A/N: This story is loosely based on the storylines of the comic/movie by Frank Miller Sin City. It broaches mature subjects, including violence, general son-of-bitchenss and more lemons that I am probably comfortable with. Just thought I'd give you a heads up.

Everyone give a standing ovation to Beta extraordinaire, Stavanger1.

Chapter 1. Bella Swan.

/Edward Cullen/Winter, 2009.

It was eleven in the morning and the street was busy and crowded around me. The snow crunched under the soles of my black boots, slipped without purchase over the shoulders of my leather jacket. The snow stuck to my short hair and cooled my scalp.

I reached up to lift the lapels of the jacket, trying to keep warm. I shoved my hands back into my pockets and continued to stare ahead as I walked.

The street was packed with people and they collided with each other constantly, pushing one another, elbowing, shoving their shoulders to pass.

Not one person had touched me.

If there was one thing a Basin City citizen could recognize, it was an ex-con. I hadn't seen my reflection in days, but I had a faint idea of what I looked like because I had seen what the men that got out before I did looked like.

I was all muscle and tendons stretched tight over long bones. I wasn't skinny, not at all, but there wasn't an ounce of fat on my entire body either. I had always been taller than most, and I could only imagine that my severe face had turned somber since I last looked at it.

The backpack that hung over my right shoulder contained all the items I owned and that mattered to me.

Letters and books.

I had two hundred dollars in my pocket, and that was all the money I owned. I expected it would get me through what I needed to do, since I wasn't planning on living the high life.

I went into a store to buy cigarettes and a Zippo lighter to get some change. I lit one of them as I leaned my shoulder against the bus stop pole, searching my backpack for the book I was reading.

She liked the classics. She'd sent me all of them. I knew she'd read the books before, because there were small markings in the pages; paragraphs or phrases that she had underlined with a pencil.

Little 'miss you's in the corner of the pages.

I took the cigarette from between my lips and turned my head to the side when I heard a loud yell, looking out the corner of my eye.

A thief, running away with a handbag. The woman was screaming like a banshee.

Give it a rest. It's lost.

I sighed and turned back to my book. I briefly pondered on the fact that my body hadn't even flinched, not even attempted to react to her pleading for help.

Five years ago, I would have leapt to pursue.

It wasn't any of my business. I didn't know her, I didn't care.

Five years ago I would have pushed myself over the limit to help her and anyone else, to right this city and its inhabitants, to protect the innocent, and save the poor.

Well, no more.

As the minutes passed and I read the pages of Alexander Dumas' "The Three Musketeers", a car swiveled around the corner into the avenue and thundered down, passing the red light and almost running over a kid.

I frowned slightly, because that shit was just wrong.

A police cruiser was chasing it, all loud sirens and flashing lights. I followed it with my eyes until it disappeared and the street was quiet yet again, except for the usual bustle of the people walking by of course.

Another Thursday morning in Sin City.

The bus arrived. I got in, paid my ticket and sat down in the back, staring out the window for a second before returning to my book.

I used to think being a cop meant something. That it meant defending the innocent, working for a system that was flawed but still meant something.

What a laugh. I guess no one is straight in Sin City. Just by living here you are dirty shit, unfit to live anywhere else. You're eyeballs deep in crime and grime and blood and sex and shit, there's just no escaping it. It's the kind of dirt that gets under your fingernails and under your skin, coating your throat and your nose. Every time you breathe, you bring it in, until it gets into your bloodstream and one day you're sitting at your kitchen table sipping scotch and suddenly there's a light at the end of the tunnel formed by your pistol's barrel.

I knew better now.

But thinking about it was a waste of time. I blinked, pushed the thought away, and returned to the book.

About an hour later, I got off the bus in front of the start to the Southern Docks. I strolled ahead firmly, with the pace of someone who knows he won't be stopped. I wasn't supposed to be here, but in my experience, if you stroll into a place you're not supposed to be in with the confidence of someone who has every fucking right to be there, no one dares stop you.

If you must lie, lie with confidence.

I made my way around the many warehouses, walking down streets and alleys until I reached the river. I then followed the river, walking along the edge, until I reached the sailboats area. I knew the wooden dock I was looking for was at the end, so I kept on walking forward like I knew what I was doing and had a right to do it.

About thirty minutes of walking later, I arrived at my destination.

There was no wind today and the sailboats were quiet. The old warehouse (code BCSD-134-JRI-23) stood exactly the same as the last time I saw it. Alone, apart from the rest of the warehouses, near to the river.

I wasn't surprised, because… well, It's not like I expected it to get up and fucking move away. But I was slightly amused at my own expectations.

I had expected the outside world to change as much as I had, but it hadn't changed at all.

Sin City was still the same city I had left five years ago. Easy thieving in broad daylight on a crowded avenue.

And the world keeps moving on. I changed nothing, not by being a cop, and not by being a convict. I didn't matter.

Except I did do one thing—did save one girl…

The sound of my boots on the snow covered wood was the only noise accompanying me. The Prefecture cabin was closed to my right. The ships and speedboats didn't even rock in the black, oily water of the river.

I stopped by the cabin, scanning the snow at my feet. With deliberate movements, I kicked it off and moved it aside with the side of my boot, cleaning the old boards. I stopped when I had a large patch of the dock uncovered, and I studied attentively.

The wood was wet because of the snow. Other than that, I couldn't see any particularly recognizable stains in it. No blood.

And I had bled plenty…

Another reminder that I had meant nothing to Sin City, but another nameless body locked away in a cell, left to be forgotten. Forgotten, by all but one; her.

I stood in thought for a moment. This was where it had all started for her and me. On that night, five years ago. And yet there were no signs, no tell-tale marks of the end of our lives. Men had died here—I had died here.

I lifted my head and looked at the river. I was at square one—where did I go from here?

I knew her name now was Isabella Swan—Bella for friends and me—because she had made it clear through intelligent, secret word games hidden in the pages of the books she'd sent me.

That night, I would have died if Panther hadn't been there.

And that was the missing piece—Panther. Where would he have taken her, to keep her safe?

Everyone knew Panther had links to Small Town, I remembered.

That was the first direction I needed to be headed in. I thrust my hands back in my jean pockets and turned around, walking away from the wooden dock and back towards the entrance.

I took a bus but stood this time, reading again. I didn't need to look out the window to know Sin City hadn't changed. I didn't see it any different—I just saw it for what it was, instead of what I wish it could be, like I had then.

I didn't feel melancholy for my old views of the world. I had been a kid. I was a man now.

The bus left me five blocks away from the gates to Small Town.

Sometime, long ago, Basin City had declared prostitution illegal. It didn't last. So to keep up appearances with the Central Government, they built a Red Light district surrounded by walls. Small Town was that district. Things were brutal there—rapes and thieving and murders in the street the common coin; but that was before.

In 2006, that which any tyrant feared had happened in Small Town. The slaved realized they had greater numbers than the slavers, and decided they weren't going to be pushed around anymore.

Massacres ensued. It was known as the Pimp Massacre; not one of them survived. Since then, the whores of Small Town had taken matters into their own hands and the bastard who tried to stick his dick where it wasn't wanted had it sliced off—if he was lucky…

If she still lived there, Bella would be safe in Small Town. I disliked the idea of her being a prostitute, but worse things could happen in Sin City, and so long as she was alive, I was satisfied. Once I was with her things would change.

I passed through the open, looming gates and nodded at the armed, female guards. They gave me warning looks, correctly assessing my attitude. They could spot an ex-con from blocks away, I was sure. I needed information and the best way to get that in Small Town was probably to be direct and to the point. This was a dangerous zone, and I needed to step lightly.

"My name is Edward Cullen. I need to speak to your boss." I said clearly.

She looked suspicious. "What for?"

"I'm looking for a friend."

She arched an eyebrow. "And you want an expensive one?"

I smiled slightly. "Not that kind of friend. Someone I knew."

"What you want her for?"

I shrugged. "That's my business, not yours."

She glared for a long moment. I held her gaze, calm and steady. I'd seen horrors—I could take a glaring whore.

She finally muttered something about 'stupid blue-eyed redheads' and whipped out her cell phone.

"Hey, As. I got some guy here giving me the 'take me to your leader' shit."

I smiled at that. It felt good to smile. I hadn't done it in years, I realized.

"Says his name is Edward Cullen," she added. She arched an eyebrow then, listening to As, and finally nodded curtly and shut the phone.

"She'll see you. It's down Seventh Street, number 1267.

I nodded—I knew how to get there. I walked away with the same calm I had been feeling all day, since they had told me I was free to go.

There was no rush. I had the rest of my life to find her.

And I would find her.

I found 1267 of Seventh Street quickly. It was a big, old house; one of the few houses in the myriad of tall, dark apartment buildings that was Small Town. I went up the few steps to the porch slowly and rang the bell, waiting patiently.

Merely seconds later, the door swung open, and before me stood a small, dark haired, pale little woman with huge black eyes and a small red mouth.

"As, I presume?" I asked politely.

"You presume correctly," she answered civilly, her eyes traveling up my long body. She barely reached my chest. "Edward Cullen, I assume?"

"Correct." I nodded. "May I come in?"

She moved aside, nodding. I entered the spacious living room where a fire blazed, heating it all up. There were several women here, sitting on the couches, just enjoying their time off. They scrutinized me like I was a piece of dead meat—and if they wanted me to be, I would be. They were all armed.

"So, what brings you to Small Town, Detective Edward Cullen?" As asked, placing her small hands on her small hips and looking at me inquiringly.

"I'm no Detective, Miss As. At least, not anymore. I'm looking for someone."

"That sounds detectivesque to me—and find someone you did. You found me."

"But I wasn't looking for you. I was hoping you could help me. Her name used to be Marie Bishop, now she goes by Isabella Swan. She might have come around about five years ago? She was fourteen at the time."

Her eyes continued to be unreadable, devoid of expression. "What do you want her for?" she inquired pleasantly.

"I need to see her."

She waited for a very long time, holding my gaze on hers. Finally, she nodded slowly. She went to a small table, grabbed a pen and a post-it and scribbled something across it.

"I won't tell you where she lives, but you can find her there," she said, and gave me the small yellow paper.

It was the name of a place—most likely a bar, given its name: Alchemy—and its address.

"Thank you." I nodded at her, and turned to the door.

"Hey!" she called after me, so I turned back, my hand on the doorknob and the other slipping the paper into my back pocket. "That's a good girl. You take care of her, you hear me?" she warned.

The little lady was dangerous, I believed. I better not stoke that fire.

"I hear you, ma'am," I said, with nod.

She grinned and shook her head, muttering 'sly bastard' under her breath before I closed the door. I walked out of Small Town like it was a place that was natural for me to be in, though I had never been there before. I guess people know better than to get in an ex-con's way.

I didn't need to take the bus, because the address was within walking distance of Small Town, and it was a nice winter day. It took me twenty minutes by foot, but finally I came upon a large, grey painted building with a neon sign that said "Alchemy". It was quite clearly a bar, standing alone and away from everything else with its own parking lot filled with motorcycles.

How cliché.

I would have been shocked that sweet, pale, fragile Marie now worked in a bar. But I had gotten out of jail thinking she was a prostitute, and anything a step above that made me happy.

It hadn't mattered to me if she was a whore because no matter how many men she had slept with, she was mine and always would be.

I pushed at the swiveling doors and found myself in a bar too crowded for the time of day, and without a single window.

The lighting was dim. I looked around. To my left, the bar stretched on, long and rough, made of cement. The walls were covered in booths, most of them full. I spotted one at the back, where I could sit down and see everything that was going on while simultaneously having my back covered.

Making sure my back was covered was a typical ex-con habit. Especially if forty percent of the men in jail with you are there because of you.

Jails aren't exactly kind to ex-detectives.

But you either learn quick, or you don't live to learn—and the fact that I was standing here today was a testament to my learning skills.

A waitress with long curly brown hair and bright green eyes, tall and slender, approached me. She was pretty.

"May I help you?" she asked brightly.

I nodded. "I am looking for Isabella Swan?"

"Oh, she's not in for another couple of hours." She shook her head, smiling apologetically. "Did you want to give her a message? I can take it."

I glanced around slowly, studying everything. "I'll just sit and wait, I think. Do you have coffee?"

"Sure! Black?"

I nodded again, and made my way to the back booth. There wasn't much light here, but I had enough, so I opened the book and started reading again. The waitress—I could see her name was Maria—brought the coffee and a few crackers. She told me to call her if I wanted anything else or if I decided to leave.

I studied the patrons for a while, searching for possible threats. There was an especially large man in the bar with a tall, blonde woman. He was bulky, tall and very well muscled, with brown hair. He could definitely be trouble, but he looked like he was a bit too drunk to care about anything. Also, the stunning blonde held all his attention.

So I sat there, reading, sipping coffee. I checked my watch eventually and realized it had been over two hours since I had arrived. But I hadn't seen any other girl walk in, so I gestured to Maria, and when she came about me, I asked her about Bella again.

"Oh! I'm sorry. She was a little late so I didn't have the chance to tell her… she's just warming up now. She'll be on the stage soon!"

Another patron called her and she moved on, as I frowned slightly and considered her words. The stage?

I straightened and looked at the raised platform by the edge of the bar, near the back. I had a great view of it from where I was—I was nearly right in front of it.

As I stared at it I saw a young woman come out from the break room/storage room and speak to the barman. I couldn't see her well in the crappy lightning and behind the tall bar, but she had pale skin, large eyes and dark hair.

Could it be… Bella? Marie?

The music changed abruptly, and the bar jolted in claps and cat-calls. The barman slapped his hands on the bar, booming loudly.

"Show some respect, you pieces of trash! This is a lady!" The patrons quieted a little. I saw the girl smile widely at the barman, shaking her long straight hair, flipping it back over her delicate shoulder.

"Friends, Bella Swan!"

And she hopped on the stage.

She was taller than I had expected. She had incredibly long legs encased in black leather pants that didn't really join at the top, but hung from a low riding belt around her luscious, elegant hips, allowing the black boy-short underwear to show. Her hips then curved inwards beautifully towards a bee-like waist and the milky, flat expanse of her abdomen showed a small tattoo right at her hipbone, though I couldn't make it out clearly from where I was sitting. She was wearing a black leather push-up bra that showed her small, perfectly sized breasts. My eyes flowed up the long, elegant column of her neck to her perfectly balanced head, back down to her small shoulders and long, thin arms and those beautiful, long-fingered hands.

God.

I expected different. I expected skinny, thin, awkward and clumsy Marie Bishop.

Bella Swan was none of the above. She was a beautiful, sensual, grown up and filled out, curvy, feline woman.

She began to dance to the music, sensual and elegant, provocative but classy. She wasn't a stripper—she just danced.

And man, she just danced and I had a hard-on that needed to be shifted.

Apparently my sexual desire was back and with a vengeance. I suppose five years is as long as a man can go without.

I watched her sway her hips elegantly, move her legs, tease with her arms and toss her head back, flipping her hair like a deep brown curtain of liquid chocolate.

I'd never seen something as beautiful in all my life.

And then she swayed to one side, her eyes traveled along the booths—and landed on me.

Her body stopped. Her shoulders relaxed, her eyes widened. And her smile was brighter than the sun in Hawaii on a summer's day. Not that I've ever seen it first hand, mind you.

And just like that, I was alive again. I smiled like I hadn't smiled in—shit, I never smiled like this, ever. Even before I was betrayed and thrown in prison I was never this happy.

She jumped off the stage just as I stood from the booth and she collided against my chest with such force I staggered back and sat on the table. Thank god it was bolted to the floor. She continued to push herself against me, trying to get closer than humanly possible—at least with clothes on—and her arms were very tight around my torso.

I laughed for the first time in five years.

"You came!" she said, smiling brightly at me, so happy, so very happy to see me, I almost lost it right there.

"You remembered," I replied, smiling at her, running my hand through her long, straightened hair. The last time I'd seen her, her hair was wavy. She'd had it flat ironed.

"Of course I remembered! I missed you, Edward!"

She was delighted, and her happiness seeped into me. I was never one to express my feelings, but I kissed her forehead lovingly, almost worshipping her otherworldly beauty, and hugged her closer.

The bar around us was a mixture of people disappointed she had cut the show short, and people happy that she was happy, because evidently, they cared about her here. And what better place to hide and be safe than with the lowest of the low of Sin City? If this crowd was willing to stand up for you, you were pretty much immortal.

"Let's go home," she said happily, grasping my hand and tugging.

"Wait." I pushed the book into my backpack with one hand, not wanting to release hers, and slung it over my shoulder. I looked for a ten dollar bill in my pocket, but Maria was suddenly at my side.

"No, silly. You're him! It's on the house."

I arched an eyebrow, but Bella was already tugging on my hand, so I followed her. I wasn't sure what Maria had meant, because while I was certainly a him, I wasn't any kind of Him. That sounded ominous.

Bella dragged me to the back of the bar and into the break room. Once the door shut behind us and the music was muffled to a dull throbbing, she was on me again.

She hugged me close, her arms around my neck, and I wrapped mine around her small back. She rested her head against my chest. She was tall for a woman, but she still had to stand on her toes to reach my chin with the top of her head.

"I missed you," she repeated softly, and moved away an inch to look into my eyes.

"I'm sorry, Bella. Thank you. You kept me alive."

"Just returned the favor," she answered, smiling brilliantly.

I had to smile back. She hugged herself closer to me, pushing me backwards until my back touched the wall, and I relaxed against it.

"Bella," I breathed, because I needed to say her name, over and over again, hear myself say it out loud as I looked at her, alive and safe, and beautiful.

Her eyes softened, and she slipped her fingers gently into my short cropped her, brought my head down—and brought our lips together.

God.

Her lips were the softest I had ever kissed, the sweetest I hade ever tasted. I shuddered at their touch, shivering as she angled her head a little. I parted my lips to gently suck in her lower lip, caressing her mouth with mine lightly, slowly. She gasped into my mouth and I allowed my tongue to swipe over her lower, fuller lip. She parted her lips eagerly, and I slid my tongue inside to caress hers.

From there it escalated. Her arms tightened around me and she moaned. Her right leg slipped between my legs, her abdomen pushing against my erection.

I gasped and deepened the kiss, growing more frantic. I slid my hands down her bare sides, passed quickly, barely touching the curve of her butt and grasped the back of her thigh, bringing it higher between mine. I broke the kiss to moan when she obliged and pushed up.

Five years. God!

"Let's go home," she breathed against my neck, and pushed away from me to snatch a duffel bag from one of the shelves. She started yanking clothes on, unbuckling her belt and sliding off the leather legs as I stood there panting against the wall and trying to get a grip on myself.

I felt like a hormonal teenage boy, about to have sex for the first time with the girl he liked.

I couldn't possibly sleep with her tonight. She was nineteen—barely a child.

Except her firm ass and breast didn't feel like those of a child, or her soft lips against mine. And her thigh pressing between my legs sure as hell didn't feel like that of a kid.

She slid jeans on, stuffed the leather in her duffel bag and sat down to pull socks on, zipping up her mid-calf boots as she continued to stare at me.

"You alright, Edward?" she asked concerned, as she wrapped a long scarf around her slender neck and pulled on her long black coat.

I nodded, steadying my breathing and straightening. I cleared my throat. "Yes. Overwhelmed!"

She went to sling the duffel bag across her chest, but I gave a step forward and extended my hand, demanding she give it to me. It looked heavy.

"You don't have to carry it for me," she said softly.

"I want to."

She nodded easily and gave it to me. I slung it across my chest and wrapped my arm around her shoulders, bringing her close to kiss her deeply one last time before opening the door.

"Do you live far?" I asked into her ear as we made our way out of the bar towards the door. I glanced around and got a few dark, jealous looks, an astounding amount of warning looks and even a few happy ones. Happy for her—happy that she was happy.

And she was happy because I was here with her, and shit—that was amazing!

We were nearly at the end of the bar when a hand reached out and grabbed my arm tightly. I jerked to a stop, glaring murderously at the son of a bitch that dared touch me.

It was the bulky brunet sitting with the tall blond. Maria took over the chance to share a few words with Bella and give her an envelope—perhaps the night's tips?

"You be careful, buddy," he warned, eyes narrowed. "You hurt her, I break you."

"I got you, buddy," I spat, snatching my arm back and leaning over the bar. "You touch me again; I shove your nose to the back of your skull."

He stared at me for a heartbeat, and then grinned widely.

"I approve, Bells." He smiled beatifically.

Well, fuck. Thank you so very much.

Bella laughed, though, and if she was happy I couldn't be angry. I let her grasp my arm and lead me out of the bar. She stopped a cab in front of the door and hopped in. I followed her, arranging the duffel bag over my lap, and looked at her.

She told the driver the address and then looked at me, smiling. She lived nearby, very close to the Small Town walls. A very safe location. I liked it.

"When did you get out?" she asked low, her thumb caressing the back of my hand.

"This morning," I answered, and placed my arm around her shoulders to bring her closer. I needed to touch her. I'd longed to have her in my arms for five years. And when I got out I thought I would hold a child, a little girl—a younger sister…

But this was a woman I was holding. And I was a man. I couldn't help but want her like any man wants a sensual woman.

It took us less than ten minutes to get to her apartment building. I made to pay but she was faster than me.

"You'll pay the next one," she smiled.

I didn't want to argue with her so I nodded and got out of the cab. I made my way around and opened the door for her. As soon as the cab was gone, she slipped her hand in mine and went quickly up the steps.

Her apartment was on the third floor, by the stairs. The building was as old and filthy as any other building in this area, but her apartment was neat, clean and tidy. I looked around slowly, studying it all. The wall to wall book-case, the old sofa, the older reading chair… It was all comfortable, old and well used. I liked it.

I rested the duffel bag on the reading chair and carefully lowered my backpack down to the floor, because I treasured everything in it. She shrugged off her coat and scarf and threw them over her bag.

"Are you hungry?" she asked sweetly, as I took off my jacket.

"You don't need to cook for me."

"But I'm sure you'd like real food, after so long," she grinned.

I chuckled. "I would. You don't mind?"

She shook her head, and reached to take my hand again. "Come sit with me while I cook. I want to see you."

I nodded and smiled at her. Smiling came easily with her. I liked that so much.

So I sat in the small kitchen at her small table and watched as she fixed up a good home cooked meal for me. While the oven worked, I grasped her waist and brought her down to sit on my lap, hugging her close as she rested her head on my shoulder, sighing contentedly.

This story will be fast-paced. Things will happen quickly and I tend to update very frequently. The storyline will jump from present to past and back continually until you understand what has happened to all of the characters. You'll understand everything, don't worry, just give it time.

There will soon be a forum on Twilighted(dot)net for it, courtesy of my AMAZING Beta, Stavanger1.

See ya soon!

Namariel