The red-eye from Hong Kong had been late and I was again regretting the flight choice. Deadlines are deadlines though, so I stood waiting for the carousel to show some sign of movement that might indicate baggage handlers attempting to make up for lost time. Fat chance!
A small disturbance to my right caught my ear. "Stupid bitch, whadya mean you lost your purse?" A tall, long-haired goth -- at least that's the effect I thought he was going for -- harangued a petite red-head with her back to me. Her knee-length coat hid the details although her calves did catch my eye, shaped beautifully by three inch heels.
Her voice was soft and I barely caught the words. "I think I left it on the plane, Tony." Head bent, she appeared to be biting her nails.
He sneered, "Well, good on ya, sweets, I guess that's gone."
She raised a hand as if pleading. "But Tony; my ID; my money. We need to find it." Her voice quavered as if it had taken every ounce of courage to say those few words.
The goth simply snorted derisively at her.
She looked around, as if suddenly very afraid. In that instance her profile struck me. A divine elfin face, pale white, with bright green eyes, but marred by what looked to be a week-old bruise on her left cheek. Neither of them had been on my flight, so I assumed they'd flown in from Frisco, and were waiting for the next carrousel.
Leaning in she whispered something I didn't catch. The effect on the goth was galvanizing. He screeched, "Fuck!", reared back and, with a wide roundhouse, slapped her other cheek knocking her to the floor.
She fell to her side with a faint moan, her coat falling open. She was wearing a short black skirt and white blouse that did little to hide her waif-like figure. At that moment her entire face was visible and I caught a glint of raw lust as she licked her lips, a new bruise starting to form.
"You fucking, stupid cunt!" Looking around he noticed the attention he was attracting, seemed to think better of his actions, reached down and grabbed her upper arm, where the coat had left it uncovered to lift her while twisting his wrist. A brief flicker of agony flashed across the waif's face to be replaced by a look I had learned to recognize.
She enjoyed the pain. Yet, the goth didn't recognize her for what she was. Either that or he didn't value her, which made him a fool.
"Now shut up, bitch, let me think." She stood, eyes downcast, but looking around to see who was watching. He continued to mutter to himself.
As her gaze fell on me I caught her eye, and held it. My face calm, I gave her a knowing smile. She stopped and held my gaze, her eyes widening slightly. Then the carrousels came to life, theirs first then ours.
He jerked her away toward the carousel and began to give her orders I could not hear. Then he headed off, back toward the gates.
She picked a bag off the carousel and placed it at her feet. She looked briefly at me, then her eyes flickered down.
Meanwhile I retrieved my bag, but waited, curious to see what would happen. She picked up a second bag and moved them both over by the wall and stood watching the gate area entrance.
Walking to stand beside her I asked, "Can I help you?"
For a brief moment a glimpse of hope appeared on her face. "I thought... I thought you were... I thought you knew-"
I interrupted, "I knew what?"
She looked at me confused, and the hope went out of her eyes.
From the gate area came a loud ruckus. We could see the goth being dragged toward us by two airport police, kicking and screaming. One held a purse.
The girl moaned, "Oh, God. He'll kill me."
I placed my hand possessively on her shoulder, gripping firmly, and repeated, "Can I help you?"
She seemed to wilt under my touch, but turned and said, "What can you do?"
"You'd be surprised. Come with me. Leave the bags."
"But --"
With steel in my voice, and pulling on her shoulder, I commanded, "Leave the bags!"
She looked up at me in surprise, her cheeks flaming red, and not just from the slap. "Yes, Sir," was all she said.
I pulled her out the door and into the back of my waiting car. As we pulled out, she was looking through the back window of the limo.
"Home first, Peter." I pressed a button and the opaque divider slid up sealing us from the driver.
"Sit over there," I commanded, indicting the opposite rear-facing seat.
She did, removing here shoes and shoving her feet up under herself, leaning to one side. Her eyes stared at the floor.
"Look at me!"
Startled, she looked up, but not into my eyes; more like at my chin.
"I'm up here," I said, while reaching out to tilt her chin upward until she looked me square in the eye.
It was difficult for her. At first she squirmed as my hand continued its grip on her chin. "Stop it. I want to see you." I looked her up and down.
Her cheeks flushed redder, spreading down her neck. Her blouse hung open, a few of the buttons having come undone during our quick dash. Her small breasts, perhaps a B, were pert and hid just out of sight in the folds of her blouse; no bra. Her skirt had slid up, exposing the tops of her stockings, and above that alabaster thighs. Then I noticed, on the insides of her thighs, short, red parallel lines across the thighs; cuts.
"Sacrilege," I thought.
I tore my eyes back to hers, commanding, "Straighten you clothes."
"But... What --"
"DO AS I SAY!"
She recoiled, then quickly buttoned her blouse and pulled her skirt down, drawing a quick gasp as she saw that the cuts had been exposed. She looked up at me as if to say something, but my expression remained rigid as I waited for her to settle herself. Thinking better she settled back into her half-kneeling position.
"What is your name girl?"
