to smack some sense into the thick skull of hers.

"I told you to stay in your room," I hiss, grabbing her by the shoulders. She shrugs my hands off, but stares at me with this wide-eyed, opened mouth expression in a brief moment of wonder that somehow makes her look younger. Dare I say it… cute?

No. Cute is for kittens, not her.

"How did you do that?" she asks in a breathy whisper, as if she's still scared there might be more intruders to follow. I give a noncommittal shrug.

"Father required me to take self-defense classes," I lie smoothly. "He said it was necessary for all members of our family. With wealth comes many people who are willing to use force in order to take it from you."

Dee's eyes widen and she points behind my shoulder.

"Damian…"

I turn around, placing my body in front of hers as a shield.

There, climbing through the window previously broken by the pathetic piece of slime at my feet, are three man dressed in identical ski-masks and all black clothing.

I sure as hell hope they're as unskilled and weak as their friend before them.

A/N: We finally get some action! Yay!

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Bye!