So this story does not have a beta - all mistakes within are purely my own. Partly I feel bad overworking my beloved beta, but partly to help satisfy my more impatient side.

It's been insistently worming around in my brain for a few weeks, and would not be ignored any longer. Mostly this is an exercise for me of sorts, and to act as a break between my two other fics when I get stuck.

It will not have regular/scheduled updates. This is also my first genuine attempt at anything all human. Hopefully you enjoy.

Summers in Chicago were always sweltering, more than any other place we'd lived. My father said it was because of the smog, which made everything feel warmer than normal. It was 2005, and I was only seven at the time, so I had no idea what smog was, which of course necessitated my father sitting me down to give a college-level dissertation on what he called 'global warming.'

My father wasn't exactly an unkind man, but I also don't remember ever being particularly close with him. He was a military man, so his religion revolved around manners, timeliness, cleanliness, and obedience. I just wanted to play with my trucks, not make my bed the 'right way' 15 different times.

We'd been in the Chicago area for only half a year, but so far it had been my favorite place to live because for once we weren't on base; my father commuted the 46 minutes from our house in Western Springs to the Naval Station Great Lakes. This meant I had blocks upon blocks of neighbors that weren't all also military brats, moving every few years. I distinctly remember one girl, Bella, who only lived a couple houses down – we even went to the same middle school. We'd ran track together in the spring, then would go back to her house and listen to music on the pink iPod mini she'd got for Christmas. Her mom always insisted I stay for dinner, and every time I did my father would whoop my ass for staying out past dark.

I'd take the spankings 50 times over, because Bella's house was just warm and cozy and full of love. Mine was cold, bare, and my parents mostly read newspapers and commented on the happenings in the world. It wasn't like they didn't love each other, either. I knew my mom and father loved each other, but they had already been old at 43 and 46 respectively when they'd had me, so their world was already slowing down long before I'd come into the picture.

I still remembered when the Step Up movie had come out and Bella had dragged me to the theater with her to see it. When we walked out at the end, blinded by the blistering sun, she'd been convinced she wanted to be a ballerina just like Nora. That stupid Petey Pablo was stuck on her iPod on loop for hours until I finally got grumpy enough to take control and put something else on. She'd just laugh and take the earbud I was using back, and tell me my tastes had yet to be refined.

Bella was the best friend I'd ever had. We liked the same music, she'd play with my trucks and build Hot Wheels tracks with me, and I'd tolerate her fashion shows. We spent hours in a miniscule tree house in her back yard pretending to be pirates and gangsters. Too bad she couldn't see me now – a real, live gangster. Something told me life wasn't like that silly movie, where a beautiful, classy ballerina and a misunderstood criminal could live in the same world.

We moved at the beginning of 2007, my father done with his stint as drill sergeant. He wanted to tour overseas again, on fire with patriotism ever since September 11th, 2001. We'd relocated to Naval Station Norfolk in Virginia in February, uprooting us again from the roots we'd just barely managed to ingrain. In June of 2010, two days before my birthday, my father was killed in the line of duty.

My mom got a pension, a Purple Heart, a post humous Silver Star, and an angry 12-going-on-13 year old. I got yet another move back to Western Springs so my mother could be near the friends she had made there, having no other family since both her parents and my fathers were dead and no siblings. We didn't live in the same house, but I still went back to Bella's house the day after we'd moved in to tell her I was back. When an elderly woman opened the door, then kindly explained to me that the Swans had moved in 2009, I was angrier than when I'd been told my father was dead. So I had no father. My mother was barely functioning. And I had no friends. It was a shitty time.

I enlisted in the Navy myself at 17, my mom convinced to sign off on my papers. By the time I was 19 I was in the SEALs, where my career was cut short at 21. I received an honorable discharge after a bullet exploded my left shoulder. It was repaired to basic functional capacity, but when you're supposed to be an elite among the elite, functional was below the bare minimum. The injury led me down a path of addiction to pills, and a steep debt I had no way to pay off.

When I couldn't pay off the 30,000 plus deficit I tried to run which, in hindsight, was pretty fucking comical. If I'd had any kind of head on my shoulders at the time, I'd have known better than to think the Cullen mob would just let me go scot free. I still gave Emmett shit about the night he'd picked me up in Buras, just outside New Orleans, trying to hop a boat across the Gulf to Mexico.

I had been about 20 minutes away from what I thought was freedom when a black spray painted burlap sack was yanked over my head, arms promptly bound behind my back. In a very Sopranos move, Emmett and Jasper had chucked me in the back of their Benz and toted me back to Louis Armstrong New Orleans International. Roughly I was escorted blind from the trunk to the scratchy carpet of what I later learned was Carlisle's private jet. Two hours later we'd landed; another, briefer trunk ride later, and finally the bag was lifted from my head to reveal none other than Carlisle Cullen himself staring me down.

He was imposing in a midnight blue waist coat and matching trousers. Under the waist coat he wore a crisp white button up and scarlet tie that he was currently loosening. After he discarded the tie, he began to roll up the sleeves to the button up, handing a wildly attractive blonde behind him his solid gold cuff links. I could only lay there, not even bothering to try and right myself, as he crouched down in front of me, giving me an impassive once-over with his brilliant blue eyes. He brought up a hand to hold his chin, which was just showing a five o'clock shadow.

When he took my face in his hand, twisting it back and forth, I tried to keep my eyes glued to him, taking in the blonde hair that was closely cropped on the sides and long on top and slicked back. It would probably be the last thing I'd ever see, but I couldn't bring myself to ogle the hot blonde, which was a far more pleasing sight. Everything about the man in front of me commanded respect, from his cool, appraising gaze to the word Veritas tattooed across his left knuckles.

Finally he dropped my face, then stood and brushed off the knees of his suit. Convulsively I swallowed, more out of thirst than fear. That was a four letter word to me, the concept ran and water boarded out of me during B.U.D.S.

"What's your name?" His voice was a stark contrast to his outward appearance. It sounded firm, but warm, and reminded me vividly of my father's voice with the confidence it contained. Where my father had been loud, though, Carlisle Cullen was soft and quiet.

"Edward Masen, sir." My voice didn't waver as I answered him.

He didn't answer for a moment, turning instead to talk to a giant of a man with curly black hair and a tall, lethal-looking man who screamed 'military' the same way I did.

"I hear you have quite the debt, Mr. Masen. Tell me, do you not know who we are?" He asked, turning to look back at me.

I couldn't tell if it was a rhetorical question or not, but I responded to the query regardless. "You're Carlisle Cullen, sir, father of the Cullen mob."

His gaze took on a strange look that I could only label as being between admiration and surprise.

"And yet you don't seem afraid at all."

I scoffed. The idea of being scared was like the idea of unicorns and faeries to me, something mythical that required suspending your belief in reality.

"No, sir. Nothing to really be scared of since I'm the one responsible for this predicament in the first place. I deserve whatever punishment you wanna give me. I'm not usually the type to run from my problems, so I'm kind of feeling like a world-class fuck up to be honest with you."

Unexpectedly he smiled, coming back to crouch in front of me again. "I admire your honesty. Jasper tells me you were in the military – is that true?"

This entire encounter was not going as I had expected. By all rights I should have a bullet in my brain, or maybe strung up and beaten until I agreed to pay Carlisle back every cent. Since there didn't seem to be much point in playing a coward, I contorted myself like I had so many times before to bring my arms under my legs. Once they were in front of me, I used my arms to push myself into a seated position so I could look at Carlisle better.

"That would be correct, sir. I was a SEAL until my shoulder was blown apart. It's also how I ended up owing you so much – hard to put a price on feeling numb when you've got nothing."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "I have need for a man like you. Here's my offer: work off your debt to me doing what I ask when I ask it, or enjoy a dirt nap. The choice is yours."

I don't know why he even bothered to make it seem like a choice – who wouldn't choose life over death?

"Then consider me in your service, sir."

That had been August of 2019. In the following two years, I had paid off my debt to Carlisle, far faster than I would have imagined. When he called me into his office at his house, he'd honored his end of the bargain. I was free to go, no strings attached, so long as I could keep my mouth shut. I don't think either of us expected me to ask him to stay.

In truth, those two years with Carlisle had been the best years of my life, and Carlisle had become like a father to me, much more than my own dead one had been. While he was hard and sharp like glass, unrelenting as a brick wall, he was also compassionate. I had seen over and over again that he would do anything for his family, which didn't seem to be limited to just blood. He'd taken me under his wing as a son. He'd set me up with the best doctors that fixed my shoulder better than any military surgeon could, gifted me expensive watches and cars for my birthday, and invited me to sit with his family every night when they ate dinner.

I also grew to know and love the rest of his family in that time. Jasper and I bonded over our military backgrounds, and formed brother-like competition since he'd been in the Rangers. Emmett was likeable and easy to be around despite his massive physique; he was my favorite sparring partner, especially since he preferred boxing while I favored Muay Thai and jiu-jitsu. Even the girls, Rosalie and Alice – Rosalie taught me the fine art of boosting and driving cars, since she'd grown up racing moonshine down winding, narrow mountain roads. We didn't particularly get along outside our now-shared love of cars, though, since her vanity naturally clashed with my practicality. Alice and I were more companionable. We became each other's confidants, someone each other could go to and talk about the crazy shit that happened on any given day.

Three more years had passed. I still did whatever Carlisle asked, though now it was more out of respect than required. I also staunchly believed he wouldn't ask me to do anything I wouldn't naturally agree to regardless. One of my more common jobs was just driving him around, his personal bodyguard. I suspected that was mostly because I was only one of two people he trusted who could drive well enough to outrun the cops and also shoot them dead. Since the other was Rosalie, who was also his son Emmett's fiancé, it was universally decided she was better off safe than shot at.

That was just one job, though; I was a bouncer for the club Carlisle owned and ran drugs out of. I beat the piss out of all the should've-been-me shitheads who tried to skip town when they couldn't pay up. I even acted as Carlisle's executioner when he had need. Mob business, as I'd quickly found out, was not candy and fucking sunshine. Smaller gangs were always trying to encroach on our territory, which ran from Jacksonville all the way down the coast to Key Largo, with sellers in most major cities across the continental US.

More often than not it was the Voltaire cartel we were at war with. They were based out of Mexico, but had deep roots in Havana, and had an iron grip on the rest of the Keys south of Key Largo. They wanted Miami, badly, but had sorely underestimated Carlisle's strength. It wasn't unusual to chase them off from Carlisle's various businesses at least once a week; a month with only one shooting was considered boring.

As I stood outside Moondancer, the club Carlisle used to sell most of his drugs under the table, I watched Miami turn on. It was only 7pm, the heat of the day just barely waning. Girls with tight bodies in tighter dresses hiked up to their asses sashayed by on sky-high stilettos, clutching mink shawls and designer handbags. The men's cologne clashed and congealed in the stagnant air, turning into one violent cloud that could suffocate. Their bodies gelled with the neon lights flickering on up and down the main drag, right on the coast. It created a warped reflection in the mirrored windows, sensual and hazy and jarring.

My instructions were the same as every night: class over ass, vibes not bribes. The line was already stretching down the sidewalk, but they would wait – we were the hottest spot in Miami Beach. Doors opened at 9pm sharp, no exceptions, and the two hour wait never seemed to deter anyone.

I was just taking a drag off a cigarette when a drunk jackass stumbled over, knocking over the red velvet barrier rope. I rolled my eyes, and sighed – it was way too early for this shit. He managed to right the pedestals, his laugh even slurred somehow, then staggered over and tried to push his way past me.

I shot out a hand, placing it firmly on his chest and leveled an apathetic stare at him. "Doors open at nine, buddy. Back of the line."

He looked up at me, blood-shot eyes wide before they crinkled in a smile. "Nah man, my chick's inside, I just wanna talk to her."

It sounded like inebriated bullshit to me. "Last chance. Back of the fucking line."

He tried to straighten himself up, puffing his chest out – oh dear, he was angry. Whatever was I going to do?

To be fair, he was much stronger than I gave him credit for. The punch he landed on my pec, missing my head entirely, was almost painful.

I laughed, drawing my right arm back and sending it arcing toward his jaw. It connected with a sickening crack, and the guy fell directly backward onto the concrete with a resounding thud.

The girls at the front of the line shrieked, skittering backward like mice, as if the guy would contaminate them with cooties. Emmett poked his head out the door, looking from me to the passed out patron and back again, a massive grin splitting his face.

"Little early to be throwing hands, Tone. What'd he do?"

I just shook my head, tapping out another menthol and lighting it up. After I'd snapped my Zippo shut and tucked it in my back pocket, I took another long drag before blowing it out toward the sea.

"He was selling girl scout cookies."

Emmett burst out laughing, bending over to clutch his sides. The line was starting to encroach again, draw in by Emmett's aura. Something about him just screamed 'I'm a good time, let's be friends!' He loved it, but it was exasperating to me, the way people gravitated to him.

"You gotta loosen up, man. Bachelor party tomorrow night – you still comin'? Carlisle even footed the bill to bring in those escorts from Hialeah."

I scrubbed a hand over the stubble on my jaw, closing my eyes. I'd completely forgot his bachelor party, although it explained why Carlisle had nothing for me to do tomorrow night.

"Yeah, man, absolutely." I took another hit, loving the way the nicotine rushed to my head. "Meet you at Dad's. Nine, right?"

"Fuck yeah!" He brought a hand down on my head, mussing my hair. Even though it was short, he still managed to leave it sticking up awkwardly. I swatted him away, aiming a friendly kick at his dick.

He leapt back when the door cracked open again and one of the servers, Chelsea, popped her head out. She looked at the pair of us, 'not fucking amused' in every feature of her pretty face.

"If you two are done playing grab ass, can I have Emmett back please? I need a keg replaced."

Emmett groaned in an overly dramatic fashion, but still followed Chelsea back inside without giving me any more grief. Which left me, alone again with a line a mile long, blowing smoke rings into the thick twilight air. Just another night in Miami.