Through her years of training, she was taught one of the biggest rules was to be compliant... in most cases. It was simply the best way to not get yourself killed. The tattooed man raised his hand high above her. It was only a matter of seconds before she’d feel the painful sting of his hand. She waited, seconds. A minute passed and the sting never came. Slowly she peeled her eyes open. The odd man had his hand digging into the wrist of her would be abuser.

“Alto. No te toques la chica,” said the curious man. She had no idea how he got from way in the back to inches away from her. He was fascinating.

The tattooed man snarled at him in disgust. “Estupidita,” he muttered under his breath, “look chica, all we need you to do is sit there like a good girl. Sí?”

She responded with a snarl of her own.

“Fine, estupidita” the tattooed man said. With that, the men started to file out. The man who had saved her went out last, he was walking slowly with a slight hitch in his step. She realized she must’ve kicked him hard in the struggle.

“Hey, wait,” She called out to him, “Can we talk. Please...?” Her savior turned around slowly.

“What do you want, kid?” his voice was raspy as if he'd been talking all night. His eyes were tired, but they sparkled.

“You’re different,” she said. Telling from his expression, he was definitely questioning her sanity.

“What do you mean?” he said with his still raspy voice as he closed the door. By that point she knew he must’ve been one of the men she kicked earlier. He was uncomfortable, he knew she had something on him.

“Take your shoes, those shoes are a good three hundred bucks. Not to mention your watch. What pretty penny did that cost you? thirteen-fourteen grand?” he was shocked by her clear eye and knowledge that she had. “At least that’s what you want the other guys to think. Those, my friend, are some very hot counterfeits. You are evidently the leader of this little group, unlike the other guy that was ever so obviously eyeing me. You're putting on a face. You want to show your superiority and wealth. Unfortunately for you… you're either horrible at spotting fakes, or you're not rolling in it as much as you let on… So, which is it?”

He was absolutely baffled. He had never, ever met someone who was as good as he was at spotting fakes, nor were they good at fighting, or smart… She was... interesting… he swallowed. “The latter,” he stated, “Who the hell are you...?” He wanted, no, needed to know. She was unlike most. She was… a puzzle.