Ghost from the past

Disclaimer: Long read with some sexual content.

“Oh god, what did I do?” she screamed.

Sitting in the middle of the old warehouse, that was the last place on earth that Gypsy thought she would be. A date, yes, the night started with a date with a client. The first one in over a year. She knew this is what she needed to drive the thoughts of that man from her head. She would kill him off with the sins of the flesh, knowing he would never touch her again if she carried the scent of another in her veins. It was insanity that drove her back to Dave. Back to the man who started her in the business at 16 years old. The same man who gave her a fake ID and told her never to reveal her real age to anyone. Not even the client. He was disgusting, but he got her off the streets into a warm bed. Gypsy was finally away from her father and all of his sickness, but was this any better? She was taking money from the same people that snuck in her nightmares and scraped the dignity from her soul.

“I have a request for you,” Dave said. He tossed that out before even saying hello to the young blond. He knew she was out of the business and raising her daughter away from the danger that seemed to follow her everywhere.

“Fuck you. I told you, fat ass, don’t call me again. I’m retired,” Gypsy growled into the phone. The last time she contacted Dave, she bought the office building he was renting and converted it to a hostel for teens. He should know better than to fuck with someone who held in her hand a black book that could destroy the character of most of Hollywood. Some of the secrets she vaulted were as dangerous as having a loaded gun to her head.

“Fifty grand. Please do what you want with it. The client is offering big money just for a couple of hours of your time. Come on, Mary, do this for me. I need the cash,” Dave begged. He used her legal name. Something was up because he had never called her that in the past. That sent her spidey senses into overdrive. What if Frank Paloma was reaching out from beyond the grave? God, that fear was itching at her soul right now.

“Alright. When and where. I am not letting anyone come to my home. Fax me over a location, dress requested, and a time. Just remember, this is the last time I do this, Dave. I don’t want to be a part of your bullshit business anymore, and before the date, I want the wire transfer into my account. All of it, not just the normal retainer fee,” she said. She would regret this later, but right now, the money would be an excellent donation to Children of the Night. What a fucking hypocrite she was. She was giving flesh money to a charity fighting to get kids off the street and away from this kind of abuse.

The sound of the fax machine sent chills up and down her spine. She hadn’t heard that particular nonsense in a year. Thankfully she had a live-in Nanny for her daughter so that Grace would be fine. Gypsy trusted none, but the Nanny seemed to be decent enough.

Dinner was the plan according to the sheet. She would wear a black dress, stockings, and he requested 4-inch heels. That added to her 5ft 10-inch stature would make her over 6 ft tall. She hoped that this man was a giant or she would tower over him. Thankfully, she already has a closet filled with clothing from her escort days that would suffice his needs.

“Gracie girl, Mommy will be home soon. Be a good girl for the Nanny,” Gypsy smiled. Leaning down and kissing the top of her daughter’s head, it was bittersweet. She was betraying the promise she made to herself never to fall victim to a man again. Thankfully Grace would never know this part of her mother’s life. She would make sure that this time was the last. After tonight, Gypsy would block Dave’s number and never allow that pig back into her life.

Two hours later, pulling up to the hotel destination, her heartbeat so loud in her chest that she thought it would burst her eardrums. The loud banging on the door brought her back to reality. A young boy, well, he was probably older than she, banged on the window of her Porsche waiting for the keys. It was the Valet, and he was only doing his job, but she hated him at that moment. He was as much the enemy as the man she was meeting.

“Don’t scratch it, and don’t steal the change out of the ashtray. Seriously, don’t fuck with my car,” Gypsy said. As she dropped the keys into the boy’s hand, she felt eyes on her. Were they the kids? Or someone else? Strutting into the hotel as she owned it, her dress clung to her body like a second skin, and those heels. She loved those heels—4-inch spike stilettos with a diamond-encrusted toe that oozed money and class. Every man wanted her, and every woman hated her. She was the kind of woman that would smile to your face and laugh the moment you walked by when she was working.

“Miss Kennedy, it’s been so long. Are you here to meet someone?” Franco asked. She met Franco a year ago when she was meeting Frank for one of their dates. He helped her to her car after and made sure no one saw her on the way out. That night Frank was in one of his violent moods. She ended up with two broken ribs, a busted lip, and internal bruises that took months to heal. The twenty grand she made wasn’t worth the suffering she endured.

“It’s been far too long,” she smiled, leaning in to hug him. “I am meeting a client at the restaurant. Do you know who it is?” she asked.

Franco shrugged his shoulders, shaking his head, “No, Miss Kennedy, I haven’t heard of anyone waiting for you.” Franco was lying through his veneer teeth, but that was his job. He handled the guests even if they were the bottom feeders of the earth.

Sighing, she released the hug, thanking him, and walking off to the exclusive eatery located in the hotel. There was one for the public, and then there was this one. Stepping into the place, the first thing she noticed was it was empty. There was not another diner except for the man in the corner waiting for Gypsy to arrive. The closer she was, the more she dreaded this. Whoever he was, he knew enough about her to pay 50 grand for a few hours of her time. That meant it was serious.

As the man stood, he pulled the chair out for Gypsy, his eyes on her, but there was no hunger behind them. It took her a minute to think, but she knew who this was. God, she knew who he was and the damage he could do to her.

“Rocco Lucchese, it’s been far too long. What do I owe the pleasure of your company?” she asked. Gypsy’s heart was racing a million beats a minute. She had not seen this man since the night of the hit in Vegas. The same night she sat at a poker game watching six men play and found herself carried out covered in brain matter and blood. The man next to her lost his life, and the rest kept the game going as though it was second nature to them all. Maybe in their world, it was, but not in hers.

Rocco grabbed the wine bottle, removing the cork himself, before pouring both of them a glass of expensive red wine. Gypsy learned long ago that a man of his caliber never has a bottle corked for him. One reason for that is drugging. The other is that a man does certain things for himself. “I think you will find this to your liking,” Rocco said as he lifted the glass, taking the first drink. That was her cue to do the same. In families, the man’s taken care of before the woman. Gypsy never questioned mafia life. She kept her mouth shut about it.

As she leaned back in the chair, her leg crossed over the other as her toes clutched to keep her shoe on her foot. “I don’t mean this offensive, Rocco, but why are we meeting? Frank is gone, I’ve sworn not to speak, so why?” she asked.

A slight chuckle from the man across the table from her as Gypsy spoke. He was amused at her brazed question. “Well, Miss Kennedy, you know too much. You’re a liability, and I am sure you understand the concern that I have about one day talking in your sleep?” he said. With his hand wrapped around the crystal goblet, Rocco took a deep breath before speaking. “There is a gun pointed at you under the table. You will slowly rise and walk to the door. Outside, a limo is waiting for us both. We need to take this conversation to a private location,” Rocco said.

Gypsy knew it. Dave set her up, knowing that this was going to be the takedown he wanted. She stole his business, so he’s going to steal her life—fair trade in the world of an escort. Raising, Gypsy did as told. On the way out, she thanked Franco once again, but this time there was sarcasm in her voice. He had to know that something was going to happen—another victim to the downfall of society.

Twenty minutes later, after a long silent drive, they arrived at the same pier where Frank met his end. Before she could question the destination, the door opened, and Rocco pushed her from the car. Those 4-inch heels were suddenly a regret. “Fuck, do you need to be so rough? I’m a god damn female,” she spat.

Holding the door on the way out of the limousine, Rocco laughed. “You’re a whore. Let’s face it, Miss Kennedy, you are bought and paid, so whatever I say or do, is acceptable,” he added. “Let’s go inside where it’s warm. Not the warm that Frank met, but out of the chill of the night air,” Rocco said.

Exhaling slow, she walked ahead, pulling the old rusted handle of the warehouse door open before entering. It was dark, dank, and wet. Also, the smell of fish burned her nose. “God damn, could you have picked a better place? I can’t stand the scent of rotting fish,” she growled, her words sharp and to the point—a few more steps in, and her shoes ruined from the collection of water on the floor. The last time Gypsy lost a pair of shoes, Gypsy had slit her wrists and prepared to die. This time, she knew she was going to visit the other side for an extended stay.

“Take the clothes off, everything. I might as well get off first. Plus, I did pay for it,” Rocco smirked, licking his lips as he watched the tall blond. Standing, he rubbed his dick through his pants, almost salivating from the view. Frank was the only one in the group to fuck her, and the stories he told had his dick throbbing.

“Are you serious? I thought you had more respect for your wife than to fuck another woman?” Gypsy said. She was trying to buy a little time but knew in her heart that shit wasn’t going to fly this time. These men could care less about who they sink their dick into. One hole was as good as another.

“Whatever,” she said. Reaching down, she pulled the dress up from the hem, yanking it off over her head. The only thing she had on was a pair of black silk panties that left nothing to the imagination. She would have worn something less revealing if she knew this is what they would find the body wearing. She could only hope that Grace never looked the cause of her mother’s death when she got older.

“Those too!” Rocco pointed to the panties.

As Gypsy slipped them off, she took the small pocket knife from the silk, knowing this was her only hope of living. She wouldn’t leave this earth without a fight. Rocco should understand that by the demise of Frank Paloma.

With the use of one finger, she’s beckoned forward, pushed to her knees the moment she came within a foot of Rocco. As the bile built in her stomach, she rested in a puddle of sludge. God knows what kind of bacteria grew in that filth.

“Take my dick out and open your mouth,” Rocco grunted. He didn’t ask, he demanded, but then again, he did pay fifty grand for tonight.

With a curl of her lips, Gypsy looked up as her fingers shook. Pulling his zipper down to release his manhood, he was smaller than most but still sprung to life when removed from the confines. “Wow, impressive,” she lied. God, she loved to build a man up only to take him down minutes later. With her mouth opened wide, she swallowed him down, making him lose all thoughts. She gave stroke into her mouth before she slowly inched her hand up his thigh, placing the blade on the side of his dick. The moment she pulled back, the head locked in her teeth, Gypsy ran the knife across the base. Shaking her head from side to side, she fell back due to the slippery ground, his cock coming with her.

“You ripped my dick off,” Rocco screamed.

As she looked up, pulling the member from her mouth, Gypsy smirked, high on the rush of winning. Pointing her finger at Rocco, laughing, she couldn’t help it. Reality hadn’t set in yet. “Wow, you were small before, but now, Jesus, you’re pathetic,” she laughed.

Rocco took a few steps before falling to the ground, his face in a puddle of stagnant water. Every scream filled his lung with the fluid, drowning him in his blood and filth. It was then that reality hit. She had killed a man. It wasn’t just any man, but the boss of a very prominent family. Rocco Lucchese was dead in the most horrific of ways.

“Oh fuck, what have I done?” she whispered. The noise from the rafters let her know she wasn’t alone.

3 thoughts on “Ghost from the past

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