She was a sight to see, from her long frame, in all black, her tight dark jeans failing or succeeding to hold back her genourous curves, strong long legs and a booty that most African women sported proudly, round and thick. She reaked of power and dominance her vest and combat boots making this more apparent.
The back logo of her vest was playing pick a boo with her long dark locks, glossy and shimmering a gift from her Turkish ancestry from her mother's side. She kept it in a tight pony tail, leaving her makeup free face on display. Her dark cat like eyes never moved from the figure in front of her, her full red lips in a grim line.
"She is beauty.... for a white woman." one spectator would comment, as he told this tale to a captive audience seeping on traditional brew in a shack somewhere deep in the city later that night.
"Perhaps too beautiful to be pointing a gun with such comfort and ease only gained by experience and trust on your own abilities." Intelligent words that were true to a point, even though slurred and somehow surprising, judging by the likes of the speaker.
Her team now surrounded the individual who seemed unrattled by the amount of guns around him. He stood still his hands on his side, his head moving slowly scanning, calculating.
"Mr Scott I think you heard me. Kneel hands on your head." Her voice was steady, cool and assured, most would have obeyed it.
As expected the reciepent of this harsh command raised his hands to his head, then to the surprise of many he suddenly turned to face his accuser. Clicks were heard all around from the guns pointing directly at him.
YOU ARE READING
Makings Of A Rogue
AcciónThe lines between right and wrong are blured when the bad she has fought all her life catches up to her and the term fight fire with fire now makes alot of sense. Meet special agent Alane
