A/N: It's finally here! I'm sorry the sequel took so long to write, I really didn't mean it to. I wasn't even planning on writing a sequel until people in the reviews suggested that I do, so here it is.

ENJOY!

Disclaimer: I do not own Suicide Squad or any of the characters within.

~Set right after the end of Suicide Squad~

We're on our way home! I think happily. I knew puddin' was going to come for me! I was just wonderin' when!

Me and Mista J race down the highway away from Belle Reve, laughin' madly. I feel a small twinge of pity for the goons sittin' in the back of the stolen SWAT van, but it quickly disappears. They should be happy to help their Queen get out of prison! Especially now that I've officially helped save the world!

My puddin' swerves the van onto the next street, and I laugh and grin. Oh, how I've missed this! Seeing my laughter, Mista J grins and starts drivin' a little faster. I whoop, and he speeds up yet again. We have to be goin' 120 by now!

We dodge in between cars that seem to be going backward, and hit more than a few people on the way. My gigantic smile falls slightly at that. If saving the world with a bunch of other bad guys has taught me anythin', it's that life is precious. I almost died here, folks. Even if it's not my own, you shouldn't kill random people for nothin'. A fact Mista J seems to have trouble understandin'.

Soon enough though, I forget all about anything to do with the horrible-ness of killing people. Mista J is driving so fast, I start to think maybe he's aware of my train of thought and is trying to disencourage it.

Once more, the thrill of the speed and the cops chasing after us distracts me. My puddin' laughs wildly as we race through a crowd of kids crossing the street, and I clap my hand to my mouth, no doubt looking as horrified as I felt.

"Puddin'!" I cry, terrified. He glances at me, no doubt wondering why I suddenly minded murdering a bunch of people at once in a car chase. Well? Why do I suddenly care? My brain races to come up with a feasible excuse, and I can feel the air in the car growing rapidly colder, uncomfortable.

"T-the Bat!" I stutter, not havin' the nerve to look directly at him. He seems to relax slightly at that, looking satisfied that my fear was legitimate. His manic grin comes back. "Don't worry, Harles! The Batman and I have come to a little, how shall we say? Stalemate? Treaty? I know it's something along those lines, I just can't remember the word! But don't worry, darlin'! We don't have anything to worry about!" Despite his words, I don't relax. On the inside, anyway. I tell my muscles to relax, my body language hopefully tellin' Mista J that I'm no longer worried.

I force a half smile that I'm sure looks more like a grimace onto my face. "Alright, puddin'! Whatever you say!" I can feel these emotions inside me, though. What are they? Why do I feel guilty for some random people's deaths?

When did I start to care?

It's been weeks since Mista J rescued me from Belle Reve, and we've continued terrorizing Gotham like I was never captured by the Batman. Once again, I stand as the Queen of Death, the Queen of Gotham, the Joker's Queen and all that, blah blah blah. I find myself sinking further and further out of Mista J's world. Mista J's world included, of course, all of the major criminals in the city, like Two-Face, the Penguin, Clayface, Scarecrow, the Riddler, and my bff Poison Ivy all paying homage to the Clown Prince of Crime.

But there was more. It's come to be, over the past few years, that no crime was committed without my puddin' being behind it. Even if it was something as simple as a bank robbery, it was Mista J collecting funding. What funding he didn't get from the other villains in the city, of course. I knew for a fact that he was bankrupting poor Ivy. She barely had enough money to buy herself some all-natural ramen noodles, let alone pull off her big projects to save the plants of the city. And me. Because she likes me. I'm pretty sure.

No, I'm sure Ivy likes me. I can't afford to doubt my best friend right now. I have no idea what's going on with me and Mista J, but I have to be able to trust her if something happens.

My attention is called by Mista J when he waves at me to come over to where he stands with a potential client. This night is beginning to remind me of the one where I was kidnapped by the Batman. I shudder as I make my way down the stairs from the stage and to the table where my puddin' stands. That night was not at all pleasant, from what I remember.

For some reason, whenever I try to think of it, it floats away. It's weird, and I'm definitely a little worried by it. Why would I have lost my memory? Why would I have lost memories of one of the biggest nights of my life, a night I should be quite capable of remembering?

I shake my head, coming out of my thoughts as I approach Mista J. I run my hand up his arm and wind myself around him as he instructed me to do when talking to clients. I paint a smile on my face, staring at the man sitting in the booth. He looks around him in interest, and I can see some awe mixed in as well.

"This place is quite popular, Joker. I'm impressed."

I turn my head to watch Mista J as he speaks to the man, and I'm suddenly reminded of of how beautiful he is, and I start to feel myself fall for him all over again. He's good to me, as wicked as he is to others.

Mista J smiles, and I suppose it looks nice enough to strangers, but I can see the malice underneath. My puddin' doesn't look for other people's approval, and he certainly doesn't feel like he needs people to be impressed with him. Mista J hates when people give him vindication when he clearly doesn't want or need it.

"I thank you for your sentiment, Mr Graves. But I do need an answer soon. Will you have your men work for me? We need to move the product tomorrow night if we don't want the Bat getting to it first."

Graves looked to be thinking for a moment before he stands. He walks forward, holding out his hand. It's only because I'm looking right at Mista J, because I'm right next to him and can see through all the flashing lights, that I see the revulsion that flew across my puddin's face before he hides it with a rather insane(even to my standards) smile.

Mista J holds out his hand as well and shakes the other man's hand vigorously. He grins broadly. "Welcome to the team, Mr Graves!"

Graves smiles, albeit a little nervously. He is shaking hands with the King of Gotham, after all. Mista J turns to look at me, a sly look sliding onto his features. "Harley? Would mind keeping Mr Graves company for a little while?"

I pull my arm from around my puddin's neck and walk over to Graves. I'm a little upset. I don't like being with anyone other than my puddin', even if he does like to watch. I wind my body around him, leaning over a pressing a kiss to his cheek, really very close to his mouth.

I see the proud smile flit across my puddin's face, but it quickly turns into a scowl. I'm so sure that I've done something horribly wrong for a moment, that I don't notice that Graves is leaning away from me until I see Mista J glaring at him and not me. I pull away, and I see the relief on his face. There is some serious deja vu hitting me right now, but I'm too wrapped up in Graves's reaction to care right now.

I wonder if I should feel hurt right now, like I did the last time someone had the nerve to pull away from me. But I don't. I actually feel relief, enough of it to match Graves's expression. He really did not want me, and I realize that I'm okay with that.

But Mista J isn't. He is completely not okay with this. I walk over back towards puddin, and he puts his arm around me, probably figuring that I feel hurt right now. I don't, but I'm not going to let him know that. I'm not sure what would happen then.

But I do know what's going to happen to Graves. Like the last person who "disrespected" me, he's going to die.

Mista J looks at Graves threateningly, and I watch his hand go into his pocket for his gun. I held my breath, waiting. I was sure my puddin' was about to kill the man.

Mista J raised the gun, and I hid the squeak of terror that would reveal my position on this subject. If Mista J found out that I wasn't too sure about the killin' anymore...well, in his view, I should probably be committed. Again. By Mista J. Hypocrite.

But as Mr put the gun to Mr Graves's head, I came to a decision. No matter what might happen to me, I was not just going to let this man die.

I stepped in front of the gun, speaking as sweetly as I possibly could. "It's okay, puddin'. If he doesn't want me, it's his loss. I had something special planned for us tonight anyway, and I know I'm definitely not going to be using it on him." Mista J looks at me, unsure of why I'm acting the way I am. I continue, hoping to get him to put the gun down.

"Anyway, if you kill him now, who're we going to get to move the shipment tomorrow night? We're cutting it close enough as it is, only getting the men we need tonight and not last week or even before that. But if we kill him now, we won't have the support we need and the Bat and Gordon will likely get the product. We don't want that, now do we?"

I wrap my figure around his, trying to get him calmed down enough to see reason. Slowly, ever so slowly, he puts the gun in the waistband of his pants, and I relax. I'm sure Graves is having the same reaction, and I hope for his sake he's not letting it show on his face.

What I'm not prepared for, however, is the painful slap he delivers to my cheek. Startled, I fall to the ground. I look up to see Mista J stalking toward Graves.

"I'll let you go," he snarls in Graves ear, completely disregarding the thing people like to call "personal space". "But only because I need your manpower tomorrow night. If the job is done right, then I'll consider letting you live past that point. If not, well...Your name is rather ironic, don't you think?"

Graves nods, terrified. Mista J throws out his hand violently, gesturing toward the door. "I'll talk to you tomorrow night, then. Don't let me see you before then."

Graves runs out the door, past the guards, and Mista J stalks up to the stage. He looks terrifying as he does so, and because of that look, I decide stayin' on the floor is probably my best option right now.

"EVERYONE OUT!" He practically screams into the microphone, and everyone who was having a good time a moment before, whether it was from getting lucky, or getting high, or getting drunk, jumps violently. I hear several quiet curses as a few people spill their drinks, and I wonder if they seriously think drinks are a priority when my puddin' was screaming at that them to get out of the casino, when he looks as scary as he does.

Every single person in the casino stares up at the Joker they've all heard so much about in shock and fear. He looks spitting mad, and I wonder why they all don't just run screaming out into the street in terror.

Mista J is breathing' heavily, and his eyes are murderous. Again, he yells and this time he doesn't bother using the microphone. "EVERYONE GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY BUILDING, OR I'M GOING TO HAVE FUN EXECUTING YOU ALL!"

That's what gets everyone up and moving. In five minutes, the room is cleared out, and the bouncers have cleared out the passed-out-drunks and dumped them into the street.

Mista J walks back down the stage steps and toward the little partitioned room where I'm still sitting on the floor.

He looks almost calm, and I know I'm in for something. He never looks that calm unless he's super pissed, and I wonder what he's going to do to me.

Mista J kneels down right next to me, taking my chin roughly between his thumb and forefinger.

His eyes narrow, and I can see the insane glitter in them. "I don't know what's up with you, Harles. But we're going to fix it, baby. We're going to fix together, you and me."

(If you don't like abuse-type stuff, beware. That's basically what this whole next section is. I'll put another note in when it's finished.)

My eyes widen in fear, and he drags me to my feet. He pulls me up the stairs, and I plead. Pleading for what, I'm not sure. "Please, puddin'," I gasp. "Please, don't do this!" Whatever he had planned, I know it most certainly has to do with a beating. This is why I try not to get on his nerves, folks. This is what happens when I try to be human around him. This.

Mista J kicks the bedroom door down and throws me into the room. I roll over, and my back slams into the side of the bed. Well, that's going to hurt in the morning. And, you know, now. I try to sit up, ignoring the pain in my back to see when he's coming. I don't expect the sudden hit to my head. I don't realize until later that Mista J kicked me. I sit up again, my vision blurry and my head pounding. I realize that that's just begging him to hit me again, and he does.

He's laughing now, I can hear it. Before, there hadn't been any noise, and I might've believed he didn't want to do this. But apparently, he decided to let loose. How could he take so much pleasure in hurting me? How could he take such pleasure in hurting his girlfriend? The one he's supposed to love?

The beating continues.

After he hits me this time, he takes hold of my hair, gripping it hard near the roots at the top of my head, where it hurts most. He lifts my head, slamming it back down onto the floor, and I'm reminded painfully that there is no carpet.

Still gripping my hair, he drags me to my feet. He yanks, throwing my body onto the bed. I know what's coming next, and I can't find it in myself to fight him.

At this point, I'm having a hard time remembering something as simple as what I had for breakfast this morning. Everything is fuzzy. My vision, my thoughts, my memory. Everything. But I still know what's happening, and I really wish I didn't. I really don't want to know what's happening right now. I just wish my body, my brain will finally be like "Nope! You've had enough, you can pass out now!" But no. I have to remain conscious, as painful as everything is right now.

He pulls his body onto my hips, and I stiffen. I can't let this happen. I can't. I just can't. I twist my body, trying to get him off.

God, I can't even bare to think of his name right now.

I just want him off, I want him to leave me alone.

I twist violently, trying to get him to fall off me, off the bed entirely. It works, for a moment. But I'm stunned, my body is stiff and it hurts to even think of moving. Soon enough, he's back on top of me, and he turns me onto my stomach. I try to buck him off, but it doesn't work, he's holding on too tightly. He snarls something in my ear, but the adrenaline and the fear pumping inside my veins drowns him out.

I have an idea of what he said when he twists my left arm painfully behind my back. He twists again, and I feel the bone snap.

I never considered how strong he is. Strong enough to snap a bone with a sharp wrists movement? I would think so, because that's what I'm pretty sure just happened.

I hear the snap before I feel it, and when I do feel it, it hits me like a wave. It feels like I'm drowning in the amount of pain I'm in right now. I vaguely remember breaking my arm when I was a kid, though my sister was there to hold me until my parent's could get me to a hospital.

But my sister isn't here, and my parents are dead. I can't even remember my sister's name, now. I grew up without that other little blonde girl, I never got to know her. What was she like? Does she still live in Gotham, or Metropolis? I wonder if she lives in Star City now. I hear that place is as crazy with vigilantes as Gotham is.

I'm brought back to the present by the Joker's laughing. I surprise myself by thinking his name. Not one of the ones I gave him, the one he came up with. Or was it the police? I can never remember who gave him his name anymore. Maybe it was the media. Who knows? All I know is, for the first time in a very long time, he isn't Mista J. He isn't my puddin'.

He is the Joker. That's all he's ever been, and that's all he ever should have been to me.

I feel him turn me back onto my back, and his weight reappears on my hips. He tears down the barely-there short-shorts I wear, and I flinch. I hadn't thought he'd go this far, but clearly I'm wrong. I've been hoping that he'd wear out his anger by beating on me, that's all that had happened before. But not this time. This time, he's too angry.

Angry enough to rape me?

I shudder, hoping that my body will let me pass out before I have to go through any of this.

He feels the shudder, and slaps me again, hard. I think he thinks it's me resisting again, although that was definitely not it.

He shifts his weight, pulling his pants down, and I squeeze my eyes shut, waiting.

He hits me again. "Open your eyes, bitch. Keep them open."

So I do, because I'm scared that this is never going to stop. Maybe if I do what he says, he'll stop.

He keeps going, and I scream in pain. Things that should never happen to a woman in the places you don't want them to happen are happening to me, and I can't make it stop. I can't make him stop. He won't ever stop.

I scream, and he hits me again. This time it was enough. Everything went fuzzy, then black.

A/N: Alright, I decided to split this into a bunch of chapters, because by the time I'm done with this it's going to be the length of a Harry Potter book. I'll try and get the next part done soon.

BYE FOR NOW ;3