Continued from "Lest Ye Be Judged". If you are just now checking out one of my stories, I highly recommend checking out "Dark Horse" first and reading on from there. :)
Fair warning: While this is a continuation in the series, it is different from the other installments.
Team Machine never stops working. Enjoy!
One month later.
… Surveillance Footage: east entrance, camera #2; east 89th street bus terminal
July 22, 2012 – 3:04pm
Subject A sits alone, awaiting the next bus. She sets her bag down beside her and turns, distracted. Subject B seats himself next to her, reaches into the bag. His hand comes out empty.
Subject A looks back to see him stand up again, and walk by. She touches her bag, pulling it closer as he leaves the terminal.
Threat detected…
Subject: Natasha M.
One would think that after so many years of working the streets, one would be used to the job by now. Unfortunately, it was something she never could get used to. It was a job, and a girl had to eat. But that never consoled her when she took them home, or when they dragged her to a motel; when they breathed and sweated over her, calling her baby, sweetheart, or another name they'd make up for her, as if she were some sort of temporary pet.
If that's all they did, she was grateful. Others weren't as kind. But, that was the job; and there were always worse things.
Tasha remembered when she first started, a woman named Gloria had taken her under her wing. Gloria helped Tasha gain the right mind set for the job. She helped her with her set of rules, because every woman who works the streets has their own set of rules. They had to, otherwise things could get ugly.
Eventually, that's what happened to Gloria. She had fallen into the trap that so many of the girls do. She had fallen in love with a client. No matter what movies and Julia Roberts taught them, falling in love was one of the worst things that could happen to a woman of Tasha's occupation.
Gloria had been so stupid! After all that she had taught Tasha, she went back on her own rules and fell for some white collar douche bag with money and a wife. She ran away with him before she realized she was pregnant.
Tasha had not seen her since.
That was one thing that Tasha never worried about. Falling for a man would never happen to her. Out of the two of them, Tasha found that she still preferred men; but usually outside of striking distance. She'd had enough of men earlier in her life. Her work was only what she did to keep herself from sleeping on the streets as well as walking them.
It was just a job.
Her purse slipped down to the crook in her elbow as she walked. It was late, close to her usual start time. Tasha set the purse back onto her shoulder and stopped at a corner.
"Hey, Red," a girl said. She was already at the corner, lighting a cigarette and waiting. Tasha tried to remember her name, Sandy? Not that it mattered much. Tasha only had a couple of friends, and they usually worked the higher class parts of town. They were the ones who called Tasha by her name.
"It's kind of slow," Sandy continued, tossing her dark, curly locks over her tanned shoulder.
"There's always someone, though," Tasha said.
"Always," Sandy agreed. She lifted the cigarette to her lips and took a drag, the tip glowing a bright orange in the darkness of the street. "I've seen you around before. Some of the others don't care much for you." She laughed and took another drag.
Sandy was giving her old news. "I can find another place," she said.
Sandy shrugged. "Makes no difference to me, Red. You have a good look, but so do I. I don't mind working a little harder."
"Thanks."
It was summer, for which Tasha was very grateful. Working the streets in the winter was difficult, but the clients were usually plentiful. People – men craved companionship more so in colder weather. Yet, in the summer, the streets stayed warm, even at night, making at least a small part of her job a little easier.
Tasha stood with Sandy, avoiding the second hand smoke as best as she could. It was better to stay in a group. Working an area alone could turn dangerous.
Sandy blew out another puff of smoke and tapped the ashes onto the sidewalk with her freshly manicured nails. They were red to match her lipstick, which clashed greatly with the short, pink dress she wore. It was so tight that Tasha suspected she had to pour herself into it.
Tasha's dress wasn't far off from that. It was a little longer, and sleeveless – a bright blue that contrasted with her long red hair; the origination of her nick name. No one ever called her by her real name. And Tasha couldn't count how many times she had been asked if her hair color was real. It was, along with her deep green eyes. With her look, and the dresses she chose, Tasha hoped to eventually move up to classier areas and clientele. It wasn't the dream, but it was better than where she was.
Sandy cleared her throat and pointed with her cigarette.
"Drink of water at ten o'clock," she said in a slightly raspy voice.
Tasha followed the cigarette and saw a tall someone walking towards them. There was no doubt it was a man. Time to go to work.
"I saw him first," Sandy said, and walked away, approaching the gentleman.
She stopped him under one of the streetlights and Tasha got a better look at him. He definitely was tall, very clean cut, wearing a dark suit. He stopped as Sandy approached him, and put his hands in his pockets.
Let her have him, Tasha thought. I can still make rent if I don't get anyone tonight. She watched Sandy toss her hair flirtatiously, looking up at him, and moving closer. To her surprise, however, he sidestepped Sandy when he saw Tasha, and headed toward her.
Tasha never could stop the fast beating of her heart, the fear and anger that all boiled up inside of her whenever a man rested his eyes upon her. She'd done the job for so long that she believed she'd be numb to it by now. But it would never go away. Perhaps it was because the looks she always received were so transparent. She knew what a man was thinking without him having to say a word.
Tasha put on her smile, and dropped her arms loosely at her sides as he approached.
"Hey, baby," she said, brushing her hair away from her forehead.
"Hey," he replied, smiling. He was good looking, but that didn't mean a damn thing. He appeared to look her over with sharp blue eyes. Now that she was closer, he was older than she thought at first. The blue eyes had fine lines around them, as did his mouth. And there were flecks of gray at his temples. Didn't mean a damn thing.
"Are you looking for something?" Tasha asked, dropping the bait as it were.
"I was," he said. "I think I've found her."
Tasha smiled, hiding the fact that she noticed him saying 'her' instead of 'it', as a lot of men have in the past. To this man, she was still a person. That was subject to change, however, as the night went on.
"Have you got a name?" She asked. She stepped closer to him, and ran her fingers along the collar of his suit jacket.
"John," he said.
They heard a scream, and Tasha looked up along with her potential client.
Sandy fell hard to the ground. Two men, all in black, stepped past her, towards Tasha and John.
Terrified, Tasha stepped away, wondering how fast she could run in the shoes she had on when John engaged both men at once. They never got a hit off of him, not once. Tasha felt her mouth open in a perfect O as she watched John knock both men unconscious to the ground in just a few seconds. She wanted to run, but she was frozen to the spot on the sidewalk.
John turned toward her and the difference in his expression and body language from just a moment before was staggering. His face was hard, his eyes flashing, and his entire frame seemed to stand taller with a tension like a wound spring.
He strode over to her. Tasha backed away from him, but he grabbed onto her arm, and dragged her along with him.
His grip was strong, and was hurting her. "No, no, I don't want to go!" she said. "Let me go!" she struggled, attempting to pull her arm away, but he was too strong.
"If I do that, you'll be dead," John said as they rounded a corner.
Tasha kept swallowing down her panic, but it was quickly overcoming her as John dragged her over to a black sedan and unlocked it.
She was being kidnapped! Kidnapped by some crazy, ninja assassin! Tasha dragged her feet and fought with him until he chucked her into the front seat of the car and shut the door.
John got into the driver's seat. "Listen, Natasha," he said.
Tasha's panic turned to ice. He already knew her name. How could he know that? She pulled her purse into her lap and slowly reached into it as he started the car.
"They were coming for you," John continued.
Tasha barely heard him as her fear and panic morphed into a plan of escape. She pulled at the seatbelt, and started yanking on it so it stuck. She pulled and pulled, making a show out of it until John noticed.
He reached across her, leaning in next to her to grab a hold of the seatbelt. Tasha's speed surprised even her. She pulled the tazer out of her purse, pressed it against the nape of his neck, and turned it on.
John let out a groan as his body trembled with the current running through it, and he collapsed, slumped over the center console in the car.
Tasha pushed him off of her and scrambled for the door handle. She got out of the car and ran for it, moving faster than she expected in those shoes.