I got another chapter for DODT wrote, and there's already over 20 GM chapters on standby, so I decided to have some funsies.

Same old, no beta, mistakes are mine ~

It was late afternoon by the time I actually woke up. The vomit-infused pillow case was nowhere to be found, but had been replaced by a massive pink dildo stuffed into my mouth. I jerked up, nausea making my head roil, and yanked the offending object away from my face. On one side of the phallic object, written in massive letters in black Sharpie, were the words STAFF OF POWER.

Jasper was a sick fuck, but so was I. With the dildo firmly in hand, I staggered into the bathroom and cranked the shower on, then peeled off my clothes. The water was freezing and beat my back as I puked again, turning the water into a vile mixture that swilled and disappeared down the drain. Definitely not the worst hang-over, though. Outside the spins I felt fine, and the frigid cascade of water was already taking care of that.

By the time I had washed up, dried off and put on fresh clothes I kept in the dresser, I almost felt normal. Grabbing the flamboyant pink silicone from the bathroom where I'd left it, I stuffed it into my back pocket and yanked my shirt over it.

I could hear Carlisle in his office upstairs, the threatening yells bouncing off the high ceilings to echo through the house. Perfect - if Carlisle was ripping someone a new asshole, then Jasper was up there, too.

Moving quickly, I darted into their suites and made right for the bathroom. Jasper, usually as subtle as a brick to the head with his pranks, made up for his lack of finesse with brute force. I, however, was far more diabolical. Sticking the dildo on their bathroom counter, I grabbed Jasper's toothbrush, deodorant, razor - anything I could get my hands on of his - and placed them next to the pink silicone. I snapped pictures of all of them, then stuffed the dildo back into my pocket as I rearranged everything so they were back in their rightful place.

In a week, or a month, whenever Jasper thought I'd forget, the pictures would appear. Nothing like a mind fuck to get revenge. He'd inevitably throw everything away, no way to tell if he'd been brushing his teeth with a dildo-contaminated toothbrush for God knew how long.

I almost threw the disgusting thing away, but a better idea crossed my mind as I was walking past Emmett and Rosalie's rooms. I opened the door to their suites and chucked it onto their couch before closing the door again. Rose would have a fucking cow, and the thought made me snort with laughter.

Carlisle was still going off upstairs, so whatever it was it couldn't be good. Jogging up the stairs, I crossed the balcony that overlooked the main foyer and stood in the open double doors to his office. Sure enough, Jasper was on one of the couches, looking tense. Andrés, Carlisle's second, was staring out the window. Blake, head of security and Sam, the consigliere, were in front of Carlisle's desk standing at attention.

"Just get it cleaned the fuck up... Are you fucking arguing with me, Jake? I don't give a fuck how much it costs. Get the DNA samples, pay whoever the fuck you have to, and get the fucking glass fixed."

A pause as Jake, one of Carlisle's crew bosses, chirped something back in Spanish. When Carlisle spoke again, his voice was deadly. "You worry about doing as you're fucking told. Tone and Jazz can handle the Voltaire."

Well that explained a lot. Flopping down on the sofa next to Jazz, I winked at him, making him roll his eyes. I wondered which front had been hit and who was dead. Retaliation was a vicious circle, one murder always begetting another. As long as Marcus kept pushing up on us, shit was bound to fucking escalate. It has been a week since Em and I had left six of their soldiers in a shipping container at the dock, tongues thoughtfully removed so they couldn't flap their traps.

Finally Carlisle hung up, promptly sweeping his arm across the desk and sending everything flying into the wall.

"Sam, talk to your fucking nephew. I know he's family but if he can't keep his hot ass fucking temper under control, he'll be the next without a tongue. Make sure Paul is the one that handles the police report - Jake said they're already on their way. We'll talk more after shit's under control."

Nodding silently, Sam turned on his heel and left. He had the good sense to keep the sadness off his face until Carlisle couldn't see, at least.

Next Carlisle turned to Blake, but Andrés knew he was also speaking to him as he walked around the desk. "Check the cameras, get IDs. Jake thinks they're holing up in one of Marcus's hotels - I need to know which one. This is the third time this week. Voltaire is looking for something, so find the fuck out what."

They kept talking for a minute, but I tuned it out. If shit was getting this bad, whatever Marcus wanted was apparently valuable. As badly as he wanted to unseat Carlisle, he'd never been reckless before, and his attacks were getting sloppy.

I jerked myself back to reality when Andrés and Blake turned and left, still talking quietly to themselves. Looking at Carlisle, I arched an eyebrow as his fist slammed down on the desk.

"Emmett's party is tonight, boys, but I need you ready. Marcus hit the count house in Hollywood this time. They offed all the girls and took some cash, but not everything. He's fucking looking. Put the rest on high alert, Jazz, and get more guys to Biscayne - he's working his way south. Tone-"

I cut him off, nodding. "I'll be sober, boss. Phone's gonna be on me all night, just tell me where. You want 'em iced, or you wanna have a chat?"

Carlisle shook his head, then growled. "No, fucking off 'em all but one. Drop him with a message, wherever you think Marcus will find him fastest. Sam will set up a time for us to sit down. I'm not playing his fucking hit and run bullshit. Truce until then. If he can't hang with that, his world is going to fucking burn."

Using two fingers, I saluted my father, then stood, clapping Jazz on the shoulder. "I'm outta smokes, so I gotta run out."

Carlisle nodded, closing his eyes, then waved me away. I knew that look, the deep concentration when he was trying to zoom out and look at the big picture. Jazz hadn't moved or acknowledged my gesture, which meant he was analyzing too. For as shitty as his pranks were, Jazz could narrow down and see the details way better than most of us. Dude had a brain like a fucking super computer.

By the time I'd got more cigarettes, and had stopped by my actual home to change into my steel-toe Docs, it was already 8:30 at night. Waking up late always fucked with my sense of time, and there was no way I'd make it back to Carlisle's in time to catch the party bus. Instead I drove straight to the club; Carlisle had closed it for the night so Emmett could have a private party.

I came up the back staircase that led into the DJ booth. I didn't recognize the girl at the board, who looked alarmed at my sudden appearance. She was about ready to scream when Jazz caught sight of me and waved me over to the bar. I winked at her as I slipped around, but she still looked pissed.

Kim, the bartender, had just grabbed my favorite bottle of whiskey when I waved her off, then turned and leaned with my back against the bar rail. I could see Jazz giving me the side eye out of my peripheral vision, but I shook my head before he could comment on it.

I knew I looked fucking wired, my hand hovering and fidgeting over where my gun was holstered in my waistband. "Sorry, had to go for smokes. Emmett pissed at me?"

Jazz took a sip of water, shaking his head. "Nah, he knows shit's going down."

He didn't get much else out before the lights, already dim, went down. The DJ announced the dancers, some ultra-fancy types from a company Carlisle helped to fund since the owner, Jane, was a friend of his from 'before'. Supposedly they didn't do sex, and mostly acted as arm candy and exotic dancers, but still sounded like stripper shit to me.

The lights came up, spotlighting six of the girls posing together on stage. They started doing a coordinated dance to one of those line dance type songs, something about wobbling. Sighing, I motioned to Kim for a water. Being sober at a bachelor party felt like cruel and unusual punishment, but at least the girls were indeed as attractive as promised.

When they finished they posed again as a group as the DJ announced them as the Diamond Dolls of Jane's Dollhouse. Up next was apparently the 'jewel of the collection', someone named Arie, while your basic stripper music thumped over the sound system.

Already this was grating on my nerves. How fucking long did it take to find some fall guys? I pulled out my phone, then immediately put it back when I saw no new messages. Turning to Jazz, I yanked my thumb toward the back door to let him know I was going for a smoke.

I nudged Emmett on the shoulder as I walked by, since he hadn't seen me yet. He was already three sheets to the wind, and taking another shot with some of our guys, but the only ones I recognized were Ben and Angelo.

The new girl had just come on as I was pushing out the door. The smoke was already in my mouth and my Zippo flashing, but I stopped dead when I heard the song start, a deep thrum of bass and violin.

No fucking way that was a coincidence, that stupid Petey Pablo song being on when my subconscious torture was at a crescendo. I turned, flicking the lit cigarette out onto the pavement and slid back toward the stage.

Arie, the one dancing, was tall, easily 5'8", with glittering bronze skin. There was a tattoo of an angel, all outline but not filled, that stretched from the top of her ribs to the middle of her thigh on the left, and other, smaller ones on her shoulders, wrists, arms, back, under her breasts. She had dark brown hair that waved down to the middle of her back, but her face was obscured by the shadows the way the lights were angled.

She could be Bella. But she could also be anyone else. Her body was hypnotizing, gracefully twisting around the stage, twirling around the poles, flipping languidly from the silks. She was wearing blacked out heeled sneakers and faded Daisy Dukes that her ass just peeked out of with a black lace bralette.

When the song was done she finished standing with her legs crossed, arms stretched over her head that was thrown back. Just as her face came down, so did the lights, obscuring her again. When the lights came back up she was gone. It was going to drive me fucking nuts, not knowing. They had to have a handler or manager or something.

I strode over to the DJ booth to ask, but the chick was being a bitch and refused to say. Growling, I turned back to the bar, looking for Jasper - maybe he'd know. But he was gone, causing new alertness flaring in my chest. Had I missed the call? I whipped out my phone, but breathed a sigh of relief when I saw nothing new on it.

Hopefully she'd come back out like the others, who were flirting with the guys. After an hour of watching, though, she never reappeared, and I was out of time. My phone went off, generic ringtone only blaring for a second before I snapped it to my ear.

Andrés' voice barked in my ear, "Three of them. Albergo dei Volturi, room 529." Then the line went dead.

I sighed, running a hand through my bronze hair. Fuck. Albergo dei Volturi was only about 10 minutes away; Jazz was still MIA, and everyone else was too far away or too wasted. Guess I was riding solo.

Heading back to the DJ booth, I shot the bitch manning the soundboard a glare as I descended the stairs to the garage. Getting in the Audi, I took the winding climb way too fast then shot out onto the street at a drift. 8 and a half minutes later I parked a block away from the hotel, and approached on foot.

Getting in wasn't the hard part; I could pick a lock with my eyes closed. Getting all the way up to the 5th floor was also simple. The tricky part was the breech: I had no idea what the layout of the room was, where the men inside would be. I only knew they were armed. Just as I was considering posing as room service, I heard a blood-curdling scream issue from inside.

Did they have hostages or something? That complicated shit. And now time was of the essence. Deciding to play it by stealth, I examined the magnetized card reader for a minute. Using my multitool, I took the blade attachment and pried off the cover, and made a guess for which wire to cut. On the second try I could heard the audible disengagement of the mechanism.

Swapping out the leatherman blade for my bigger pocketknife, I readied it in front of me as I pushed the door open silently. Immediately my eyes landed on one man lying on the couch with his eyes closed. Creeping forward until I could touch him, I lashed out to cover his mouth with one hand and slit his throat with the other.

There was a slightly ajar door to my left, where sobs were steadily radiating from. Just as I was about to peek inside, another door behind me opened. I spun, throwing the knife without thinking, and it buried itself in the skull of the intruder. I rolled forward, trying to catch him before he collapsed but the distance was too far. He still thumped to the floor, a hissing shush coming from the other room.

"Rick, that you?" Rick was fucking dead, and I had to assume he'd recognize my voice as not belonging to one of them, so I didn't bother answering.

Instead I unholstered my 9mm and stood, aiming at the other door. The first thing that appeared when it slammed open was a woman, a gun pressed into her hair. She was wearing Daisy Dukes, stained with blood, and a black lace bralette. Her eyes, huge and chocolate brown, were red-rimmed and full of tears. I'd have known those eyes anywhere. It was fucking Bella.