Calling in a favor

“You stupid son of a bitch, learn how to drive,” she screamed as her arm waved out the car window in a New York hello. A small-town girl living in a big city, there was a lot to learn about driving. “You’re not in Kansas anymore, kid,” she added. Talking to herself as she drove was something new. New York wasn’t home, and life moved far too fast for her liking. As the young girl passed the car in question, she looked over, horrified at who she had yelled at a few minutes ago. In the front seat of the old black car sat a Priest. Not a Minister, but a full-fledged, I am telling God on you, Priest. 

He scowled as she smiled. Even a five grand in braces smile wouldn’t get her out of this one. There has to be some law about cursing out a man of God, but in her defense, well, she had no defense. Patience was a virtue and all that boring crap. The last thing in the world that Mary wanted was some bad karma laid on her shoulders. Life had been hard enough without God putting a hit out on her. 

A client brought her from her sunny home in Los Angeles, sending her emotions into a spiraling mess. She didn’t want to be back here in this mess she called life. The escort life was not what they portrayed in the films that Hollywood produces. Sure, you get those clients who want to talk and enjoy another person’s company, but then, you get men like Frank Paloma. Thank God that bastard was dead. A quick look at her fingers and she swore the stains of his presence would forever reside in her flesh. At one time, she scrubbed so hard with a cleanser that she caused caustic burns on her ivory flesh. Was she ready to revisit the ghosts of the past? No, but it seemed that they demanded her attention.

Arriving at the hotel, Mary parked like any average person, but as her hand rested on that handle, she froze. If this was how it all ended, why was she so scared? Many times over, she had tried to end her life, but suddenly, there was fear. How can you be afraid of what you begged for night after night? First Frank, then Rocco, and now, who? Was another goon waiting for her beyond those doors? Who had they sent to finish her off this time? 

BANG BANG BANG

A large hard pounded on the car window, bringing Gypsy back to reality. Shook, she was almost afraid to look over, but her nose scrunched to a point at the sight when she did. The person that stood there was not sent from anyone she knew. 

“Bitch, you can’t fucking park here without paying,” he spat. 

A large male loomed over the driver’s side of the car, his fist still on the glass. It was apparent he was homeless and that she had parked in front of his home.

With a quick roll of her eyes, she reached down in her wallet, holding up a game-changer. A hundred dollar bill waving back and forth, Gypsy smirked at the difference in his tone. 

“You can have this if you watch my car for an hour and don’t let anything happen to it,” she spoke. Not waiting for him to respond, she pulled another hundred out, smiling, “I come back, and nothing is fucked up on my car, and you can have this. Deal?” It was a rental, and she didn’t give a fuck about it, but if she needed to leave quickly, the car needed to be waiting. Whoever called this meeting was willing to pay a lot for her to be in New York, and with money comes problems. 

“Yeah, give me the money, and your car will be fine. Don’t, and I’ll piss in your fucking gas tank,” he laughed. 

She slammed the money into his hand, getting out of the car, feeling the pit of her stomach tighten. Dressed in a pencil-thin black skirt and a white button-down blouse, the only other thing she had on was a pair of 5-inch stiletto heels. Anything else was unnecessary. A quick brush of her hands down her clothing, and she walked away without a second thought. If he stole the car, she would take a taxi back to the airport. 

“Ms. Kennedy, welcome. Your party is waiting for you in his room. I will show you the way,” said the male opening the door of the hotel. 

How the hell does he know who she was? That was obvious, but he threw her off for a minute. Of course, he knew. Mary Kennedy is all over the gossip pages, and her family is American royalty. Anyone who read a newspaper would know who this girl was, but thankfully, none knew why she was at the hotel. Her escort life was always kept out of the public eye. 

“Thank you, but if you give me the room number, I can find my way,” she smiled, but behind her eyes, she already hated the man. 

“Very well,” he grunted as he handed her the key and disappeared into the lobby. It was apparent that he was annoyed with her denial.

She grabbed the key, strutting off with newfound confidence. In reality, her stomach twisted in a knot of fear from what she would find on the other side of the hotel room door.  

After a quick ride to the penthouse, Gypsy pushed the key into the door, slipping into the room as quiet as a mouse. The room was just like she thought it would be. Stark white with a view of Central Park that people would die to have. Most of these hotels were the same. Reluctant steps into the room, Gypsy stopped in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, her arms wrapping tight around her body as a gentle reminder that she would be okay. No matter what, she would always rise from the ashes. 

“Hello Mary,” he said, moving from behind her. “How nice of you to visit,” the male added. 

Her head leaned forward to rest on the pane of glass, a shiver of fear bolting up her spine. Never in her wildest of dreams did she expect him to be the one who requested her presence. As the bile built up in the back of her throat, Gypsy turned, staring into the face of her greatest fear. 

“What do you want, Spencer?” she asked. 

The hallow laughter of a psychotic man ricochetted through the room, sending Spencer on a tirade of insults. “My own daughter isn’t happy to see me? What a shame because,” he moved closer, “I am so glad to see you.” 

“You’re not my fucking father,” she cackled in laughter. Maybe it wasn’t the right time or place to drop that bombshell, but she never was one to mince words. “Oh wait, you don’t know, do you?” Gyspy laughed harder. 

“What the fuck are talking about now, you dumb little bitch,” Spencer spat. In two steps, he reached out, knotted his hand in her waist-length blond hair, and pulled her into his arms. Salivating as he spoke, his lips grinding against the shell of her ear, “You were born from my nuts, and before the night is over, I’m going to stuff you back full of them.” 

As the panic set in, Gypsy knew this was it. She was finally done fighting the monster under her bed, and she would either fight or die. Either way, this would be the last time she would ever feel like an 11-year-old child too afraid to go to sleep. Her heart was racing. She did it. She would be the one to break the news that her mother was a whore, or well, that’s what he would call her. Gypsy knew different. Her mom would never win mother of the year, but she had made significant changes in her life. 

“You’re not my fucking father. Listen to my words,” she laughed. “Amelia fucked your brother, and guess what?” her words spit like venom against his face. 

Spencer moved back as though he had been struck by lightning, his face stark white the moment he realized she wasn’t lying to him. “That fucking whore,” he snapped, grabbing the young blond and slamming her face into the pane of glass. “I knew I should have fucked you already. I raised you all those years and wasted my time on a dirty little bastard,” Spencer added. 

“Stop it, fuck you asshole,” she cried, her mouth bleeding from the corner. “I hate you. You’re not even a fucking man, Spencer,” she laughed. Crushed against the transparent glass, her face contorting with pain as he held her by the side of the face. Another power play by the man who she hid from for years, but this time, she didn’t care anymore. If he killed her, she already made sure her daughter was cared for, and she made peace with God long ago. Heaven might not need another whore, but hell awaited her arrival. 

“I’m going to take what’s mine finally. All those years, I paid for a sluts mistake,” Spencer grunted, his hand on his belt, loosening the bind. Ripping it from his body, he quickly placed the loop around her slender neck, dragging her to the kingsize bed. “Get on the fucking bed,” he demanded. 

She screamed, her fingers trying to slip beneath the leather to release the tension on her throat. It wasn’t until she rested in the middle of the bed she was able to take a breath and refill her burning lungs. “STOP IT, SPENCER. I SWEAR TO GOD I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU,” she screamed. Struggling to move to the head of the bed, her heart pounding so strong that the beat echoed against the drums of her ears. 

Spencer stood looking down at the female on the bed, knowing that she would finally be unable to fight back. Whether she wanted it or not, he was going to rip her world apart, and then, he was going take away her life. It was that look on her face that made this all worth it. She looked like a deer caught in the headlights of an approaching car. He would smash into her with a force that will make sure the casket is closed when they lower her into the ground. 

“It looks like daddy is finally going to take what he is owed, doesn’t it, Princess?” Spencer asked, his eyes wild with desperation. 

It wasn’t the act that scared her. Face it. She had endured pain that no person ever should. It was letting him win that hurt her the most. Gypsy fought for years to escape this very moment, and now, she was backed into a corner that she didn’t know how to get out of. Unlike when she was 16, this window was too high for her to escape through. Her screams would alert no one. The upper class didn’t care about a whore being used. They felt she had it coming, but did they know she was someone’s child, someone’s mother? Money buys silence. She knew that all too well. 

“No, not this time. I am not 11 anymore, Spencer. If you want it, you’ll need to kill me first,” she spat. 

Gypsy wasn’t stupid. She knew the world she lived in was one of kill or be killed. Before Spencer could react, her hand went into the small bag Gypsy tossed on the bed when she entered the room. As her fingers wrapped around the small-caliber revolver, this wasn’t how she wanted to kill him. Oh, she wanted to, but this wasn’t the way she saw Spencer Kennedy being taken down. Arms stretched out in front of her, smiling, “Before you killed my ex, he taught me something valuable.” 

His head leaning back in laughter before he brought his eyes to hers once again, “And what was that? How to be a whore?”

Shaking her head, smiling, “No, Daddy, you taught me that.” Without hesitation, she pulled the trigger, the bullet hitting him between the eyes. “He taught me how to never be afraid of the monsters under the bed anymore,” Gypsy slumped as she watched Spencer Kennedy fall back, landing on the floor of the hotel room. 

Gypsy was frozen in fear. The monster was dead. Mary Elizabeth Kennedy was finally free, and her daughter would never have to live in the paralyzing fear that her mother did. 

As she moved from the bed, Gypsy slipped the gun back into her bag, hoovering over the body one last time. “When a child cries in the night, people should listen. I wish someone listened to me,” her voice quivered. 

Arriving at her car, Gypsy handed the bum the hundred dollar bill, leaving before the cops arrived. Making a call as she drove away, it was time to call in another favor. If the mafia wanted what she knew, they would need to clean up the evidence quickly. 

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