Makings Of A Rogue

Chapter 2 [I]

The sound made the crowd collectivly move even further, some straight away running from this shit show, the brave ones if you can call them that, looked torn between following their comrades but too curious to see what will happen next.
His action and the mayhem around her didn't waver her resolve, she stood even taller and took a slight step towards him, her hold wrapping tighter round her gun.
"Lane you are a long way from home." Mr Scot said, with a heavy dark tone, mared by a slight accent from being a Swahili and kikuyu native speaker in his otherwise polished english. His soft voice cutting through the thick tension surrounding their vicinity. Everyone went silent and all eyes were on him, but most had never left. He was smiling , like he had seen an old friend, in a way they were but not exactly freinds.
He seemed relaxed like this was an everyday occurrence, like a seasoned black model surrounded by cameras instead of the killing machines, him their target. His smile didn't reach his eyes though, they were now strained at the figure in front of him, they screamed danger in their brown black depths, cold. They held recognition and perhaps respect for the woman, but no hint of fear at the guns pointed straight at him. He had those sleepy eyes lack of a better term, his long lashes hidding struggling to keep open, making him look innocent in a way, though they were a source of constant blushes from women he set them on, apparently it made them feel some type of way.
White teeth picking through his full well kept beard that went well with his otherwise bold head. His blueish darkish, expensive looking suit and a black maybe silk equaly expensive looking shirt hugged his frame, he was a big man, lean and fit. He looked good really really good and the way he held himself showed he knew it.