"She was no stripper with a heart of gold, that was for sure. A heart of steel, more like."
–Shannon Celebi

FIVE DAYS.

I haven't heard a single peep from The Joker in five whole days. Although that didn't seem like a long time, laying around this dreary hotel room for five days straight was beginning to drive me insane.

My gaze was glued to the Gotham Nightly News a majority of the night hours, whereas I spent the daytime mucking about in the outdoor halls. Sometimes, I took an occasional swim in the detriorating pool, which blatantly hadn't been cleaned in years. Afterwards, I took scalding hot showers to rid my skin of any type of possible bacteria that might've clung to it from the toxic pool water.

I lounged against the withered headboard, fingers laced around an ivory plastic fork as I dug it deeply into a carton of leftover fried rice.

Five thousand dollars in cold, hard cash lay concealed in a locked safe beneath the bed. Although I was technically employed for the Joker, I hadn't expected to make nearly as I much as I did from our first heist.

I found myself missing him. The overwhelming mixture of gasoline and cologne had riddled my senses that day, only to completely diminish that very same night. Now, five whole days later, my brain could hardly remember the solace scent, no matter how desperately I tried to remember.

I drowned my sorrows in the practically bare rice carton, the prongs of the fork repugnantly scraping the bottom as I let out a defeated sigh.

Lazy eyes flickered in the direction of the electric alarm clock, which sat perched upon a compact bedside table. Vibrant ruby numbers overcame my vision, displaying a pitiful time.

7:22 PM.

An irate groan tumbled from my lips, empty rice carton flinging from my grasp as it toppled piteously to the floor.

Just as I began to contemplate going on a small walk to occupy my dreadfully bored mind, the burner phone that Joker had provided me with vibrated aimlessly against my leg.

My heart nearly burst from my chest at the sensation, shaking fingers digging deeply into my pant pocket as I attempted to fish the mobile from the depths of my denim jeans.

The plastic device continued to vibrate beneath the denim, slipping out of my strangled grasp several times as I struggled to contain the violent shakes that overtook my limbs.

He was calling.

Once I'd finally gotten a firm grip on the phone and managed to retrieve it from my pocket, the vibration had ceased.

With widened eyes, I glared at the idle phone, the petite screen displaying "One Missed Call".

Wobbling legs met the soiled carpet, socked feet strolling along the stiff material as the familiar taste of bile filled my mouth.

I'd missed his call.

"Fuck!" The phrase exploded out of me, fierce trembles overcoming my every limb as I began to wander the compact room, pacing from one corner to the next as my gaze sat glued upon the mute mobile.

A part of me wanted to call him immediately back — To lie and say that I was using the bathroom, or something of the sorts — But I didn't have the strength. Instead, I decided to lay here and await my fate. Surely he'd show up, Glock-17 in his clutch, preparing to plant an annular hole between my cobalt eyes...

Amidst my panicked cogitation, the phone began to vibrate once again, the name "BOSS" illuminating the screen as an inhumane screech fell from my lips.

Instantaneously, I tore the flap of the phone open, greeting the madman with a breathy: "Hello?"

"Ah, there yah are." Joker taunted, the tone of his voice unusually deep and throaty as every single last breath eluded my lungs.

"S-Sorry sir. I was in the bathroom." I stammered, barely half of the words emerging as I practically gasped for air.

"Did I-er, catch yah at a bad time, pal?" The man teased, a distinct chuckle echoing over the line as the baby hairs on the back of my neck stood tall.

"Havin' another-uh, we-t dream, hmm?"

My cheeks immediately flushed at his comment, an indescribable feeling overcoming my senses as my jaw hung low.

What do I even say to THAT?

When his inquiry remained unresolved for several agonizing minutes, the clown decided to switch topics, the unmistakable sound of him smacking his lips traveling through the line as I bunglingly paced the room.

"Le-t me in."

My pulse quickened at his inquiry. With a slightly panicked expression, I spun on my heel, gaze fixating on the bulky, mustard yellow curtains that concealed the single, broad window adjacent to the door. A tiny sliver parted the curtains — several centimeters wide — allowing a clear view of the withered railing outside, along with a flickering street lamp out by the road.

"W-What?" I croaked, approaching the cracked curtains at an agonizing pace.

The Joker let out an aggravated sigh over the line, the view of the streep lamp instantly vanishing as a dark figure glared straight through the cracked curtains.

A sharp breath hitched in my throat, burner phone toppling to the grimy carpet as I approached the door in one swift motion, unlatching the lock before swinging it open widely.

My boss strut into the bleak hotel room, mumbling a strand of incoherent phrases beneath his breath as he bumped shoulders with mine rather aggressively.

I let out a staggered breath, trembling digits impulsively creeping upwards to massage the tender skin as the door swung shut on my heel.

The theatrical coat was absent, along with any trace of the typical plum and green color mixture he tend to wear. Instead, the Joker was clad with an inky jacket, buttons unfastened as a vivid, rusty red dress shirt cloaked his torso. A tie was absent, but the shirt remained fully fastened, buttoned all the way up to his neckline. An assortment of geometrical shapes littered the fabric of the shirt, spaced evenly apart as they claimed nearly the entire surface, leaving hardly any of the shirt plain. A pair of bland, faded black jeans claimed his legs, fitting loosely around the knees and ankles as they lead down to a pair of matted, soft grey Chuck Taylors, accented with sloppily tied white laces.

As usual, the features of his bare face were sheltered by a fresh layer of bright greasepaint — White, red, and black, respectively. His ashy blonde curls were freshly shampooed and brushed back, revealing more angles of his face and leaving his dark, hooded eyes open and clear. Several petite ringlets encircled the painted skin of his ears, tickling the flesh slightly as he paced the room, bare, colorant-stained hands claiming his broad hips.

"Still go-t some of tha-t five grand, pal?" Joker finally questioned, halting in place as his darkened gaze bore into mine.

"Nearly all of it, sir." I murmured, shifting my weight from one foot to the other as beads of sweat began to form on my glistening forehead.

Was it hot in here?

"Gooood." The man drawled, gaze lowering once more to the ground as he resumed his pacing. Once his back was fully turned, I'd noticed several wrinkled creases scattered along the rear of his jacket, evidence that the material hadn't been properly hung after drying.

"Have yah ever been to a strip club, Horty?"

"And for you, sir?" The bartender asked, bland brown eyes glimmering beneath the strobe lights as I shouted my order over the obscenely loud music.

Joker had instructed that I wear something nice to the club — For what reason I wasn't quite sure — And I found myself clad in an old suit, several buttons absent from the jacket. A cremé colored dress shirt lay beneath, the top two buttons ajar. A tie was absent, just like Joker's attire. However, I couldn't find the tie that usually paired with this outfit, so it was a bit of a relief that he wasn't wearing one either.

A man named Geoff ran the club, which was buried deep within the Narrows between an abandoned coffee shop and a sleazy auto parts store. Flickering, multi-hued neon signs littered the outside of the building, making it nearly impossible to miss as vehicles passed by.

The name was unoriginal, something along the lines of Girls, Girls, Girls. For such a grungy neighborhood, the interior of the building was fairly nice. The floors were wooden, several chips and cracks here and there, but overall, they were in pretty good shape. High-top tables circled the catwalk, which was littered with an abundance of shiny, silver poles — Six, in total. In the far left corner sat a lounge, littered with buzzing neon lights and plush maroon sofas.

"Your chocolate Martini, sir." The bartender called over the upbeat tunes, politely tapping my elbow.

I nodded curtly in his direction, tossing him a twenty and urging that he keep the change.

"Ready?" Joker called, raising a glass of scotch to his lips.

I wordlessly replied, clutching the Martini glass close to my chest as we weaved between drunken, middle-aged men, nearly ninety-percent of them were wearing a wedding band.

The painted-face man lead us in the direction of the colored sofas, where three nicely dressed men lounged, half-smoked cigarettes held in their grasp.

"Geoff!" Joker cheered, outstretching an arm in either direction as he greeted the owner of the club. I awkwardly halted behind him, a half-grin present on my features as Geoff's friends eyed me suspiciously.

The middle man stood to his feet, lips curling into a golden, toothy grin as he laced his hand with Joker's, shaking it firmly before settling his gaze upon me.

"Who'd you bring, J?" Geoff pried, thick brows knitting together.

"A friend," Joker slyly replied, cheery gaze meeting mine as he broadly smiled.

"Horton, this is Geoff." My employer promptly introduced, shuffling around the burly man as he took a seat on the empty sofa.

"Pleasure." I grunted, taking Geoff's hand in mine as I firmly shook it.

"Welcome, Horton." He politely greeted, offering me a sincere grin before dropping my hand and taking his spot once more.

Uneasily, I shuffled around the two other men before taking my spot on Joker's sofa. Cautiously, I settled into the opposite side of the furniture, an awkward tension filling the air as he shot me a questionable glance.

"I don't bite." He teased, setting down the half-drank glass of scotch on the wooden coffee table.

I weakly grinned, fidgeting the untouched glass between my fingers as Joker fished his hand into his coat pocket, withdrawing a flourescent green lighter and a pack of Marlboro's.

My stare settled upon the mans every move, absolutely enthralled by the simplest actions as his ungloved thumb raised the flap on the carton. With the assistance of his index finger, he was able to slightly maneuver the cigarette about an inch or so upwards, careful not to rip it fully out of the pack. My throat ran dry at how incredibly attractive the entire scene was — Eyes widening as he raised the nearly full carton up towards his face, scarred lips closing around the slightly lifted cigarette as he tore it cleanly from the pack.

His black holes for eyes suddenly met mine, pack thrusted in my direction as he inaudibly offered me one.

With a simple shake of my head, I denied the offer, breaths short and shallow as he stuffed the pack back into the depths of his coat.

Next — Oh Lord have mercy — His opposite hand raised, which currently claimed the theatrical lighter. A greasepaint smeared thumb applied pressure to the object, emitting a flourescent flame as he effortlessly lit the cigarette.

My trance was unfortunately broken when a mysterious individual tapped on my shoulder, prompting my arms to involuntarily jerk in surprise. The liquid in my glass sloshed from side to side, just barely grazing the rim as luckily none of it spilled out.

An unnaturally blonde woman wearing nothing but a lace magenta bra and pantie set leaned inward, painted lips grazing my ear as my body went rigid.

"You have a private dance waiting in the cubicles." She whispered.

What?

"From you?" I called, features contorted into a look of pure confusion as she let out a considerably forced giggle.

"No, silly! She's waiting for you. Cubicle C."

With that, the blonde disappeared within the crowd, abandoning my panicked self.

"Uh, where are the cubicles?" I wondered, leaning forward to place my full drink on the table.

Joker tore the cigarette from his painted lips, a profusion of smoke escaping through his lips as they curled into a toothy grin.

"Ah, go-t yourself a private dance, hmm?" He winked, delivering bolts of electricity down my spine as I gulped.

"D'you see tha-t yellow sign that says amour?" He added, thrusting an index finger in the direction of the bar. Directly beside it lay and entryway, which, in fact, did have a bright yellow sign above it.

I nodded, chest heaving as my palms began to profusely sweat.

"Go on." The man urged, stuffing the lit cigarette back into the safety of his lips as he innocently nudged me with his elbow.

With severely shaking knees, I rose to my feet. The toe of my shoe caught on the leg of the table, prompting the furniture to glide several centimeters to the side, scraping obnoxiously against the wood floors. Several drinks went awry, coating the table with liquid as I let out a squeak.

"Fuck — I'm sorry–" I stammered, but Geoff simply smiled, ushering me with the wave of his hand as he called over a nearby waitress to clean it up.

My mind reeled as I bobbed between tables, occasionally glancing over my shoulder to view the Joker. His gaze was diverted, focused solely on Geoff and his men as that damn cigarette sat snug between his rosey red lips.

The bright yellow amour sign flickered slightly, blurring my vision as I strut past the security guard with a simple nod.

Just as the woman had described, ten or so cubicles lay beyond the doorway, all concealed with thick, black curtains that tickled the floor.

My eyes roamed the area, eventually locking on a bright blue "C" above the third cubicle from the left.

I hastily cleared my throat, two fingers circling around the thick material of my shirt as I aimlessly tugged it away from my neck. A sense of clausterphobia began to set in as I approached the curtain, peeling back the surprisingly heavy material.

The cubicle was vacant, accessorized with a single leather chair directly in the center and a petite table for drinks.

I slowly strut into the tiny compartment, easing uncomfortably into the squishy leather chair as I began to sweat in the worst places imaginable.

Suddenly, a pair of hands met my shoulders from behind, prompting my heart to nearly burst straight out of my chest as I let out a hideous yelp.

Just as I craned my neck to view the sudden intruder, the palms had rotated to my face, cupping my eyes and obscuring my vision.

"Guess who." The mystery woman whispered, her hot breath tickling the flesh of my neck as I stirred in my seat.

"W-Who?" I stuttered, chewing nervously on my bottom lip as the tip of her nose brushed against my earlobe.

"Well, I can tell you who you're not." She added, prompting my brows to raise in sudden confusion as she let out a petite giggle.

"You are most certainly not Mr. Howard Levinstine..."

Bile immediately rose to my throat at her response as I pried myself from her grasp.
I'd abandoned the chair, back plastered against the paper thin cubicle wall as my vision eventually focused on Emily's face.

"Emily?" I spat, flattening myself against the wall as an overbearing sense of panic began to set in.

"I know what you're thinking," She began, twirling a particularly long strand of jet black hair around her manicured finger. My eyes struggled to keep steady on her features, due to the fact that she currently had on hardly any clothing at all.

"Poor ickle Emily, a girl who has to work two jobs — One of them being a stripper. But oh boy, oh boy, you sure fooled me the other day! Tell me, who are you working for?" The woman confidently countered, inching closer to my shivering frame.

"I-I don't know! It was an anonymous job!" I swiftly lied, avoiding her taunting bubblegum pink bra. She, by far, had the perkiest set of tits I had ever seen.

"You're a damn good liar." She purred, pointed nail darting outward to caress my jaw. I visibly tensed beneath her abrupt touch, heart painfully hammering beneath my ribcage as she traced my jawline.

"I guess that's what I get for living in Gotham. Everyone's a fucking criminal these days." She sighed, dropping her hand from my face as she twisted on her heel.

"You're not going to turn me in?" I gawked, clammy palms tugging at my overgrown locks as she merely chuckled.

"No," She beamed, jade eyes meeting mine once more as she hovered over the leather chair. "You're just too damn cute to be locked up."

I raised a curious brow, effortlessly swallowing the bile that had risen into my throat as she began to pat the seat.

"C'mon, I owe you a dance."

Uneasily, I reapproached the chair, easing back into the comfortable material as Emily's grin grew.

"You're a shy boy, aren't you?" She dryly teased, her slender arms lacing around my shoulders. A bland smile etched across my lips as straddled my lap, swaying her hips perfectly in sync with the low thumping of the bass from the main room.

"Not particularly." I said, my gaze glued to hers as pointed fingernails traced circles along the skin of my jaw.

"So what's your real name, pretty boy?" Emily rotated her position, rubbing just the right way against my groin. My eyes rolled back in my head at the sensation, palms instinctively finding her boney hips as her back met my chest.

"Chris." I revealed, somewhat embarrassed by how violently my heart was beating.

Emily's slender fingers snaked around to her backside, unlatching her bubblegum pink bra with ease as the material pitifully tumbled to the floor.

"Really? I'd pin you as a Ryan. Or Jared." She teased, removing herself from my lap entirely as her perky tits were on full display.

My jaw reluctantly dropped at the sight, stomach twisting into tight knots as I practically salivated at the sight.

"Fuck," I groaned, attempting to readjust myself through my dress pants as Emily continued to sway to the music in front of me.

"You're really beautiful, Emily."

A thick eyebrow raised at my confession, her cheeks flushing pink in response as she straddled my lap once more. Her bare chest brushed against my fully clothed one, the teasing becoming borderline painful as her thumb traced my bottom lip.

"Y'know," She began, emerald gaze glued to my desperate lips.
"Hardly anyone in this dreadful town uses that word anymore."

"What word?" I breathed, daintily brushing a stray strand of hair from her eyes.

"Beautiful." She exclaimed, cradling my face with both hands as my palms met her hips.

"You're too pretty to be in a place like this." I added, which clearly was enough to push her over the edge. With one swift movement, her lips met mine.

Just as her fingers had found their way to my hair, a deep voice appeared on the other side of the curtain.

"Leah?" The stranger called.

Leah?

Emily let out a disgruntled sigh, her fingers toying with the collar of my shirt as she shouted back a strained: "Yeah?"

"You have a special request. Now." The stern voice pressed. "Thirty seconds."

Emily let out a dissastisfied grunt, pressing her lips fully to mine once more before abandoning my lap entirely.

"Until we meet again." She cooed, winking seductively in my direction as she latched her bra once more and excused herself from the room.

I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding, eyes wild as I readjusted myself before abandoning the cubicle.

Just as I'd peeled back the curtain, the compartment directly next to ours also opened, revealing a leggy blonde with an abundance of smeared, red lipstick littering her lips. The closer I looked, however, revealed that the red was a bit of a different consistency than regular lipstick. In fact, it kindof resembled...

Fucking greasepaint.

The woman flashed me a toothy grin, perfectly manicured fingers adjusting the straps on her bra as my eyes trailed downward to meet her substantial breasts, which were smeared with white and red paint.

My stomach churned at the sight, eyes widening significantly when the thick curtain slid open once more.

The Joker's hooded eyes met mine, an instant, toothy grin encapturing his features as painted fingers swiftly rebuttoned his rusty red dress shirt.

"Hiya, bud." He slurred, tiny pink tongue darting out to claim the corner of his scarred lips. "How was it?"

The pair of us walked side-by-side, reentering the crowded main room as a peculiar feeling littered my belly. The woman who had skipped out of that damn cubicle kept eye-fucking the Joker, winking several times in his direction as she attempted to wipe the greasepaint from the exposed skin of her breast.

"She's the bank teller." I croaked, running a hand through my distressed hair.

"Who? Marissa?" Joker questioned, brow raised as he glanced in the leggy blonde's direction.

"No," I spat, openly scoffing at the sight of that pathetic whore as the man shot me a perplexed glare. "The woman who was with me."

"Oh. How'd that-uh, go?" The madman pried, surprisingly calm and collective as we reapproached the sofas. My undrank chocolate Martini still sat untouched, exactly where I'd left it.

"Good. We made out. She's not turning me in." I dismissed, easing back into the comfort of the sofa as Joker merely nodded, plopping down beside me. I'd just now noticed that his overcoat was absent, as it lay slung over the back of the furniture. The sleeves of his dress shirt were messily rolled above his elbows, uneven in length as he eased against the back of the sofa.

For some peculiar reason, I felt extremely irritated with my employer. In fact, the mere sight of the smeared greasepaint on his lips made my gears grind.

I clenched my fists, anger boiling in my veins as I imagined him with that Marissa girl. They were right fucking next to us, and I didn't have a clue...

Speak of the fucking devil...

Leggy blonde bitch approached our corner, two drinks held in her clutch as she grinned wildly in Joker's direction.

My hardened gaze flickered back over to view his reaction, bottom lip strung between my rows of teeth as I aimlessly chewed. An unlit cigarette sat nestled between his lips, which had transformed into an amused grin at the sight of Marissa and alcohol.

"My hero." He announced, voice muffled by the cigarette. Something stirred deep within me at his phrase, prompting my hold on the martini glass to exceedingly tighten. The glass was unable to withstand my tight grip, resulting in the glass shattering into billions of tiny shards, spewing the undrank liquid all over my clenched fist and pants.

Marissa let out a yelp at the piercing noise, eyes widening as she viewed my now soaking wet lap. However, this little event did not put even the slightest damper on her actions — As I watched her slither straight onto Joker's lap, straddling his waist as she forced a drink into his hand.

My eyelids screwed into tiny slits as she continued to obnoxiously giggle, latching her swollen lips to the smeared areas of his painted face. The sight alone was enough to make me want to vomit.

Marissa snatched the unlit cigarette from the mans lips, carefully tucking the circular object behind his ear before attacking his lips with hers. It was a very wet and sloppy kiss, one that would make any particular individual uncomfortable, regardless of their relationship with the man.

However, the fury I felt deep within my belly scared me tremendously. It was a fury I'd felt only once before — When my old best friend fucked my girlfriend the night of our year anniversary.

This feeling was none other than fucking rage.

My glare met the duo once more, whose positions had slightly shifted.

Marissa's lanky legs were laced tightly around Joker's back, clinging to his form like a fucking leech as she shoved the length of her tongue down his throat. Her manicured fingers toyed with the collar of his shirt, tearing open the top several buttons as she practically undressed him in the middle of the lounge.

I abruptly stood, cheeks flushed as beads of sweat trickled down the slick skin of my forehead, slipping into the creases of my eyes as I blinked away the salty fluid. Without another glance, I sped away from the scene, the ill feeling in my stomach worsening with every step as I skipped in the direction of the toilets.

The bathrooms were small and dingy and smelt of rusted water and sex. The palms of my hands met a nearby porceline sink, fingers applying a fair amount of pressure as I gripped tightly onto the material in an attempt to steady myself.

My head was spinning and I was completely sober. Sporadic visuals of Emily's dance and our unexpected kiss littered my mind, only to be arrogantly interrupted by Joker and Marissa's heated kiss.

A thunderous shout slipped through my lips, my fingers curling into a tight fist as shards of glass tumbled messily into the surrounding sinks. Several miniscule chunks wedged themselves into the skin of my knuckles, burying deeply into my flesh as the mirror crumbled into remnants and my reflection vanished.

With a heaving chest and blurred vision, I attempted to steady my trembling frame once more, gruesome thoughts of Marissa's dead body overcoming my senses as a devilish grin overtook my features.

She's going to wish that she never even glanced in Joker's direction.

A/N: Wooooo, we've got some raging jealousy over here lol. Marissa might need to watch her back...

Also, I hope you guys like Emily, because she's going to stick around for a bit!

As always, it is an absolute pleasure to write for you guys. I hope you're enjoying Horton & Joker's story... it's only just begun...

allie. xo