“What have I done? I took the life of someone just like me to save myself. I am no better than the men who hurt me,” she cried out as she listened to the tv. It was the first time she realized for every action there is a reaction. At eighteen, all Gypsy thought of was keeping herself out of jail. When the name of the girl was released, she would make sure she had a proper burial. Asking Frank who she was would prove to be damaging, and she wouldn’t bother with upsetting him even more.
Gypsy’s respect for Frank could compare to none. He didn’t have to take care of her. Hell, he didn’t have to do anything, but when it came to the teenage blond, she felt he had a soft spot for her. Of course, Frank Paloma had a sweet spot for no one. She was just too naive to understand that by owing him, she would forever be at his mercy. Just another pawn in his chess game, Gypsy would soon find out that the first payment for his help would be in the form of physical and mental destruction. She would never be the same after the night he showed her his true colors. A phone call would change her life forever.
“Gyspy, that the fuck happened last night?” Dave asked.
By the sound of his voice, he heard the news about the man she met the night before. He didn’t sound pleased about losing a client, but more than that. He would lose his best girl if implicated in this attack. Dave was not the kind of man who cared about the details that led up to what happened. He cared about the amount of money he would lose if Gypsy weren’t able to perform her job anymore. Sick, but true. This man lived off the flesh he peddled to his high-class clientele. She never meant anything to him unless she was able to enhance his bank account.
“I showed up, but he already found another girl. He said he couldn’t wait and found someone off the street,” she lied. There was no way that Gypsy would implicate herself in that stabbing, though she was the one who should be held accountable. Her guilt was eating away, and she was sure Dave could hear that in her voice.
“You dumb fucking bitch. You were late, weren’t you? Always fucking late, and now we’re out a client because of your stupidity. How the fuck can he get his dick up now? The mother fucker’s paralyzed from the waist down, and he can’t speak. You owe me your next four jobs for this shit,” he yelled. “He fucking spent twenty grand a month here, and you blew it for me. Stupid bitches don’t know how to get off your asses and do your job,” again, Dave screamed through the phone.
Gypsy lost her patience with the man. For two years, she took the verbal abuse of a man who sat on his ass instead of working. He was never going to care about anyone other than the person that delivered him food daily.
“Listen here. You’re a fat fucking pig. I won’t take this shit from you any longer. Got it? You hired a sixteen-year-old girl and used her body to feed your stomach. If you so much as raise your voice to me again, I will make sure everyone knows that the girls you hire are all underage and that you force them to perform disgusting acts for money,” she threatened. Breathing hard, her hands gripped the table to the point that her knuckles turned white. “Furthermore..” she said, but the line went dead on the other side. Dave either ran or had a heart attack. She hoped it was the later.
Gypsy stood at the pocket doors that led to her secluded patio, watching the ocean break on the shore. In the last twenty-four hours, her life went from a mess to a full-blown disaster. She owed Frank, Dave wasn’t going to pay her until he saw fit, and she was carrying around a pang of guilt that formed knots in her stomach the size of baseballs. If life couldn’t get any worse, the phone rang in the tune of her mother’s ringtone. She would allow that one to go to voicemail. Speaking to Amelia was something she wasn’t ready to do. Not yet, not ever.
Swiping her finger over the phone to listen to the message left, she dropped her head from the view of the ocean to one of utter disgust.
“Mary, you need to come home. Uncle Robert was stabbed last night, and your father is taking it hard. I think it would make him feel special if you came home to show support for your family in this time of need. Plus, the holidays are coming, and I demand you spend them with us this year. I’ll have the maid make up your room. Mama loves you. See you soon.”
Gypsy broke out into a full belly laugh. Did her mother honestly believe she gave a fuck about what her father needed, or the holidays coming up? Was she that naive to think that her daughter would run into their arms and confess loving and missing the family? Hell would freeze over before she took one step back in the house, or into the embrace of the evil that dwelled within the walls of the place she called hell.