Chapter Eighteen

She tasted the blood that leaked in her mouth, the metallic liquid thick against her tongue. Her vision was compromised, the room spinning, the firing of the bullets loud and pounding at her ear drums. Everything seemed surreal, majestic. She fought the urge to pass out, unable to submit herself to the darkness. There was too much noise, too much excitement, too much chaos.

Angelo's grip on her was fatal, squeezing her mercilessly, holding her against him with such a fierceness she felt the blood in her arms stop circulating. His breath hit her neck heavily, swiftly, hot and burning her skin. She could feel him tremble with rage, shaking as he held her, his grasp on her growing stronger with each desperate second.

And she saw him: her glorious savior, the love of her life, the beat of her heart. Every single time she looked at him, it felt like the first time. How he managed to capture her, control her, make her lose her mind at the sight of him. Three of them had burst into the room from the top of the stairs, blasting their guns, making their way down with an agile swiftness, the clamor of their feet rambunctious and roaring.

He reminded her of an angel, with the pale brightness of his flesh. His chest was revealed in its entirety, nude and bare with his tattoos etched onto his skin, while a heavy purple snake skinned trench coat draped his frame, thick gold chains hanging from his neck, black slacks snug at his hips. The green hue of his glossed back hair shone in the blueish tint of the vicinity. He appeared clairvoyant, and oh the look on his face once he saw her. The furor and the madness that consumed him once their eyes locked, when he placed his fingers in his mouth and blew a loud, clean whistle, causing the others to stop shooting, yet continue to hold their weapons steadily, ready to begin again at any moment.

She recognized Drake and Jonny, however Hunter was not with them.

"J!" she called out, her voice cracking as she screamed his name. As she squirmed in Angelo's grasp, he pressed the gun more compactly against the temple of her head, his fingers digging into her flesh.

"Fucking damn it, Harley!" he yelled after her as they began to carefully circle them. He lifted his gun towards Angelo, a slow lick to his dark crimson lips. "I fucking told you to stay out of trouble! Look what you've gotten us into now!"

"I'm so sorry, J! I'm so sorry." She didn't realize she had begun crying now, tears spilling relentlessly down her bruised and bloodied face, stinging the open wounds on her cheeks, mixing with the trickles of blood that stained her flesh. She saw his expression towards her soften, yet he was still stiff, almost emotionless. And she felt her anxiety heighten, the tip of the gun hot on her skin, feeling the pressure of Angelo's finger against the trigger, ready to shoot. She could be dead at any moment, any second, without warning.

She expected a lot more dialogue, yet the solemn stare down between J and Angelo spoke more than any words could convey. She could see the hate in the Joker's eyes, the pure concentration and conflict that flickered in his irises.

"This is it, Angelo," he finally spoke, lowering his gaze. "Play time's over. Put her down and I might go easy on finishing you off."

Harley stiffened as she felt the gun slide down her temple, pressed onto her neck. "Careful, J. One wrong move and I take out your goomah."

She saw how tense J was, unable to laugh, to unveil his truly maniacal lunacy as he tended to do in these fatal circumstances. He was peculiarly focused, a glassiness to his eyes. "Put her down, Angelo." His voice was loud, clean, and articulated.

"First I need you to get your boys out of here," Angelo replied, repositioning the gun against Harley's chin, underneath her jaw line. As she felt the metal glide against her skin, she gulped, trying to stand on her feet without support, but her ankle continuing to throb in pain, her foot squishing from the blood that filled her shoe.

The three of them held their guns with a straight aim towards him. They could have taken him out easily, to end this whole thing. But the gun held at her head was keeping them from succeeding. She very well in fact ended up being the bait. But not for Angelo. No, she was the bait used against J. And from the bitter silence that consumed the space, it appeared that the Italian's method was successful.

"I ain't negotiating with you, Angelo," J replied after a moment of solitude. "Now let her go."

His reaction was quick, and there he slid the gun to the meat of her shoulder, firing the gun rapidly into her flesh.

Her scream echoed in the room-so loud and shriveling, then transforming into a series of sharp gasps. She wanted to fall to the ground but he continued to hold her up, not allowing her to succumb to a peaceful state, forcing her to retain her bitter awareness. The pain that emitted from her shoulder was unbearable, a heavy blotch of blood staining her jacket. She could feel the bullet lodge deep into her muscle, just as the other one had. The tears were uncontrollable as they fell down her cheeks, trailing over her neck. She couldn't stop gasping, unable to stand without him holding her up like his puppet.

And in the next moment, when J and his boys were ready to shoot at him, Angelo was quick to shoot her again, this time in her thigh, directly into this thick mass of her front quadricep muscle. Like an animal he shot at her, quick and compassionless, not spending a moment to consider, blocking out her cries and wails and screams. She couldn't breathe, she couldn't think. Her entire being, her existence, was consumed by absolute horrible pain. She didn't want to be alive anymore, she didn't want to continue feeling this unrelenting torment. As she gave J a hopeful look, she begged that he would just shoot at Angelo, to allow him to kill her, for this to all be over.

When she felt the gun take it original position back to her skull, she closed her eyes, ready to accept her fate.

"Drake, Frost. Drop ya guns and get out."

At the sound of his voice, her eyes shot open, her body shaking, while blood poured down her leg, gushing out of her flesh. As J continued to hold his firearm firmly, she saw Drake and Frost give each other a baffled glance, hesitant to surrender their weapons.

"But Boss," Frost tried to reason with him, "I don't think-"

"Drop your fucking guns!"

His demand was loud, terrifyingly passionate. She shook her head however as she watched them slowly place their machine guns on the ground, taking several steps back.

"J, don't! Don't listen to him! Don't do this!"

Her pleading was unanswered however, and as Frost and Drake cautiously vacated the room, J and Angelo focused on each other still. The Joker's gun aimed directly at Angelo; Angelo's gun smashed against Harley's forehead. The tension between the two men was strong, captivating. The focus, the deadly intensity, she could feel it pulsing through her veins. And she could foresee there was no possible good ending for this showdown.

"Put your gun down, J," Angelo spoke lowly, almost in a whisper. Harley's face scowled in anguish, begging J with her expression to not give into him.

He didn't reply however, but stood still, holding his firearm, staring at him eagerly.

"Put your gun down," Angelo repeated, a little more firmly.

As he continued to remain in his stance, Harley's heart began to pound against the walls of her chest. It seemed he graced the Joker with a little more time to heed to his demand, the seconds feeling like hours as they all stood in their positions. She wanted to do something to free herself, to overcome the situation. But one move and she was dead.

However, when Angelo cocked his head to the side, she grimaced, closing her eyes to prepare for another round of agony, her body tightening in defense. The bullet delved into the thick flesh of her upper arm, and though she prepared herself for the impact, the shot stunned her. As she screamed a blood curdling, shrieking yelp, more tears fled her eyes, drenching her face. And she found that she was unable to scream anymore, unable to even exhale now. Graciously she gasped for air, her body trying to fall down, but he wasn't allowing her. The bullet felt like hot charcoal burrowed in her tendons, the blood warm as it stained her skin and clothing. She couldn't take this anymore, couldn't stand the pain. She couldn't dare watch any more of J's uncertainty, of him trying to decide what he wanted to do. For him to risk his life to possibly save her, when her fate was inevitable no matter what the outcome.

"Do it, J!"she shrieked desperately. "Shoot him! Do it now! Shoot the son of a bitch!" And she wouldn't stop yelling, ceasing to beg. "Shoot him! Shoot him!"

And just as it seemed he would do what she knew was the right thing-there she was able to at last exhale, to release her anxious breath. And she knew this was the end of her life.

But instead she saw J unclasp his fingers, retaining his stance, as the gun dropped from his hands, clamoring onto the ground.

She shook her head vehemently, disbelieving at what he had done, finding the energy to struggle in Angelo's grasp. "No! No, J! No! Don't!"

Angelo's chuckle vibrated against her ear, and despite J's cooperation, he continued to hold her, refraining from bestowing any mercy. The gun remained plastered onto her head.

"I'm wondering, J, how do you think this is going to end now?" he asked him, leaning his head to the side. J didn't answer, but stared at him intently, his hands curling into trembling fists.

"Do you think I'm gona let her go? Do you think you saved her?" He paused. "Do you think I don't have a car outside the back waiting for me to finish you off and get the fuck out of here? Did you really think I had no plan to take care of the both of you?"

When she saw the gun leave her head and point directly at J, the color drained from her eyes. And everything from there happened so quickly, it was hard for her to comprehend exactly what took place in what order.

The moment Angelo pointed the gun at him, J ducked to grab his gun from the ground. And as Angelo pulled the trigger, that was when the true extent of Harley's insanity was unleashed. All of the pain that she felt had vanished, replaced by the fervor of her intense adrenaline pumping viciously through her veins. For, as Angelo pressed down onto the trigger, releasing a single bullet, Harley grunted as loud as her tired throat would allow, and with all the remaining strength welled up inside her, she smashed her forehead against Angelo's, forcing him to mis-aim the gun as he shot, as well as sending him stumbling backwards, releasing his hold on her.

However, she heard J groan powerfully, witnessing him falling to his knees, hit by the bullet.

And there she lost her mind.

Before Angelo could recompose himself, she sent a swift, profound kick at his abdomen, stabbing her heel into his flesh. As he fell back, he shot the gun into the air, grunting heavily as his head hit the ground. But she stepped on his wrist before he could aim towards her, digging the spike of her heel into his veins. As he screamed from the pain, his eyes closed in anguish, his expression distorted. And she reveled in his misery as she stood before his suffering form. Harder she pressed down, and there she saw she broke his skin, and he released the gun, the weapon falling to the floor.

With a mad frenzy she began to kick at him senselessly, losing herself in the beating, finding a crazed sensation of joy well up inside her. The more she hit him, the more amazing she felt, and the more fierce was became towards him. As she dug her heel into the hollowness of his neck, she watched him choke for air, trying to gasp for breath, observing his eyes widen and become red, his tan complexion draining from his face. It was so glorious watching the life leave from his eyes.

But as she saw him try to reach for his gun, she removed her foot from his neck and straddled him, locking her knees at his hips, her blood leaking and staining his clothes.

With a dangerous rapidity did she grab the gun, holding the handle with both hands. And at that moment, she stared at him, relishing in the fear that plagued his eyes, his mouth opening to beg for his life but no words able to come out.

She only allowed herself that short moment to look at him, to witness his life placed in her hands now. And with a final wink, her swollen lips curving into a smile, her finger pulled at the trigger, sending a bullet straight into the center of his forehead. As she felt his blood splatter onto her face, it was clear he was dead on impact, his body going limp beneath her, life void from his eyes as they remained opened, a sliver of blood trailing from the corner his agape mouth.

But it wasn't enough for her, it was too easy, too simple. She shot him in the face again. And again. And again. More blood and pieces of his flesh plunging onto her. A ferocious mania consumed her as she shot at his face repeatedly, until he became an unrecognizable mush of skin and bone. Blood painted the floor beneath them, a massive puddle engulfing their forms. And even as the gun ran out of bullets, Harley continued to pull the trigger, her eyes wide and trembling as she aimed at his dismantled head. For minutes she sat there, the repetitive click of the gun soothing her, until she finally dropped it onto his chest, her breaths heavy and slow.

When she heard footsteps approach her, she looked up, her vision hazy. She began to sway side to side, trying to keep herself from fainting. She saw Drake and Frost approach her, but she pushed them away at their attempts to aid her. A hysteria had overtaken her, her eyes filling with tears as she threw herself off the corpse, falling to her knees.

"Where's Mistah J? Is he ok? Where is he?"

When she felt a tall shadow loom over her, she snapped her neck towards the source, blinking repeatedly to make sure her gaze wasn't deceiving her.

"Puddin?" she cried softly, furrowing her brows. She saw him wince as he knelt towards her, his trench coat stained with blood at the front of his shoulder. Upon seeing the extent of his wound, she sighed in relief, allowing him to take her in his arms, lifting her off the ground.

As her mania cooled, there she began to feel the extent of her injuries, each gunshot wound pulsing with abhorrent pain. She could no longer support herself, allowing J to hold her, supporting her back and knees, while her arms lazily wrapped around his neck.

"It hurts so bad," she sobbed, moaning at the intense, pulsating pain. As her eyes began to roll to the back of her head, her lids fluttering, J shook her.

"Don't fall asleep," he ordered. "We have to get you checked out." She took a moment to inhale at the skin of his neck, the scent of his strong cologne soothing her momentarily. She was covered in so much blood. A lot of her own, a lot more from Angelo.

She tried her hardest to stay awake, as J handed her over to Frost, who held her securely, while J and Drake grabbed at the machine guns on the ground.

As they headed towards the stairs, Harley managed to tug at Drake's blazer as he passed them. When their eyes met, she looked at him huskily, her breathing dainty. "They have a car in the back," she spoke softly, her look towards him turning grave. "Go blow up those fuckers."

He stared at her oddly for a moment, before nodding slowly, looking at J briefly for approval.

"You heard her," he barked. "Get the fuck out there!"

She was so dazed and weak, she didn't fully realize when she had been carried outside, the moonlight hitting her form. She found a small panic consume her however, and she began to squirm in Jonny's grasp, murmuring Hunter's name, struggling to breathe.

"Where's Hunter? We have to find Hunter. He was shot. We have to find Hunter."

"Relax, Harley. He's in the car. He's going to be fine."

She felt a soothing relief consume her when she smelled the familiar leather of Hunter's car, as well as hearing his voice in the background. But everything was beginning to go dark, and she was struggling to keep herself awake.

She was shoved in the back seat alone, that is until she felt the comforting strong form of J beside her, holding her up, giving her a solid shake. Her eyes were half-way opened, drooping closed, yet opening quickly again as she attempted to remain alert. She could feel the car driving, speeding away, causing their bodies to bump in their seats as the engine roared obnoxiously. As J held her against him, she sighed dreamily.

"Frost, call Amir now. We need to take Harley to him."

She heard J speak and she smiled, while he tugged on her pigtail, forcing her to open her eyes as he brought her face to his.

"I said stay awake," he told her sternly.

And here she could see the true extent of his emotion. What he tried to conceal so well was visible to the world at that moment. She witnessed the immense concern in his eyes, the blue of his irises deep and glassy. As he stared at her bloodied, bruised face, she saw a single, minuscule tear leave his eye, only traveling halfway down his cheek before dissolving, erasing itself from existence.

It was such a tiny, otherwise insignificant moment, but it touched her deeply, tugging at her heart, filling her with the will to keep herself awake no matter how painfully difficult the task was.

"Oh, Puddin," she sobbed, tears fleeing her eyes mercilessly and drenching her cheeks. "I'm so happy."

As she hugged him, his arm crept around her waist, embracing her tenderly.

"I'm not finished with you yet," he retorted, attempting to reestablish his power and position over her. "If you weren't shot ten times already I would take matters into my own hands."

She giggled weakly at his comment however. "I'm happy because I know you love me," she wearily cooed.

He hesitated. "I'm gona forgive the stupid shit you're saying right now because you're shot. But you better watch your mouth."

Remaining silent, she smiled however, resting her head against his chest, focusing on him to distract herself from the pain.

After an uncanny silence, she could feel J stiffen, a dire aura radiating from him.

"Hunter, why the fuck were you here with Harley?"

Her vision still grainy, she could see that Frost was driving Hunter's Mercedes, while Hunter sat in his passenger's seat, clutching at his arm. He remained still however, hesitant to answer.

"Boss," he began slowly, glancing at the rear view mirror. She could see his uneasy eyes. "I was framed."

Before he could continue, Harley weakly interjected. "Puddin, please don't be mad at him. It was all my fault. I forced him out here. Now we're both shot and we learned our lesson so can you please just forget about it?"

She knew he wanted to argue, to enforce his authority and do something insane like shoot Hunter dead on the spot. She could see the mad ferocity in his eyes, hear the low hum of a growl in his throat. His boys thought he had gone soft because of her. And if he adhered to her frail plea, he would only be proving that theory correct.

But she also saw him contain his fervor, pursing his lips.

"You get one freebie, boys," he shouted towards the men in the front. "You can thank Harley for that. But next time either of you mess up I won't be so generous."

Smiling softly, she was no longer able to contain her consciousness, her eyes slowly closing as her body fell limber. She felt J begin to shake her once more, but she couldn't find the energy to open her eyes, keep herself alert. She found herself consumed by the blackness that had been trying to take her, her eyes falling shut, her breathing becoming hollow.

But she could still feel him shaking at her, yelling for her to snap out of it.

"Harley! Harley, stay awake! God damn it, Harley! Frost, take us to Amir now!"

He was shaking her violently now, but she was unresponsive to his rough gesture, her head heavy and unable for her to support its weight.

And as she drifted away out of consciousness, she could hear the faint sound of an explosion in the background, behind J's voice and Frost simultaneously speaking to a doctor on the phone. Taking place perhaps a mile away, at an abandoned factory, where a meth lab once resided.

~oOo~

For the first two weeks she had been absolutely bedridden.

Barely able to move, covered in bandages, doped on pain killers. It was the most painful two weeks of her life. Recovering from gunshots was even more painful than receiving them. She had regained consciousness during the extraction of the bullets, the pain so unbearable she begged to be knocked out again. She barely saw J for the first two weeks, as he was out on more jobs to get even with the mafia, the war not yet over yet between them.

He would send his men to keep an eye on her, and during the night she would see him, when he would check up on her. They would not be intimate again for another two months, but their encounters in the nights were more connecting to her, as she would wake from bad spells of pain from her recovering injuries, or nightmares from the night in question. He would be there beside her, ready to tend to her, give her her medication to numb the pain and help her sleep.

The experience brought them closer together, yet she knew that even though Angelo was dead and the lab destroyed, there was still a threat against them. And it would always be there. And as they partook in more dangerous, illegal, murderous escapades, they would garner more enemies. Those who would be far worse. But they would face those obstacles together.

A month into her recovery, Harley laid in bed, her head propped up against several pillows. Blankly, she stared at the cartoons on the television, her mind wandering as her eyes began to flutter shut. As her head leaned against her shoulder, she was disturbed by the sound of the front door opening, and there she quickly pulled the blankets over her body, to concealed her barely covered form. When she heard a knock at her door, soon after, she flinched.

"Come in," she bellowed, pulling herself up to from the pillows to sit, hugging the blanket at her chest.

As the door creaked opened, she saw Frost peak out from the crack. "Are you decent?" he asked.

"I wouldn't have said come in, wouldn't I?" she hissed back, a dramatic roll to her eyes. As she witnessed him walk into the room, she noticed a bouquet of crimson red roses in his grasp. They were a sharp contrast to the darkness of his black suit, seemingly the only source of color to him.

"Oh Jonny," she giggled weakly as he approached her bed, presenting the flowers to her. "Did ya get these for me?"

"These are from J," he corrected her smugly, to which she took the gift from him, hugging the roses at her chest, breathing in their sweet, delicate scent.

"That is so sweet! This is the best day ever."

He watched her relish in the beauty of the blossoms, walking towards the door. "I'll get you some water for those."

Noticing him about to depart, she called out to him. "Jonny...wait."

As he turned around he eyed her carefully, resuming to the bed as he looked down at her tired form, rubbing at the hair at his chin.

She smiled at him, however, grabbing a single rose stem and extending it towards him.

"Peace offering," she gushed, bestowing upon him a playful wink.

He chuckled at her offer, taking the rose from her. "So you aren't pissed at me anymore?"

"Nah. I'm over it now. I guess we can be best friends after all."

And there he stared at the crazy girl laying in bed, her hair frazzled, bandages wrapped over several gunshot wounds throughout her body. Yet, she seemed so content hugging flowers from the Joker, as if it was the most romantic thing anyone had ever done for her.

"You are quite the character, Harley Quinn," he noted, lifting the rose in acceptance of her offering, nodding in her direction. "I hope the Boss decides to keep you around for a long time."

She smiled as he walked towards the door, sinking back into her pillows dreamily.

"Don't worry, Jonny. I ain't going nowhere."

~oOo~

She could feel her bare thigh rub against the white leather of the seat as she crossed her legs, swinging her foot while she leaned into the couch, the friction of the fabric against her skin causing a light burn . The music pulsed against her ear drums, a light chill taking her, trickling over the length of her spine. Moving several strands of curled locks behind her ear, she glanced at the man sitting beside her, as he sat hunched forward, elbows resting on his knees, chin perched upon his intertwined fingers. He seemed relaxed, confident, even rather smug. But as crossed her arms over her chest, her magenta hued lips tugged at a frown, her nose wrinkling in frustration.

"You better kill him, Mistah J," she spoke lowly, almost in an order.

He turned slowly to look at her, lifting his brows bones, the skin under his eyes dark and sunken. "Baby, we're having a nice night. Why ruin it with bloodshed, hmm?"

She saw his grill glisten as he grinned towards her, the sliver glimmering in the dimmed yellow lighting. And as he reached his hands between her thighs, his fingers slid up into her dress, his skin warm against her, smoothing his hand along the inside of her inner thigh. She didn't welcome the gesture, yet she did not rejected him, rolling her eyes as she glanced away from him.

"If you don't kill him, I will," she scoffed.

"I opened this club less than two weeks ago and already you want to get the floor dirty?"

He snatched his hand away from her, and she gasped lightly at the loss of heat and contact, unraveling her arms and looking towards him glumly. Her fingers dug into the fabric of the couch, her bare shoulders tensing.

"Mistah J, if you don't kill him, I ain't fucking you tonight."

His face grew cold as he turned his body towards her, pursing his lips as he rested his cheek against his palm. His eyes were deep, a piercing cerulean blue, while his lips a dark blood red. She observed the crease above his brow, across his Damaged tattoo, the concentration heavy in his eyes as he stared at her. She observed hot his white shirt hugged at the curves of his arms, the sleeves folded up to his elbows, showcasing the ink of his forearms bawdy gold bracelets dangling from his wrists. His shirt was unbuttoned down to his navel, the toned, tight alabaster skin of his chest visible, his collar crisp and ironed. His gun was latched openly onto his holster on the side of his abdomen, and as they gawked at one another, her gaze frequently flickered between his intense stare to the weapon on his body.

"Is that a threat, sugar?" He beamed, the corner of his mouth lifting upwards, a smirk devouring his lips.

"It's a promise, Puddin."

And there she felt him, lean into her, his breath warm as his mouth caressed her neck, the air leaving in hot puffs through his nostrils. She allowed herself to be engulfed in his scent, relishing in the smell of his cologne, radiating off his body. It was so strong and intense and powerful, just as he was.

"I guess this fucker's gona have to die then, won't he?" She felt his lips move against her neck, could feel him smile on her skin, causing her to return the token, her mouth curving into a toothy grin, her eyes narrowing.

He had pressed a wet kiss onto the side of her neck, his sultry spit dampening her skin, causing the center of her body to flex in a sharp contraction. As he began to kiss the area repeatedly, she uncrossed her legs, her eyes fluttering closed in a dreamy state. And soon the kisses transitioned to sucking, his mouth lingering over her flesh, swallowing her skin as he slipped his hand underneath her dress, sliding his palms upwards over her thighs, until he reached her groin.

But their moment was cut short, and swiftly J removed himself from her, forcing Harley to open her eyes, moaning at his sudden departure. There his posture straightened, as Jonny bombarded the private section of the night club, flicking his blazer. Soon after Drake and Hunter stumbled inside, dragging with them a young man. He struggled in their grasp, grunting as they yanked him to the center of the area, displaying him towards the couple.

"This the guy, boss?"

J stroked his chin at Frost's inquiry, turning his head towards Harley. "What about it, babe? Is this the fella who's bothering you?"

She scowled as she stared the man down, remembering him from less than twenty minutes ago. Coyly, her arms folded over her chest, her knees pressing together.

"Yes, Mistah J. That's him. That's the guy who grabbed my ass!"

He didn't seem so hot now, as he was held by the two henchmen. And as he locked eyes with J, she saw his complexion turn pale, his body stiffen. He suddenly knew the great extent of the trouble he had gotten himself into, his mouth falling agape.

Such a shame, he was so young. And rather handsome. She couldn't help but feel a little sorry for him, pity him for his monumental fuck-up. And as she saw J rise from his seat, she pressed her lips securely, trying to maintain her grave expression, for she was then tempted to smile.

He approached the young man casually, a gimp to his step. The fear in his brown eyes glistened, and as he was faced with the Joker, he stopped resisting the men who detained him, his form uncannily still.

J was dangerously close to him now, his look towards the man grave, yet relaxed. Pressed his forehead against his, he heaved a fierce breath onto his face. She watched the scene with a tremendous sense of pride, leaning back into her seat haughtily, a dimple indenting into her cheek as she allowed her smile to envelope her face.

With a stern hand, J patted the young man's cheek, a crazed, manic glare sweeping his eyes.

"Is that true, sonny? Did you grab my lady's ass?"

"Mister Joker, please- I didn't know she was your girl! Please, you have to understand, I'm so-"

"Why you trying to apologize to me? I ain't the one whose ass was grabbed." And he laughed loudly, throwing his head back, clutching a palm at his chest. "No, you need to apologize to the lady. Beg for her forgiveness."

As he took a step to the side, he allowed her to face her harasser, and she watched him grovel before her, his knees quivering as the boys jerked him forward towards her.

"Miss, I'm so sorry," he spoke shakily. Yet she only shrugged at the sentiment, extending her arms over the top of the sofa, crossing her legs as she sunk into her seat.

"What do you say, honey? Should I go easy on him?" J asked her patiently, tugging harshly at the man's collar.

For a brief moment, she looked at the ceiling, allowing the beat of the music to fill her ears. She eagerly looked at her lover, running a hand through her hair.

"I ain't in the forgiving mood tonight," she spoke steadily, looking back at the captive man. She grinned devilishly, the smile engrossing her face.

Excitement filled her bones as she watched J clasp his hand onto his jaw, squeezing his cheeks together, smushing his lips.

"Sorry, bud. I put it into the lady's hands but she's not having it."

With his opposing hand she saw him reach for his gun, slipping it seductively out of his holster. The metal glimmered gloriously as he held it in his grasp, the reflection glittering in the young man's eyes. And oddly, the Joker began to pace around him, the gun lazily in his grasp. He shook his head in disappointment, it seemed, sighed as he placed a sentimental hand on the boy's shoulder.

"Too bad you didn't know whose ass you were grabbing. Who that ass belonged to." He lowered his gaze towards him, a sinister gleam in his eyes. As the young man quivered, his breaths were heavy and erratic "She got a real nice ass, don't she? Nice and plump. And thick." As he spoke, J tapped the gun against the man's mouth.

"If only you knew whose fucking perfect ass you snagged. The greatest piece of ass I've ever had. And you see why I can't let you get away with it, don't you? I don't like other people touching my things."

And she saw it: the jealousy that emitted from him as he spoke, any speck of humor fleeing his expression and composure. A fierce solemnity consumed him, emitting from his body. And it was all because of her - all this trouble and fuss, the rage that built up within him. He retained a disturbing possessiveness towards her, that even a peculiar glance in her direction would result in his overbearing jealousy.

But she enjoyed instigating him, found delight in his murderous furor, all reserved for her.

"I don't think I can live in a world knowing someone else is alive who touched that ass. Someone walking the streets who disrespected my lady. Just not the kind of world I feel good living in."

With one calm, collected motion, J shoved the gun into the gentleman's mouth, seeing his eyes grow wide, the sound of his scream muffled in his throat as J crammed the firearm inside him. As he licked his lips, a bead of sweat creased at his forehead.

He caressed the trigger, lifting the gun to bring the young man's head to his level, his whole body shaking madly, his eyes broad and bulging and sweat consumed his face, struggling to breath as the gun was deep into his mouth.

"I hope it was worth it, buddy."

She watched him smile, his grin beaming, a low chuckle humming in his throat. As he grinned, he grabbed onto the young man's neck, squeezing him firmly, and there she felt the satisfaction of what was about to occur overwhelm her, leaning forward, embracing her cheeks with excitement.

"Remember her name in the afterlife. Don't forget the glorious ass that ended your life."

He paused for a moment, massaging the trigger, a grin consuming his mouth.

"The one, the only, mother fucking Harley Quinn!"

As he shouted, a loud round of laughter rumbled from his throat; it was contagious, so much so that Harley found herself joining him, their hysterics consuming the private space. And amidst their madness, the trigger was pulled. But it didn't phase either of them-the blood and flesh that burst around them, splattering onto the Joker's clean white shirt- for they were absolutely absorbed in their own vexatious, utterly maddening hilarity.

A/N: That's it! It's over! Please let me know what you think overall. If there are any little details I should change. Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed! I'm so happy I was able to write this, as I hadn't written a single thing is 4 years! Have a great day everyone! :-)