Not Your Typical Damsel

"Stop! Please! I can't do that!"

I was snapped immediately out of the pleasant daydream I had been having, strolling down the street just before sunset on a cold December day. That had definitely been a very distraught young woman, and it sounded like she was in trouble. I took off, following the voice.

Now, some background: I do not appear, at first glance, to be physically intimidating. I stand only 5'6" and weigh under 170lb. My face is usually happy and bright, and my hair nicely kept. I wear high-end (but not quite "designer") clothing, and look well maintained.

However, back a few years ago, when I was serving with the Army Rangers, it was a different story. I had been perpetually dirty, haggard, and wary, always looking out for trouble. Happily, the devotion to physical fitness dies hard, and I was almost entirely lean, combat-ready muscle.

That readiness to intervene evidently also dies hard. I had been working as a data scientist for the past 10 years, a nice comfortable white-collar job, and made quite a bit of money. My wife, Clara, and I had 2 beautiful little girls, ages 8 and 5, named Sasha and Katya. But I still reacted immediately, and am so glad I did.

I thought of my girls, and my wife, as I sprinted towards the sounds of the young woman struggling. Rounding the corner into a dark alley, I saw a towering thug holding a teenager (she looked about 18) by the wrists, pinning her to a wall while she flailed in an attempt to escape. 4 other men stood around, watching and sneering.

"You better get your slut ass out there and make me some money!" the shadowy man hollered, and the girl sobbed.

"No! My sister said she didn't ever want me to!" the girl wailed, pleading.

"She been out here working for years!" he answered cruelly, and grabbed the front of her shirt. He started to tear her shirt away, and I heard it start to rip, but by then I was close.

"Stop." I ordered calmly, cold menace in my voice. The guys who had been standing around watching jumped, having been unaware of my approach.

"The fuck is this?" the leader asked, incredulous. He clearly wasn't used to being confronted.

"Let her go, and you all can walk away," I calmly explained, looking him meaningfully in the eyes.

"Fuck this mother-" one of the cronies started, moving into my path to block me. He was cut off by the jab that promptly broke his nose, followed by the uppercut that dislocated his jaw and the kick that popped his knee, sending him sprawling to the side, unconscious.

"Let. Her. Go." This time, instead of calm authority, my voice projected clear, lethal menace. The rest of the gang looked at me in shock, and the girl was able to slip out of the hold she had been trapped in and run down the alley, back the way I had come.

"You just cost us a whore!" bellowed the boss, and angrily advanced. He and his crew gathered together, unsure of what to do in the face of the mysterious threat before them.

All of a sudden, the one in charge pushed one of his lackeys forward, and he stumbled towards me, looking scared.

"Get this asshole!" was the order, and soon they were all around me, ready to grind me into dust.

It didn't take long.

While they tried to flank me, I used my elbow to crush the jugular of the guy in front of me and stepped quickly over his wheezing, sputtering body to get to the big guy.

Almost before anybody could react, a firm punch to the gut had him doubled over, and I was behind him with one hand holding him by the long, dirty hair while the other held my military-issued knife against his throat.

The other guys all looked shocked, and one started to come forward hesitantly.

"Don't! Fuck!" yelled my prisoner, feeling the sharp blade draw blood from his neck.

"Everyone sit down. Now." They all slowly complied, looking very unsure what was going on.

"I could kill you all pretty easily, and claim self-defense," I informed them. "I wouldn't even do time. Hell, after rescuing that girl? I'd be a fucking hero!" They all paled, worried I might be considering it.

"You can't!" one of them shouted, but quieted down when I dragged the blade along his leader's throat, leaving a bloody line. Not deep enough to kill him, but damn sure deep enough to scare the restrained man, and quiet his posse down.

"Who's the girl?"

"We dunno her!" Another drag started across the tattooed neck, until one of the guys jumped in to answer, speaking very rapidly.

"I think her name's Carla! Her sister Francesca works the streets for us. Carla just turned 18, so we's was putting her to work too!" My heart lurched.

"How old is Francesca?"

"Like 23? Been out here since she turned 18... but we checked! None of our girls are underage!" He seemed proud of that. Garbage, with a shit brain.

"Can you get Francesca here?" I asked, formulating a plan of action.

"Whatcbu want with her?" one of the guys growled. Cute, he was possessive of the gang's 'property.'

"That matter?" I asked honestly, cocking an eyebrow. They grunted in the negative, and one got on the phone, having Francesca brought to our location.

She arrived, along with 3 more gang members, a few minutes later. "We brought the whore! Now let our boss go!" one of them called, pushing the trembling and whimpering young woman forward.

"Wh - What do you want from me?" she asked, tearing up.

"Nothing. I'm getting you out of here. And your sister." I looked at her with an honest expression, trying to make her believe. Even if she thought it was a long-shot, I was offering her an out, and she had to try to take it!

"Okay... but how do you know Carla?" I explained the situation to her, and she glared at the guy bleeding in my grip.

"Can you get her back here?" I asked the older sister, and she hesitantly agreed. Almost immediately, Carla stepped around the corner. Evidently, she hadn't gone far, and had heard everything.

"Cesca? Is this guy for real?" she asked with a Mexican accent, apparently in disbelief at her rescue.

"I dunno, hermana... but you got a better option?" Francesca laughed, looking at me hopefully.

Just then, the guy I had been holding got fed up with the situation and grabbed my hand, the one holding the knife! "Fuck you, you -" his words got cut off by a sickening crunch as I twisted and snapped his neck.

Rising calmly, I twirled my bloody knife and walked towards the girls, my eyes on the reeling gang members. "We good to leave? Or anyone want to try to stop us?" I asked with perfect calm, wiping the blood on my nice jeans. The guys stared, slack-jawed, and then scattered, panicked, in retreat.

"Sorry about that," I offered, hilting my once-again-clean blade. Carrying weapons didn't make for great introductions, after all. "I'm Leo," I offered, holding out my hand.

"Uh... you... Marco is..." jabbered Francesca, but Carla acted before her sister could put her thoughts together. She jumped towards me, threw her arms around my neck, and hugged me tight.

"Oh thank you! You saved me!" she enthused. I just laughed and stepped back. I hadn't really looked at her before, just had heard and seen a girl in trouble. Looking at her now nearly took my breath away. Carla was the most beautiful Latina teen I had ever seen. She was about 5'2" with a slender frame counterpointed by wide-ish hips and a full, perky chest. She had wavy, dark-brown hair which framed her angelic face, complete with pouty lips, sparkling brown eyes, and a cute button nose. She was a clear 10/10, and I marvelled at the ability of adrenaline to have stopped me from noticing.

"I just did what anybody would do," I argued humbly, and Francesca rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, except nobody ever does," she pointed out, and I blushed a little.

"Well either way, you're not going back with them, okay?" The sisters nodded, and I motioned along the alley. "Come with me and we'll get you somewhere safe." Carla almost immediately nodded and clung to my arm, eager to go, and Francesca eventually followed along, seeing no better options.

They asked where I learned to fight, and I spent the rest of the walk back to my vehicle telling them about Ranger training and my tours. They both paid rapt attention, until we got to the car and Carla gasped out, "holy shit!" They both stood slack-jawed, gaping at my almost-new, military-style Humvee. She was a beauty, and could essentially drive through a building without stopping. I loved driving her, and was of the opinion that she was well worth the obscene money she had cost.

"This is really your car?" Francesca asked, disbelieving. I nodded and unlocked it, climbing in and motioning for them to do the same. Francesca timidly climbed into the passenger seat, while Carla took the back row. I made sure they were buckled, and started the drive home.

"Are we going to your... house?" Francesca asked nervously. I said that was the plan, and she suddenly got very quiet.

"Why? Is everything okay?" I asked, and she almost started to cry.

"I am so fucking stupid!" she admonished herself. "I thought you were this hero, maybe, but you just want a couple of live-in whores!" She looked absolutely devastated, and Carla gasped from the back row, heartbroken. I just chuckled and rolled my eyes. "What the fuck is so funny? Tricked the dumb, slutty chicas, huh?" Francesca demanded, fuming.

"No, just trust me, you'll see," I explained, and turned into my driveway - it had not been a long drive at all, I was just stopping by the post office in town.

"I mean, better him than Marco?" Carla mused, and the sisters followed me up the stone path to his house with sad, subdued expressions. "Okay, so what do you w-" Francesca started to demand, when Sasha and Katya ran, shrieking with joy, out the front door.

"Daddy! You're home!" Sasha screamed, jumping into my outstretched arms. I picked her up and twirled her, making her giggle uncontrollably, while Katya just stared at the Latinas.

"Daddy? Who are they?" she asked uncertainly. I hadn't dated since Clara had died of cancer a few years ago, so the only woman they saw with regularity was my sister, Kate.

"These are Carla and Francesca, sweety," I told her. "They were in trouble, so they'll be staying with us for a while while they figure it out. Is that okay with you girls?" Both my daughters nodded happily; it would be like having older sisters!

"So, ladies, you feeling less nervous?" I asked with a smile, and the Latinas nodded, smiling sweetly at my little girls.

We went inside and I got my daughters to bed, then got our guests some water and food so we could sit and talk. Francesca told me everything, with occasional input from Carla, and my heart broke for them.

Their parents had been killed in a car crash 7 years ago, when Francesca was 16 and Carla was 11. The older sister had dropped out of school to care for her sibling, and struggled to make ends meet - the insurance lasted about a year and a half before things became very tight. On her 18th birthday, Fancesca started working the streets to make money, and was quickly taken in by the gang. She kept Carla in school, but as the younger sister neared 18 the men decided that she should be put to work, too. "Shit birthday this is," laughed Carla, and I was momentarily stopped dead.

"Wait, today is your birthday?" I asked, and when she nodded I got up and went to the oven, preheating it.

"What are you doing?" Carla asked, her voice cautiously hopeful.

"Making you a cake!" I told her. She giggled cutely, and we kept filling each other in on our lives while I baked. It was hard for me to talk about Clara, but I told them about her fight with cancer, and how our girls were the only things that got me through being widowed.

"That must have been hard, I can tell you really loved her," Carla said sympathetically, and Francesca nodded her agreement.

"It was, and I do." They smiled their understanding, and I told them all about my wife while the cake baked. Eventually, I took the cake out and sang, much to the women's amusement, before we dug in.

"Okay, well this has been fun, but we should all get to sleep," I told them, and guided them to the guest room they could share. We had multiple rooms available, but I figured being separated could make them feel unsafe. I got them spare toothbrushes and old T shirts for PJs, made sure they knew where the bathroom was, and went to bed myself, smiling at how proud of me Clara would have been for helping.

"Morning, ladies!" I greeted when the latinas stumbled into the kitchen, doubtlessly lured by the smell of bacon cooking. "Breakfast should be ready soon. For now, tell the girls what you want to drink and I'm sure they can help me host." My daughters were giddy at that, and rushed to fetch the OJ when Francesca politely requested some.

When we were all seated at the table, I got started with elaborating my plan. "So, first things first: We need to go shopping."

My girls shrieked in delight, but our guests just grimaced. "We... don't have any money," Francesca informed me glumly.

"That's fine, I have money and want to help," I informed her, and Carla's eyes sparkled.

"Really?" she asked as if unable to believe her luck.

"Really, you need clothes and my wife would have wanted to help you," I told them, and my girls got quiet. They didn't like talking about their mom, because usually it made me sad.

Convinced, or just sincerely in need, we all piled into the Humvee after breakfast and drove to the mall.

Once there, it took some prodding to get the women to pick a store to start at. "So... the Macy's down the end has a bunch of stuff, there's a GAP, a JC Penney... You need everything, right?" They both looked reluctant to choose, so I turned to my daughters for help. "Girls, if you had to pick a store to buy clothes for our new friends...?" With almost no hesitation, we were headed to Macy's. Sasha ran to the women's section, picked a black dress off the rack, brought it back to Carla, and held it up.

"This would make your eyes so pretty!" my little fashionista declared, and Carla went to try it on, giggling. When she came out of the fitting room to model it for us, to a chorus of 'beautiful!', 'stunning!', and 'you go girl!' from my daughters and a completely stunned nod from me, she beamed us a smile. After changing back into her worn clothing, she walked up to me and her sister holding the dress.

"That was so fun! Your girls are sweet. But... this dress is $500. That'd be way too much! You're being so nice to us, I can't ask you to do that." She looked sad, having loved trying it on.

"Did you like the dress?" She nodded sadly. "Get it. You looked beautiful, and it would make Sasha so happy. Here," I handed Francesca my credit card and she looked like the plastic almost burned her hand, "that card has a $25,000 limit and is fully paid off. Buy whatever you need for clothing, and some shoes. I'm going to run across the street to pick up some stuff young women typically need, and I'll just leave everything in your bathroom when we get home."

"You... we can't..." she looked like she was holding a loaded gun.

"If you can't spend that much on clothing for yourselves, I'm sure Katya can help!" My daughter erupted in a huge smile, "and Sasha's already made a solid start." We looked over to see my oldest holding a small pile of clothes and standing impatiently by the fitting rooms.

"I can! Okay, so Francesca, these are for you," she set about half the items on hooks outside one fitting room, "and Carla you have to try these on."

Francesca looked close to panic, and her eyes seemed to be scanning for an escape route. I laughed, and guided her to the room indicated by Sasha. "Have fun! Oh, and don't forget, like, normal clothes in Sasha's high-fashion spree."

"Leo. This is too much!" she finally hissed to me through gritted teeth.

I stopped and looked her dead in the eyes. Speaking softly so as not to be heard, I told her firmly, "my little girls' mother died. They haven't gotten to go shopping for women's clothing in 3 years, since Clara passed. She loved shopping with our girls, putting on little fashion shows with anything they picked out. It was something they all loved doing together. They want to feel like that, at least, can still happen without her. It will make them feel close to their mother. Do not break my girls' hearts." When Francesca, with big, watery eyes, nodded that she would, I smiled, thanked her, and walked away. Carla, of course, was already in Katya's clutches, laughing with her as she looked through the young girl's selections.

I smiled to myself as I left the store. Fine, so it had been a bit of a white lie! Clara had died when Katya was 2 and Sasha was 5. Clara had loved shopping with them, but it hadn't been quite as big a mother-daughter tradition as I had let on. But I knew Clara would have approved. I smiled, and went to CVS.

4 hours later, I walked back into the mall, having finished all of my errands. I had purchased feminine products for the women, school supplies for them both (Francesca, I had resolved, should have the chance to get her GED), nice laptops and cell phones for them, and a week's worth of groceries for the 5 of us. I was feeling good, and hoped that my girls hadn't been too aggressive and scarred our guests.

I was just thinking where I should start looking for them when I overhead some teenage girls laughing, telling each other stories about what they had just seen. "And then, the little girl grabbed a measuring ribbon and starts checking how wide the Mexican's hips are!"

I was a little bit put off by hearing one of the ladies described as 'the Mexican' but now didn't seem the time for racial sensitivity training. "Excuse me?" When the teenager looked at me cautiously, I went on, "that little girl's my daughter; where are they?"

"They're in Victoria's Secret still, I think..." I nodded, thanked her, and started walking to the store, leaving the teenagers giggling and I'm sure gossiping behind my back.

When I arrived at the store, I immediately heard Katya screaming her joy as she selected items, and saw Carla smiling as she went to try them on. I looked around and saw Sasha standing, looking forlorn, outside a fitting room. I immediately rushed over, hugged her, and asked, "what's up, sweety? Is everything okay?" She shook her head and looked at me with big eyes, motioning towards the fitting room curtain. I heard soft sobbing coming from inside, and was scared that maybe Sasha had been insensitive or something.

"Francesca? Are you okay?" I asked.

"It's fine, just go... We don't deserve this!" she cried, and Carla heard as she came out to model a matching bra/panty set for my other daughter. Damn, that young woman had a body that could melt steel! Or, in this case and much to my chagrin, start steel forming... I quickly looked away, but Carla came over to see what was happening.

"Hermana?" she asked softly, to no response. She peeked her head into the fitting room, and then stepped in, pulling me in with her.

I was once again floored. I had seen Francesca wearing dirty, tattered clothing and covered in dirt, and had not been trying to notice either of the young ladies in this capacity anyways, but in this context I couldn't help but stare. Holy. Fuck.

Francesca was about an inch taller than her sister, at 5'3", and roughly the same weight. She had washboard abs, though maybe a bit on the too-skinny side, and long, smooth legs ending in petite, cute feet. Her wide hips stretched the cotton panties she had been trying on, and her gorgeous hair hung down past her shoulders, partially shielding her crying face. The ends of her hair, though, rested near the tops of the most incredible pair of breasts I had ever seen. Where her younger sister had a perky set of maybe B-cup boobs, Francesca was stacked. They had to be at least a D-cup, and sat high and proud on her chest. I shook my head to get it out of the gutter, and Francesca looked up at me and her sister.