:..:Chapter One:..:

The Prostitute


The street light gave off its reassuring light, but the cold from the frozen pavement leaked through my thin shoes. A feeling of dread encased me, I just could not shake the bad feeling that had clouded my mind since I left my dingy little apartment. And now I stood at the edge of the cold New York street, eyeing a drunk man as he made his swaying way towards me.


“Hey suga… yous workin tonight?“ The drunk bastard’s name was Boris. He could barely stand, his large frame kept listing from side to side. Boris came every other Friday. I usually tried to avoid the corners he roamed those nights, but Candy was so sick, the poor girl could barely sit up straight. So here I was black haired, scrawny, blue eyed me taking over for simple, blonde haired, busty Candy.


I knew being down one whore meant lost money, and lost money to Digits meant more payment taken from the flesh of his whores. The bastard wasn’t one to only blame the sick girl either, he would take any perceived loss out on all his girls.


So me and the others were taking more Tricks than usual tonight and making sure there weren’t any gaps in the territory by keeping well spread out. This way none of us had to feel the wrathe of a enraged Digits. ,n The life of a street whore was uncertain and dangerous. At least once a month one of the girls would get knocked about by a Trick. If luck was on your side you walk away with only a busted lip and some bruises, those that were not so lucky were found crammed into a dumpster. So much for the protection of a pimp, Digits was a hard worthless bastard.


I sighed heavily and eyed the swaying Russian in front of me. “Yea, I’m workin’.” It came out a soft whisper. Boris was a big guy at least 6 foot which dwarfed my 5’4 self. He was an ugly man, his face was hard with indifference, and his thin lips were usually twisted into a cruel smirk. Boris had the heavily muscled build of a labor worker, and the blunted features of a man who had been in his share of fights.


My eyes sought his, they were dark malicious pits on his scarred face. Their emptiness sent shivers down my back. Eyes like that meant many things to a whore, mostly run like hell. Damn. I couldn’t afford to run, business was slow and I had not yet made enough to pay Digits.


“Damn girl yous lookin damn good tonight, “ His drunken slurring and his Russian accent made him almost impossible to understand. “Where’s my Candy girl ain’t this her spot?”


“Candy’s not feelin’ good, she stayed in tonight.” His eyes haunted me and I tugged at my thin coat trying to cover myself better. The cold was starting to make me shiver or maybe it was the bastards cruel smile that made me want to curl up somewhere warm and safe.


This time of year was always the worst for working the streets. Dirty snow littered the sidewalks, and the wind tore through the New York streets howling its fury. For anyone stupid enough to be working the streets there was a real possibility they might freeze to death. Whores were not allowed to dress for the cold, it is tight, thin, revealing clothes only.


Boris leered at me, his vicious grin revealed a mouth full of rotten teeth. “What’s your name… Hah wait I know yous… yous gotta be that one… that half breed whore.” He leaned forward while he was speaking, breathing his sour breathe into my face as he eyed my skimpy outfit. “Something with a T… Tanya… er… Tasia… yea that’s it.”


I stiffened at the words half-breed. It wasn’t like I was offended, however it was a soft spot, as a child I’d often been teased because of my exotic looks. I’d been called a half-breed for most of my life, though I did not understand how they could call it half, when I showed signs of being a little of everything. I had the light blue eyes of a cracker, the slightly slanted almond shaped eyes and the straight black as night hair of a chink, and my skin was the creamy color of a spic, it was light enough to pass as a tan… most of the time.


“Yea that’s me.” I hated my life, hated this selling myself bullshit. I needed to say something lucrative, get him to want my half breed body and all that other crap. I knew my job and knew it quite well, as I should, I’d been doing it since I was 12.


Boris grinned, flashing his decaying gums again. “ I do likes me a half breed, especially one with assets.” His hand flew behind me and grabbed a handful of my ass. I allowed him to pull me into an embrace, his heavily muscled arms were like steel, any amount of struggling would have been futile.


It never got easier, I had been on the streets for most of the last 5 years of my life. Letting a stranger grope me never became easy to deal with. I dream everyday of getting out of the business and this retched town. Someday I would live where the buildings didn’t blot out the sky, where I could look at the stars instead of the lights of buildings. Never had selling myself been part of the original plan for my life.


My pimp, Digits, had been an acquaintance of my brothers’. When Damian vanished without a trace, I had been stupid enough to trust Digits. He had promised to take care of me until my brother came back.


At first Digits brought me into his home, kept me fed, bought me new clothes. All went well, until a few months in Digits brought a friend over who wanted some “favors“. Of course, I refused. Digits had gotten violent. He slapped me around a little, saying that he had provided for me, so I needed to pay him back. He told me that if I did this “favor”, then he would make sure I had money of my own.


It wasn’t like I had any other options it was that or sleep on the streets, where I would get raped, and beaten daily and not get paid for it. I flat out refused to consider going back into the foster system, it was not even an option to me. I didn’t blame Digits for what he did, well maybe I did but I hated my brother even more for deserting me, for leaving me at the mercy of creeps like Boris and Digits.


I sighed and finally spoke to the drunk. “Boris let me go. You can pay or move along.“ The steel of his arms was beginning to bruise my arms. He didn’t immediately release me, but he did let me go after a pause that seemed to drag on for hours. I took a deep breathe, I’d been a little worried about how he might react. I hadn’t exactly been diplomatic about it. Boris did not seem to have noticed my lack of diplomacy, he was too engrossed in staring at my chest.


“Candy’s tits are bigger than yours,” Boris spoke and at the same time reached out a hand to paw at my shirt. I gently eased his hand away with my palm. Candy’s tits were bigger than mine but they also hung down nearly to her thick waist. Candy was getting too old to continue making money on the streets, but she had a face that when she plastered on enough make up it still looked young and pretty. As long as she continued to pull in Tricks and make money Digits would let her stay.


Boris grinned, apparently undeterred by his failing to grope me. “I like big tits on a whore.” Boris continued. “ I put my face in them, yah want me to show yous? Boris is a good fucker, I’d make sure you get your rocks off and you not charge me, yah?”


“No.” I spoke softly again, I rarely raised my voice. I had been yelled at too many times to enjoy doing the yelling. It always seemed childish, it revealed how little control a person had over their emotions.


Boris‘s posture suddenly straightened. His swaying came to a halt. “No? You god damn whore, yous fuckin’ bitch tellin me NO!?” Boris roared at me, and reached out grabbing me by the hair.


I had missed the signs that he was getting angry. How could I have missed them? Five years on the street had taught me better than this. Drunks were the worst sort of Trick though. They often didn’t show any signs of becoming violent before they smashed their fists into you. It was just one of the hazards of being a whore. All the girls knew the risks, and I, like most, knew them personally.


Boris’s fist yanked at my hair. His other hand closed savagely around my throat. His face was a mask of contorted rage. He was screaming at me. I could not understand him, it took me a second before I realized he was yelling in Russian.


I tried to pull air into my lungs. Stars danced in my vision. I could not seem to force air into my lungs. Seconds passed. My chest began to burn with the need to breathe. I felt my knees give out. The shock of my bare legs colliding with the frozen pavement nearly made me cry out.


I knew better than to fight back or make any sounds. The more you plead or fight, the harder and longer they beat you. They were all just bullies. If you give them no satisfaction, they give up and leave you alone. That was how it was supposed to work anyways.


Boris still held my throat his grip tightening. He had followed me to the ground and was straddling my legs. My hands flew upwards to grip his wrist. I fought a nearly overwhelming urge to rip into him with my nails. I wanted so badly to force him away. I desperately wanted to call out for help. I knew calling out for help was worthless. Chances were one of my girls’ would hear me. They might even come to help me. But they would get themselves beaten or killed in the process. They could not help me. And there was no such thing as a good Samaritan in this retched city.


Boris’s meat cleaver of a fist released its hold on my hair. I saw it rushing towards me. It crashed into my cheek. The power of the blow sent my head into the pavement beneath me. I was almost certain it had cracked my skull. I felt my skin split beneath his knuckles. The warmth of blood flowed down the side of my face.


Boris was still screaming at me. He sounded far away. Maybe, I just couldn’t hear him over the ringing in my ears.


I tried one last time to drag air into my lungs. Again they failed me. Blackness crept into my vision. The bastard was going to choke me into oblivion. Good. Then I wouldn’t have to feel the pain of his beating. Not till I woke up anyways… if I woke up.


I stared up at Boris, his weight was still pressed down on me. His fist was still wrapped around my throat. His knees were on either side of my hips. His other fist continued to pound my ribs and face into pulp. I felt a rib snap. A cry of pain reached my lips, but I never allowed it past. I would not give him the satisfaction of hearing my pain.


Pain was as familiar to me as breathing. I had known the pain of a fist since my early childhood when I had mistakenly ignited the temper of my first foster father. I couldn’t even remember what I had done. Maybe, I’d forgotten to make my bed. I’d been six that much I could remember. He’d given me a black eye, a couple of missing baby teeth, and the bastard had snapped my arm in two places. They took me to the hospital and claimed I’d fallen off my bicycle. I’d never been on a bicycle in my life.


Air, sweet cold air, flooded into my lungs. I drank it in. I could tell there was something wrong with my chest. Every time I breathed in there was an intense stabbing pain and my lungs didn’t seem to fill completely. The air brought back my clarity. Which brought me back to the futility, and the pain of my current situation. It took a moment for me to realize that Boris’s hand no longer held my throat. His weight was no longer pressing down on me. He was standing to the side of my prone body now.


I attempted to see what he was going to do next. I tried to look up into his face but my movements were slow. I hoped that he was bored. That me not fighting back made him want to move on. My eyes finally found his face. The look on Boris’ face made me want to try to crawl away. His face was a mask of pure fury. For the first time that night I realized I was scared. A tremble passed through my body, it rocked me enough to put me on my side.


The fact that I did not fight him seemed to make him even more angry. Not that there was anything I could do about that now. My arms were barely responding. There was a smoldering fire in my chest. My eyes refused to focus, the swelling in my face was threatening to blind me completely.


Boris’ booted foot slammed into my side. More kicks continued to connect with my body. A laugh rang out into the night, the bastard was thoroughly enjoying himself. One by one the blows came. They landed all over my pain racked body. A tear leaked past my control. The bastard was wearing steel-toed boots.


I rolled, trying to take the kicks in a way that would cause as little damage as possible. To keep him from forcing the air out of my lungs again, I brought my knees up. I curled myself around them. My battered ribs protested. My legs provided protection for my chest. It seemed a good move. It would however mean I wasn’t going to be walking anywhere when this was over. At this point I didn‘t see much point in worrying about such things.


Boris was breathing heavily. Sweat made trails down his dirty face. Apparently all this violence took a lot out of him. Hate filled me and lent me strength to continue doing the only thing I could control. One gasp or a single whimper would give him the satisfaction of knowing my pain. I held it inside, no male would ever gain the satisfaction of having me plead for my life.


His kicks were slowing. They were becoming half hearted. I sent up a prayer. I rarely prayed but in this moment I sent up a prayer that the bastard would drop dead from exertion. If I could take my last breathe with the knowledge that at least this one violent male would never again harm any of my girls I would be satisfied. These thoughts confused me for a moment. At some point I had accepted the fact that I wasn’t going to make it out of this. I had already written myself off. Death must really be close.


When the blows stopped all together, I dared to attempt to weakly lift my head. As I did the world spun. But I was hopeful maybe, just maybe I would make it through this. As I thought it I realized just how true I wanted that to be. Maybe he was finished with his attack. I glanced at his face. It was dark except for the street light that shone its yellow light a little ways behind him. His face was a shadow but I could see his black eyes staring down at me. A satisfied grin lit his face.


“There you dumb cunt, showed yous to tell Boris no.” He lifted his leg for one more kick. I tried to bring my arms up to protect my face, but my efforts were slow. His kick collided with my fingers. The steel toed boot slammed into the side of my face. Stars burst into my vision. I felt a few of my fingers break.


“Now yous will give Boris what he come here for.” He leaned over me, gathering my slender wrists in one hand.


My wrists ground painfully together. Boris was apparently now worried about me fighting back. If only he knew how far gone I was. His grip was like steel. There was nothing I could do, even if I had had the strength to. He knelt beside me. With his free hand he grabbed my tight fitted jean shorts by the front. I never wore skirts, like the other girls seemed to favor. I didn’t like how exposed I felt in them. So I opted for tight fitted shorts or leather pants.


Boris didn’t even bother undoing them. He just tore the button from the front and forced the zipper down. He pulled the shorts to my ankles. Pain ricocheted through my body as my bruised legs were jarred about. I clenched my jaw, made my hands into fists, and dug my nails into my palm to keep myself from crying out.


Boris climbed over me, fitting himself between my legs. My wrists were still captured in his one hand. He pulled my skimpy tank top over my face with his free hand. He then began pawing at my breasts. The whole time Boris was mumbling to himself. He seemed to be praising himself for being so clever and finding a free way to use a whore.


With my shirt pulled over my head, I could no longer see Boris. I heard him unzip his pants. I listened to the rustle of clothing as he tried to get his pants down with one hand. I waited for him to slam into me. I braced myself for the pain of his violating me. Nothing happened, just sudden empty silence.


My wrists were released suddenly. Relief flooded me with its warmth, I had made it through with my life. As quickly as my body would respond, I pulled the tank top from my face. I carefully lifted my head from the pavement. I was greeted by the sight of Boris positioned above me. He appeared to be frozen in place. His hand was even still wrapped around his dick.


The glint of steel caught my eye. I shifted my gaze and saw why he had paused. The blade of a wicked looking knife was pressed against the bastard’s neck.


Boris was quivering. He swallowed nervously. His atoms apple pressed against the blade. A shallow cut opened up, and blood leaked down to the collar of his shirt. His bloodshot eyes went wide with terror. Boris’s breathe came fast as he was gripped with panic.


I wanted to smile, but the pain of my bruised face made me think better of it. I was pretty sure shock was the reason I wanted to giggle at the look on Boris’s face.


A voice came from the darkness behind Boris commanding him in a fierce whisper. “Stand up.”


I couldn’t seem to focus my eyes. Black static kept blurring my sight. A strange numbness was spreading through my body, I couldn't feel my arms anymore. The man who held the knife was only a shadow, I couldn't make out his face. The street light behind was eclipsed by the shear size of the man. I did see Boris’s hulking form trembling as he gained his feet. He awkwardly stepped from between my legs, his pants were wrapped around his ankles.


I tried to focus on what happened next. Pain arced through my body. I tensed and set my head back on the pavement willing myself not to cry out. Something was terribly wrong with me. I wanted to look once more to see what was happening. My head was too heavy to try to lift again. Darkness seized my vision. Unconsciousness nearly claimed me, but I fought it off.


I wasn’t even sure why I bothered to fight it. Passing out would put an end to the pain. I realized I wanted to see the face of my good Samaritan. Someone had cared enough to help a whore in trouble. I wanted to see this person with my own eyes. So I clung to my consciousness and waited.


What seemed like hours but was probably seconds later someone gently propped my head up. I desperately tried to see the face that hovered over me. His face was covered in shadow but I made out a strong handsome face, with golden eyes, and brown hair that fell across his brow and into his eyes. I knew a face like this one. This man, my savior, could he be my long lost brother, Damian. In that moment I forgave him for the last 5 years of my life. I squinted my eyes trying to focus on the face to see for sure if it was my beloved brother. Had he shown up out of nowhere to save me from a life he had sentenced me to?


Pain had me in its cruel jaws, and try as I might I could not make my vision clear enough to see clearly the man cradling my head. Blackness invaded my vision again, the pain began to fade and unconsciousness claimed me this time.


This is just the first chapter of a story I've been working on for awhile now. I've got a ton of notes and several more chapters written on this. I would love to hear all the critique you've got!! :D


I'm not completely happy with this chapter yet, there are some descriptive black holes in here that I'm trying to work through...