The Arrest -12-

Gypsy knew the rules of the game. She learned them at seventeen. In two years time she felt as though she had lived a lifetime. Rule number one, you never reveal the client’s name or what happened during the meeting. Until today, she kept that promise to herself. Everything had changed in the past week, and it was time for her to lay her cards on the table. It would make or break her decision to walk back into the escort business again. Gypsy was about to lose everything she worked so hard to get. Her credibility.

After a quick peek through the eye in the door, Gypsy felt the knots building in her stomach. She honestly felt for this woman and didn’t know her at all. She was about to ruin the lives of so many to save her own. Slowly, the door opened, but there was no smile, no greeting, and no formalities.

“Please come inside,” Gypsy whispered. She prayed the lady was alone, and when she walked in and allowed the door to be closed behind her, Gypsy knew she was.

Mercy Paloma was a stunning woman. Chocolate brown hair that hung to her waist, eyes the color of the ocean, and her body. Well, she worked hard on maintaining the trophy wife’s image. “I have little time, so, please tell me what’s so important that I needed to skip my morning massage,” snapped the woman.

Gypsy didn’t bother to ask her to take a seat. She was sure the woman could tell the place was no better than a roach motel. Hell, Gypsy knew if she walked out the door that she would strip every article of clothing from her body in fear of the filth. “I will get straight to the point. Do you remember me from your wedding?” she asked.

A scrunch of her medically altered nose, Mercy shook her head in disgust. “Of course, not. How would you have attended my nuptials? You’re not family, and I can’t fathom you and my husband being friends,” she laughed.

Sucking in a long breath, Gypsy held it until her lungs burned for release. “I was there, but not as a friend. Your husband hired me to attend the event. You see, I am an escort and Dominic wanted someone to relieve his tension before starting his life with you,” confessed Gypsy.

“You fucking liar,” Mercy growled. Reaching out, she slapped the young blond across the face, her hand leaving a welt. “My husband would never touch, well, you. He prefers women with class,” laughing Mercy tilted her head back in disgust.

At any other time Gypsy would laugh it off, but this time, she had it coming. She knew it was wrong to do what she did, but she did her job well. “I assure you, I was there, and we retired to the coat closet as you changed out of your wedding gown and into your formal attire for the evening. It didn’t last long. Maybe 5 minutes. I hope the wedding night was more memorable than that for you,” whispered Gypsy. She meant that as an insult to Dominic, but she knew it was a slap in the face to his wife.

“I don’t believe you. My husband is the most faithful man, and that was my fucking wedding,” she snapped. “Why did you bring me here today?” asking.

“Well, Dominic raped me 2 days ago. He beat me and raped me,” Gypsy admitted. It was the hardest thing in the world for her to say. She felt as low as any woman could telling the wife of her attacker that she was brutalized. “Let me show you something,” whispered the young blond. Without hesitation, she reached to the hem of her shirt, pulling the fabric over her head. Bites, bruises, cuts, and a cigar burn below her left tit gave all the proof she would need. “Dominic did this to me because I wouldn’t give him something he wanted. He hurt me,” she said, this time the tears running down her face. As quick as she took it off, she put the shirt back on.

Visibly shaken, Mercy looked as though she had seen a ghost inside of each bruise that painted Gypsy with disgust. “No. I’m sorry, but Dominic would never touch a female like that. He has respect for women, though I wouldn’t blame him for doing that. You’re a whore after all,” Mercy explained.

As though she took a punch to the gut, Gypsy stepped back, nodding her head. She had that one coming. It was true, well the part about her being an escort. Dominic Paloma was scum. He didn’t respect anyone or anything, and the world around him knew it. He was a cold and calculating killer.

“I’m sorry that you believe that, but it’s true. I didn’t deserve this, no matter who or what I am. You have to know I am not the only one out there that he’s been with,” Gypsy said. She lied about that because she had no clue where Dominic put his dick. “I can prove every word I have said here today,” whispering.

“Then prove it. Show me that what you just said is the truth because all I think of you is that you got stiffed out of money and are trying to blackmail my husband,” laughed Mercy. Crossing her arms over her chest, she was calling the bluff of the young girl. Mercy wanted proof that her husband was the vulture that he was being accused of.

Knock!

Both women turned to the door, Gypsy’s face filled with fear. Holding her finger to her lips, pointing to the bathroom, she shrugged before whispering, “Wait in there and I will prove it all. Open that door and you will never know if what I just said was the truth or a lie.”

It took a minute for Mercy to decide, but her curiosity got the best of her and she slipped into the bathroom. The door cracked so she could hear.

“Open the fucking door, whore. Open it before I slit your fucking throat,” Dominic growled from the other side of the door.

Her entire body shaking, Gypsy opened the door and gave the Devil entrance into her motel room. She knew this was it. She either gave proof, or they would both kill her in the roach infested slum.

“Come in, Dominic,” whispering.

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