Sleep was the only solace this life had to offer, the only time Candy didn't carry a sinking feeling around that she was being watched. Sometimes the nightmares manage to pervade her dreams, and Candy would be a scared little girl all over again, reliving the horrors in the cellar she had called her prison for three years.

Last night was one of those nights, and Candy woke in a cold sweat around 4 am, fighting the blanket that kept her warm. Immediately the girl had turned on her light and checked the door was locked, and occupied her time on the Internet until she felt sleepy enough to go back to bed.

She woke again later than her usual time she started her day. Sayuri had probably already left, so stripping stark naked Candy wrapped a flimsy towel around her thin frame to walk to the bathroom, taking her speakers with to play some music while she got ready. She had a date for lunch, Thomas - a Harvard alumni who was now an esteemed lawyer and soon would be running for mayor. They met twice a week, once for lunch and shopping and once for play time.

Stepping into the shower, an image of her slipping and snapping her neck, the scene playing over and over in her mind as she began to massage the shampoo into her hair. Dark thoughts weren't irregular for the all American girl, in fact most of her life had been one suicide reel rolling after another until she managed to consume enough liquor to lessen her inhibitions.

Sometimes she wondered if she would ever be normal. If one day she would find someone who made her happy, maybe create a family and grow old with someone. The ability to have a normal life had been dashed years ago when she spent the better half of her childhood in the cellar of a perverted mans house. She hated how she let him rule her life, and although she'd only admit so to her therapist, she wished he would've just killed her.

Instead Candy was forced to live as if nothing had ever happened, her parents had to struggle with the demons that wrestled each other within her mind. Facing into the shower stream, Candy rinsed away the soap she had lathered across her skin, closing her eyes and thinking of how easy it would be to drown herself.

Her phone ringing gave her the jolt she needed to wrap up the shower, using a fluffy towel to dry off her body first before she used it on her hair, scampering across the bathroom to answer her phone just in the nick of time. "Hello?" She asked.

"Candy, this is Thomas. I was just checking that we were on for lunch today?"

Of course the super organized Thomas couldn't go without double checking EVERYTHING. Sighing, Candy looked at her reflection, grooming her eyebrows as she spoke. "Of course Tommy, I wouldn't miss it for the world."

This seemed to give him the pep he needed, Candy could hear his smile through the phone as he spoke. "Very well, I shall send the town car around one." And with that he hung up, the call cut short. Shrugging her narrow shoulders, Candy went into her room, tossing the phone onto the bed.

Men were so dumb.

With little to no effort Candy could twist the men she offered services to into doing whatever her little heart wished for. Although she had a couple hours before Thomas sent the town car, Candy began to get ready now. Drying her hair, Candy set them into soft curls, doing her makeup mildly. The minutes ticked by, and soon Candy was dressed and ready to leave with an hour to spare.

She looked into the mirror, this is me, she told herself. This was who she had become. Gone was Felicity Candace Montgomery, the girl who liked purple freeze pops and Tinkerbell. Candy was the one who ran the show now.

But Candy would always be scared, so instead of going out and embracing the day, Candy plopped onto the couch and picked out a series to begin on Netflix.

Miranda Lombardi

Miranda had woken up as the morning light had shone on her face. On her bed right next to her was a small wat of cash given to her by one of her new clients for last night. She turned to her side and opened her nightstand and took out a black leather box. She opened the box and put the cash where she kept the rest of it. As of right now she had muc more than any low-life prostitute had but ones working like her or under large families like the D'angelos gained much more money. Miranda was a greedy woman and she had no prblem admitting that. Just last night she did what she did best to just get two hundred in cash. She had only beein in Boston for a week and already she lived in a penthouse apartment with some of the cash and agreeing to 'private time' with the landlord. Miranda wasn't planning on staying long. All she wanted was to get her daughter, or rather her easy profit, home quickly.

Miranda was brought from her nostalgia as an idea popped into her head. Miranda knew of the different territories here but she knew there could be loopholes especially is she openly displays her hatred for the D'angelos on Irish territory. One would be sure to help her and that perosn would probably be from the states if things went according to plan. As of right now she wanted meeting with the leader to the Saints himself, Patrick O' Halloran. She refused to go to Connie D'angelo because of her hatred for D'angelos so she had chosen for the other route. Miranda smirked at the thought of her own as she stood up from her bed and headed into the shower. After her needed hygenic needs for the morning she begun getting ready. Once she was done getting dressed she grabbed her purse and headed out. She hoped the famous Black Rose pub would be open hopefully she'd meet one of the Saints or at least a new client.

Pound, pound. Left, right, left, right. In, out, in, out. Lift foot, slam foot. It was like a mantra, the rhythm of his footfalls, the rasp of his breath in and out, the thump of his heart. No matter that the rhythm was overlaid with a disjointed melody of traffic noises, Richard was finally able to clear his mind.

He'd had a restless night, as images of Maya flashing a smile alternated with images of Maya brandishing a gun. How to reconcile her elegance and charm with the hidden steel? Richard had made many conquests in his time, some more challenging than the groupies who threw themselves at him, and he found the danger arousing - like the time he'd bedded the Japanese finance minister the night before he was due to deliver the annual budget speech - but guns terrified him. The street gangs of East London had just been getting their hands on them when he was growing up, and the way they could mete out the ultimate sentence, the ultimate punishment, with the tug of a trigger, without a second thought, chilled him to the bone. So much lost at so little cost. When Ollie had drawn on him - never mind that it wasn't loaded - that had been the end of Mirrorball.

Pound, pound. Left, right. Occasionally the two images of Maya had been supplanted by a third - that of two men struggling with a heavy burden in the alleyway by the Black Rose. But mostly it had been of the beauty of the dark-skinned woman, the way she'd laughed, the way her smile curled her full lips - and the way her lips had drawn back almost in a snarl, revealing sharp, dainty white teeth. Richard had also taken in how her breasts rose and fell as she'd drawn calming lungfuls of air even as she'd held up her gun. In, out. Lift foot, slam foot. Even his habitual morning yoga, which he'd learned in the Betty Ford Clinic and which had helped him reorganise his mind and decide to keep on living, to go back to real living, had failed to clear his mind of the conflicting visions.

So he'd dug out a battered pair of Converse, cut off some baggy jeans into shorts, and tied on a bandana to keep his hair out of his eyes. Sure, he looked ridiculous, but no-one was going to recognise him. Joggers always looked ridiculous. He slipped on a pair of sunglasses just to be sure. And at some point as he'd taken Alford Street across the Mystic River, as he took in the ugliness of Boston's docksides, the endorphins had driven Maya and the Black Rose from his mind. Now he was deep in Boston, and all out of endorphins. Pulling up, bent double by the pain in his side, Rich spotted a small park and shambled over. One of the soles of his Cons had come away almost completely. Just inside the gate of the park, he crouched to examine his tattered shoe, and out of the corner of his eye glimpsed a familiar but unwanted sight: a large lens pointed right at him.

Goddamn paparazzi, he groaned as he dived behind a flowerbed. Even here? How did they know? He peeked through the flowers, and saw the blonde behind the camera had turned its gaze elsewhere in the park. As if he was going to fall for that, after being hunted by these media vermin for over a decade. He couldn't be snapped like this, who knew what the tabloids would make of his current appearance. He peeked again. The blonde was still pretending not to have seen him. Well, two could play at that game. Rich stretched out behind the flowerbed, flexng his legs to avoid cramping.

No more than half an hour later, the blonde stood and left the part. Amateur, Rich scoffed. Giving up so easily? Then it occured to him: suppose she'd already got her shot? Of an addict rockstar, bizarrely dressed and face-down in a flowerbed. It wouldn't do. He leapt up and ran after her, catching up as she stopped at a pedestrian crossing. There was no sign of the camera, so Rich grabbed the woman's backpack and wrenched it, dragging her backwards as he tried to wrest it off her back. 'Think you're smart, huh?' he yelled, all his calm gone. 'Playing it cool, are we? Gimme that fucking camera, you Yankee wench!'

Story's mind had gone a million miles per hour as soon as someone gripped her backpack and yanked her off her feet. She struggled; assuming it was some thug trying to steal her expensive goods. She groaned and wrestled, jerking her arms left to right, anything to get free of his hold. "Let go damn it!" She shouted, rolling her body around as soon as she felt like she could escape. She turned around and her eyes widened. The man didn't look like a thug, and for a moment, she found herself confused. "Excuse me? Yankee wench? Is that the best you could do? How about sleeze, immature moron, or an annoying rat." She said, her eyes locked on his. Story was bold. Maybe too bold for her own good.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" She then challenged. Her hand stuffed the photos back into her bag. Some were falling out, most of them were of rivers and parks and the deaf family. She narrowed her eyes and swung her bag over her shoulder. "I could have you arrested for assault."

Who was this guy? He looked familiar but she couldn't recall his name. She knew her friends would criticize her for being out and about like she was, but photography was her life. Her lips pressed together and her eyes showed bravery and yet, there was another feeling among them. Innocence.

"So?" She asked, her eyebrow lifting slightly in question.

Jayson was walking to the coffee shop when her phone rung. At first she was confused to who would call her at the time. When she saw that the number was blocked she was only more confused. "Hello?" She picked up the phone wondering who'd call her with a blocked number. "It's nice to hear from my daughter." was the reply she got and this immediately infuriated her. "Why the hell are you calling me?" Jayson asked her mother angrily and only heard a laugh in response. "Jayson, how many times must I tell you? I just want to have my daughter back home." her mother replied. Jayson was tempted to throw her phone into the brick wall but she realized the wretched woman on the other line wasn't worth it. "Right and I'm just going to believe that. Leave me the hell alone Miranda." Jayson said her voice now a bit higher as she hung up. She doesn't have enough respect for that woman to address her as mother let alone say goodbye when hanging up.

Jayson sighed heavily and she put her phone back in her pocket. Jayson hated hearing from that woman of all people. She has a hatred for that woman more than anyone though she has never truly spoken about that hatred to anyone except Miranda herself. Jayson was brought out of her thoughts as she arrived outside the coffee shop she was set to meet Jacob at in a few minutes. At that fact nervousness set in. It had been a while since she had been on an actual date. Jayson walked into the shop and sat near the window. In her time in Boston she had gone a date or two but it was rare for her to want to go on a second date with them. This time was different. Jacob was nicer than the ones she dated before and as of right now it was also a distraction from the dreadful woman known as her mother.