I use to chase Peter through the wind, catching a ride on his dust, savoring each flake. Opening my eyes, the flicker faded with the years. His glow dimmed with age, the memory of him along with his flame. I am no longer your foolish puppet who circled each word spoken with imaginary hearts. I grew up, but you never did.
The beginning of the end. Pt 1
Current mood:
ashamed
The end
January 20th
"One time. Come on, Gypsy. He asked for you, and only you," Dave begged.
I hate that man with a passion and at times wished allowed Nicolette to slaughter him like a pig. I guess it was that he was the one to take me off the streets and get me some good clientele. Well, rich, not good.
"When I do this, lose my number. Fax me all the details and wire me the cash," I growled.
A quick slide of the finger and the call ended, but that alert from the fax brought me back to a hard reality. This is all I will ever be, and no man will ever want trash. Okay, that's not entirely true, but a decent one wouldn't.
The paper dangled and fell to the ground like a warning, but being stupid, I didn't listen. Reading the brief outline, the date seemed easy enough. Dinner at Casa Migos and attending a business meeting with the client. I attend many of those because of my ability to remember details.
A long hot bubble bath soothing the ache in my stomach. Was it nerves, or the fact that I once again forgot to eat? Could be a bit of both. Shivering as I stepped from the tub, my fluffy white robe comforted me. Glancing to the clothes on the bed, they reminded me that tonight wouldn't be my own.
I wore a simple black dress with a slit in the side. I also wore black thigh high boots and, of course, the red lipstick that everyone begs for. I've been to Casa Migos a few times, and this would be appropriate for the laid-back atmosphere.
A car arrived promptly at 8pm, the driver standing at the back waiting when I walked out. He seemed to be about 30ish, dark features, and wearing a suit. Not like most drivers wear, but Armani. That sent the first warning. Dave didn't order the car, so whoever the client was knew my address. That's should have been a red flag, but all I wanted was to get the night over and come home to the safety of my own home.
"Miss Gypsy, I take it," a voice said from inside the dark car.
I nodded as I entered the black SUV, my eyes trying to adjust to get a better view of the client. Dark hair, creepy blue eyes, and from what I can tell, a muscular body. Sometimes it's hard to tell from a sitting position.
"Yes, and you are?" I asked, squinting my eyes to get a better glimpse.
"Gio," he said.
Missing a last name, I didn't say a word. His thick Hispanic accent sent shivers of my spine. The first thing that popped into my mind was Cartel, but I quickly sent that packing. There is one group that I will never cross, and that's the Cartel. Those mother f***ers will chop off your head for looking at them the wrong way. My pretty little neck looks better with the head attached.
"Nice to meet..." I stopped.
The man put his finger to his lips, pulling the phone out and answering it. F***, this is where I wish I paid more attention in Spanish class. I knew bits and pieces, but not enough to save my life.
"Sí, la recogí."
Silence for a moment, I tried to hear the other side of the conversation, but nothing. Either the person spoke low, or the sound of my heart beating dulled my ears.
"10 minutos. Le haré entender."
With that said, Gio pushed the phone closed, and took the last drink of what appeared to be whiskey in his glass. Fisting the glass, he looked over, his face soured by the phone call. Whatever was said on the other end must have hit a trigger on the man.
"Your father is Spencer Kennedy, no?" he asked.
My body stiffened the moment that animal was mentioned. I knew something was off when Dave called, but never did I imagine it could have anything to do with my father. That was one subject that will kill a mood fast.
"Yes, why? Oh god, did he send you here?" I asked, trying hard not to show emotions in my voice.
Cackling with laughter, the man pulled a cigar from the holder, lighting up with a big inhale of smoke. He took a few pulls on the cigar before shaking his head. "No, but you will talk to him for me, puta," he laughed.
I knew what that was and though it shouldn't have affected me, it did. Who the f*** was this piece of Mexican trash to call me a whore? Taking a deep breath before speaking, my eyes narrowed into almost a squint.
"Yes, but he and I do not speak. You're talking to the wrong person if you think I will pass anything on to Spencer," I growled.
I never saw the hit coming, but I felt it. My head hitting the window, I cried out knowing my face now held the rage inside of this man. Bringing my hand to my face, the welts now forming, I refused to cry. Never again will a man make me cry. That was a promise I gave myself a long time ago.
"Now then. Tell your father to lose the Cortez file or, he will lose his only daughter," Gio demanded.
My eyes closed for a moment to collect my senses. The hit hurt more than it should have. Spencer wouldn't do sh*t to save me. In fact, he would piss on my grave when they buried my rotting corpse.
"No. I won't tell that pedophile bastard anything for you. You have something to say, do it yourself," I snapped.
The car coming to a sudden stop, the passenger's door opening before I could do anything. Reaching in, a male grabbed my hair, pulling my body to the concrete outside.
"Convince her," Gio ordered.
I laid flat on the concrete, not realizing what would come next. The impact took the breath from my body, but I didn't cry. Not a word uttered as the male brought the heel of his boot to my hand, shattering it on impact. As an artist, taking away my ability to paint was worse than my life. What am I if I can't show the world my insides every time, I pick up a brush? Tucking my hand under my body, I don't even know how long I laid there before a cop found me. All I know is I won't tell Spencer anything, and whoever Cortez is, he couldn't hurt me more than he had tonight.
The branch hit the window for the thousandth time. Southern California was in the middle of the Storm of the Century, and though she had security on-call, Mary had never felt more alone in her life. Living on the beach was both a blessing and a curse. When her roommate was there with her, she never felt like this. She felt safe, loved, and warm. It was her weekend away, and Mary couldn't shake the fear that she was being watched. Maybe it was the knocking on the window or the wind coming off the ocean. Either way, there was an eerie howl that sent shivers up her spine. Every hair on her body seemed to stand at attention, making her even more paranoid than usual.
A quick run through the house, Mary checked each window and door to the spacious home. Thankfully, it was a single story, but five bedrooms, two baths, and a maid quarters off the kitchen. It was one of those times she second-guessed her decision to buy this massive estate. As she walked down the hall to the last room, that was when she noticed it—a bone-chilling wind. Something was open to allow the draft into her home. Inching her feet closer to the door, it took an effort for her to turn that old brass knob. Holding tight to the metal, her feet bouncing back and forth, Mary held her breath when she pushed it open. Nothing. Not a damn thing on the other side other than an open window. The room was vacant of all furnishings. She planned on one day using it as a home studio, but that day hadn't come. With a quick run across the hardwood floor, Mary slammed the window down, forcing the weathered lock closed. The one downfall of living by the beach is that the salt in the air and water damage quicker than usual. As though she was still a child, Mary ran from the room, slamming the door tight behind her. It was reminiscent of the times she would enter her childhood bed from a running start. If you get too close to the edges of the bed, a hand will reach out and drag you to hell. Isn't that every child's worst nightmare?
After a quick drink of brandy to calm her nerves, Mary realized how much she hated the taste of alcohol. The bar in the house was only there for guests. She rarely took a drink. Tonight, though, she needed something not only to sedate her overactive imagination but to warm her soul. Wrapping her hands around the glass, she settled into the corner of the couch, pushing her body as deep as she could into the cushions. It felt like a big hug the deeper she nestled, but in reality, Mary wished she could slip into the fabric and stay until dawn broke over the horizon. Daylight brought safety, or so she hoped. The more the storm raged outside, the deeper her paranoia settled into her bones. A bottle of sleeping pills on the table seemed to call her name, but did she want to sleep? The what if's haunted her tonight. Next came the blanket from the back of the couch. An old afghan that her grandmother gave her mother, who gave it to Mary. Spread over the body, tucking her feet down tight, the bottle on the table once again called her name.
"Stop it, dammit!" she whispered.
A crack of light from outside, and the house went dark. The storm knocked out the power with one jolt of lightning. It wasn't the breaker box this time. The power pole took a direct hit, forcing the entire block to go dark. A squeal, or was that a squeak that escaped her lips? A quick grab for her phone. Mary used the flashlight to search the room. Whatever she was looking for, she never found. All that existed were shadows on the wall and the howl of the wind. Both can play tricks on the frightened mind. Putting her hand to her wrist, checking her pulse. Under the tips of her fingers, she felt the thump of her heart racing. Holding her hand to her face, the flashlight on her wrist, Mary checked to see if she could see the pulse. Of course, that was another fear taking control of her active imagination.
CRACK!
Screaming, Mary pulled the old blanket over her head, hiding. What was she hiding from, though? The rain? Or maybe the wind? Reaching for the bottle on the table, she carefully opened the container, quickly swallowing one. If she slept, all the bad things in the world would go to sleep for the night with her. Does fear work like that? In the irrational mind, anything is possible. Mary held the bottle in her hand as though it was the key to saving her, jiggling them every few minutes to make sure they were still there.
"Maybe one more?" she asked.
Without reservation, Mary opened the bottle once again, swallowing the pill dry this time. If one didn't work, surely two would knock her out for hours, right? Before she could set the bottle down again, she would swallow two more of the little white pills. She took more than three times the dosage amount. It was more than she ever took, but with the fear of the unknown lurking around the room, all Mary wanted was to close her eyes to whatever would happen. Within minutes, her dream to sleep turned into a nightmare she couldn't escape.
There was a soft humming from behind the couch. He had laid in wait for hours. Honestly, he wondered for a while if this one would ever fall asleep. Each time Mary swallowed another pill, he inched closer to getting what he wanted more than anything in the world. Another trophy for his imaginary mantle. On his hands and knees, this man, or was he a beast, crawled to the end to get a closer look at Sleeping Beauty. A sharp inhale. He took in her scent. Sweet with a hint of honeysuckle, this one reminded him of the first day of spring. Or maybe funeral flowers.
"The itsy bitsy spider crawled up the water spout," he sang as the tips of his fingers crawled closer.
All those hours that passed put vivid images into his head. Would he kill her? Or play with her mind? The possibilities are endless when a sick mind is at the helm. He unsheathed, a 6-inch hunting blade now rested in his hand, the calloused digits wrapped tight around the pearl handle. It was his Grandfather's knife. A family heirloom handed down to him on his 12th birthday. The day it all began. He killed his best friend that day. It was an accident, but no one ever forgot it. Forever labeled a killer, he would never find peace again. Twenty-two deaths later, his last one was laying out like sleeping beauty on the couch. His eyes diverted to the table, the bottle read, "take one as needed before bedtime." He wanted her to beg for him to spare her life. To cry out for him to stop, but of course, he wouldn't. Once the first scent of blood was in the air, he would envelop into a frenzy that wouldn't end until exhaustion took hold of his body.
"How am I supposed to kill you if you won't wake up?" he asked.
As the storm raged on, so did the one he played out in his head. The knife rested in his hand as he sat on the floor next to Mary. A loose grip threatening to force it from his fingers, but each time it slipped, he tucked it back tight in his hand. With boredom creeping in, his need to see her grew. Wrapping his index finger in the blanket, he slowly inched it down to reveal her chest. Small breasts, but well defined, she was pretty. Not stunning like a model, but pretty like a flower.
"A sunflower standing tall in the heat of the summer. You are bold against the wind," he whispered.
A few more inches revealed, he pulled it down to her uncover her torso. Though she covered herself with a thin white t-shirt, he could see the definition of her stomach beneath. Athletic, but no abs. He hated those women who worked out so much that their bodies lost the softness. Those were the women that worked out down at muscle beach. On warm days he stood outside the chain-link fence and taunted them with homosexual slurs and the rants of how they would go to hell for ruining their bodies. More times than he could count, the cops came and forced him to leave. Didn't they understand that he only did it to help them?
"Never ruin this body. You will look so beautiful covered in blood," he added.
Only a little more, maybe an inch. As the afghan lowered, his heart rate rose. It was pounding against his eardrums by the time he reached Mary's panties. White silk molded so tight to her body that her slit was visible through the sheer material. It tucked up into the crease, letting his imagination run wild. There was no hair to ruin it. For the first time, he thought about how she would taste. What could it hurt? Right? She would never know that he touched her. He inched over onto his knees, his face lowered to the source of her heart. As he inhaled deeply, that scent was intoxicating. If only he could bury his face in there and suck her soul right out through her cunt.
"Stop it. You're not a f***ing rapist. This dumb bitch needs to wake up already," he said.
As the bile rose, the threat of vomiting came with it. A couple of quick breaths was all he needed to force it back down, but he would need never to think that way again. Sins of the flesh weaken a man, and he was strong. Stronger than those idiots down there at the beach. All of them pointing and calling him a scrawny little p**sy. He would show them one day when his face was all over the papers and his name as famous as Manson and Bundy.
"F***ing whore, tempting me with that cunt of yours. All you think about is sex. I should crave your p**sy out with a knife. Yeah, they will remember me then," growling, his words followed by a line of saliva. He was drooling like a dog in heat, and the bitch pranced by wiggling her ass.
Mary moaned softly in her sleep, turning slightly to block his view of her panties. She was usually a light sleeper, but tonight, she slept like a baby. The four sleeping pills knocked her out.
"Wake up, wake up, wake up," he whispered.
His breaths coming in pants, he rocked back and forth on his knees as he watched Mary sleep. Like a child on Christmas morning, his eyes glazed over in anticipation of opening his gifts. How could he kill her and get the full effect if she was too numb to feel it? If there isn't screaming, there is no fun at all. Well, for him, there wasn't. For him to become a true legend, it had to be just right. No mistakes made. It was those panties that ruined it all. He pushed her slowly to her back. The knife pressed against the material of her panties, gently slicing across the crotch. Metal to the flesh, he peeled back the thin fabric, exposing her ivory petals. He wanted to f*** her with the knife. Cut her wide open while she begged for him to stop.
BANG BANG BANG
"Mary, are you alright? The storm knocked out all the power. I want to make sure your okay."
A voice from the other side of the door rattled the sleeping girl, forcing her out of her drug-induced coma. Without a trace, he was gone, but this won't be the last time. She owed him, and next time, he would make sure her funeral wasn't an open casket.
Life is either a daring adventure or nothing at all
What happens when you leave crumbs? The birds will follow you home, and if you feed them, they will never leave.
Nicolette knew this was far from over. If only Dave had followed the rules and never sent Gypsy that request. She would deal with her cousin later as to why she sunk back into the pits of hell for a couple of bucks. She was a f***ing Kennedy, for f*** sakes. There was no need for her to open her legs for anything other than love. If she hadn't learned anything before tonight, Nicolette was sure this episode was the cure she needed. One could hope, at least.
As the midnight blue Bugatti moved through Los Angeles's streets, the music played in the background. Not any music. It was the Phantom of the Opera soundtrack. Fitting, it seemed. As she programmed the address into the GPS, Nicolette knew she didn't need it, but there was something funny about at least one person knowing where she was going.
As the car pulled into the lot, she looked around at the scum walking the streets. It was pitiful the way Americans took care of their own. Pay them nothing and expect them to survive in a world where you will never make it if you don't have money. Most of these street urchins lost to drugs, but not all of them. Occasionally, a mother and child would catch her eyes. Those were the ones that broke the heart she never thought she possessed. She never gave them cash, but she would get a hotel and a hot meal for them. Money meant drugs, and she was opposed to numbing yourself to make it through another day.
Nicolette checked her watch before exiting the car. Dawn had broken a few hours prior, and the only vehicle in the parking lot had a fast-food sticker on the bumper. There is only one person that could be. Dave was in the office and more than likely stuffing another lard-filled meal down his throat. Maybe she would help it along. Nic grabbed one last thing. A duffle bag from the trunk.
The moment Nicolette stepped into the building, she smelled it. Body odor, rancid food, and greed. Some would say the latter had no scent, but for Nic, she could sniff out a money-grubbing pig the moment she smelled one. She walked down the hall of the dilapidated office building, her nails raked across the wall, a forewarning to her arrival. She would play fair with Dave by giving him a chance to run. It was too bad. The only thing he worried about was running out of ranch for the pizza he was dunking it in.
As she slipped inside, Nicolette pounded on the walls of the old building, following the scent of cheap food. Step by step, her stomach filled with laughter. She could only imagine the look on his face if she carried an ax behind her and not the duffle bag. Honestly, it might save her a lot of work. Fat bastard would have a heart attack all on his own, but what fun would that be? Dave deserved all the bells and whistles that a woman like Nicolette could provide. She was a force to be reckoned with when someone f***s with her family the way he did.
"Who the f*** is out there," Dave yelled. Pushing back his chair with a squeak of the wheels, the three hundred and fifty-pound man waddled from the office, greasy bib still attached. The moment his eyes took in the person in front of him, panic set in. Dave wasn't ready for another encounter with Nicolette, but she couldn't wait for hers.
With a smirk, Nicolette advanced, shooing him back in the office, "Oh, go eat the rest of your food. You don't want to waste your last meal, now do you?" As she pushed her way into his office, Nic placed her hand to his chest, forcing the rotund man to step back in against his will. "Sit the f*** down. We need to talk about what you did last night. I'm sure even with all that sh*t clogging your arteries, you can remember sending my Saint of a cousin on a date with Rocco Lucchese," Nicolette said.
"Saint? Who the f*** are you kidding. That bitch is a whore, and one of the best, I might add," Dave laughed as he picked up another slice of pizza. As he stuffed the pie into his mouth, the grease ran down his arm, his face littered with remnants of the meal, "You need to get your f***ing glasses checked if you think that dumb bitch is a Saint. By the way, how did her date go?" Dave laughed as he ate, food spilling from his mouth.
"Have you no shame? Jesus Christ, man, you eat like a pig. Oink oink," Nicolette cackled. As the memory of Frank Paloma eaten alive by a pack of feral pigs forced its way into her mind, she knew that was too good for Dave. He deserved something special. Something that only Nicolette could give him. As she sat across from the man, her right leg crossing to expose her long legs to him, the way he looked at her was not the same as the food. He seemed to almost orgasm from the sh*t that went down his throat. Maybe you can fall for food. God knows if his weight was any indication he fell in love a lot. She wondered if the fast-food establishments would grieve when he was gone? They would soon find out just how dedicated to their customers they were.
"Can you leave? I sent the f***ing money to the whore already. Not my fault if she went missing afterward," his voice rang out in a snarky tone.
With a simple tap of her fingers on her knew, Nic heard all she needed. That a**hole knew what was going to happen to her cousin. "Missing? Oh, you fat f***, there is nothing wrong with Gypsy. She is home with her daughter, where she belongs. Now, Mr. Lucchese, well, he doesn't swim very well. I hope he paid you in advance?" she asked. Nicolette wasn't prepared for the shock on the man's face. He looked like a ghost walked through the room and slapped him. "What's wrong? Cat got your tongue?" she laughed.
Dave fumbled for his words as he wiped the grease from his fingers, "Bitch, why the f*** are you even here? I have nothing for you other than a hard d*ck. You want some of this?" Dave was showing his fear as the time ticked away. Grabbing his phone, dialing, the other end of the line rang once before being picked up. "Let me speak to Mr. Lucchese. It's important," he said. As silence filled the room, Dave listened to the man on the other end scream that his boss went missing fourteen hours prior.
Sitting back in her chair, Nicolette smirked. It was one of those Kodak moments. "Seems like you were the last one to speak to poor Rocco. Can you imagine what's going to happen to you when his people come looking for him? I don't know much about the Mafia, but when the boss ghosts, so do the last people in contact with him," uttered Nicolette.
"The whore was the last one. Not me. All I did was set up the f***ing hit, nothing else. F*** you bitch," Dave screamed.
Nicolette shook her head, but this time, the laughter wasn't there. She didn't know for sure that Dave set Gypsy up until now. His confession sealed his coffin. Pushing her lips to a drastic bow, she grabbed the bag on the floor, pulling out a handgun. "Now, here's the deal. I hate these things. I don't even know how to use them, but Rocco was kind enough to leave this behind, so I guess that was heaven sent?" she said. As she twirled the weapon around in her hand, pointing it at Dave as she tapped the floor. "Do you remember when Gypsy complained to you that Frank Paloma used a gun on her? Raped her with it before he hurt her?" she asked. "What did you say to her when she cried for months over that ordeal?" Nicolette asked.
Dave's eyes widened to the size of saucers, shaking his head, "She never told me. I swear it. She never said he hurt her."
"You f***ing liar. She cried to you, and you told her to suck it up and be a real woman," she screamed. "Get on your f***ing knees," Nicolette demanded.
"F*** you," Dave screamed.
"One, two," she said, her finger on the trigger of the gun. If she got to three, Dave was going to ruin all her fun. She smirked as he dropped to his knees, putting his hands in the air in self-defense. Did this man think Nicolette had anything that would closely resemble a heart? As she moved closer, Nic rubbed the nozzle of the gun across his lips, pushing down on his bottom lip. "Opened wide. Come on, Dave. Just pretend it's a burger. Open up and say ah," she laughed.
His mouth opened just as Nicolette pushed the gun into his mouth, holding it, so the barrel laid across his tongue. She wondered for a moment if he could taste the last kill? Could he taste gunpowder, or was it clean? "Wrap your lips around it. You know, like Gypsy did. Wait, different lips, but same results. Close the mouth," Nicolette said. Moving the weapon in and out, she f***ed his mouth with the revolver, disgusted as a thin line of saliva dripped down his chins.
Dave mumbled, sucking off the gun, his eyes filling with tears. For a second, Nicolette caught the image of her cousin doing the same. She knew Gypsy well enough to know she begged for her life when she was assaulted. In and out, the weapon slid with his saliva as lubrication. He was lucky. She could have f***ed him dry, but this was much more fun.
"All of this, well, sorry Dave, but it's boring. I've seen better p0rn," she laughed. She pulled the trigger, the empty chamber rang out, but nothing happened. "Sh*t," she said. Completely clearing the weapon in his mouth, Nicolette shrugged her shoulders as though she was shocked. Far from it. The young woman would never use a gun on anyone. She was more personal when it came to death. A gun has no soul.
"You f***ing bitch. Dumb f***ing cunt," Dave screamed.
Without hesitation, Nicolette grabbed the letter opener on the desk, ramming it through the side of his head, a direct hit to the temple. As she pulled back, her fist slammed into the skull one more time before the fat son of a bitch fell forward, face-planting on the dirty floor. She left the weapon inside his head, knowing that when they ran it for prints, nothing would come back. Her birth was never recorded. She was the ghost that no one ever wanted for a haunting.
"Well, then, it looks like my work's done. Remember Dave; gluttony is one of the seven deadly sins. You f***ed up, fat boy," Nicolette laughed as she left the building. She would rid the world one pig at a time.
Life is either a daring adventure or nothing at all
It was a day that Gypsy would never forget. Her mouth still coated with the blood of Rocco Lucchese, she looked over at her cousin with a silent stare. Usually, it was Nicolette who finished them off, but this time, Gypsy herself killed the man so brutally that she still felt as though she might puke again. If he was a soldier, the Lucchese family might allow her to live, but this time, she killed the main man so brutally that his manhood tore from his body. All she could pray for is if, and when they found the body, the coroner says it was fish who ate away his appendage. Nothing is more sacred to a man than his d*ck.
"Are you okay?" Nicolette asked. Death was normal for Nic, but she knew that her cousin still found the loss of life to be hard to endure. Gypsy was squeamish over the sight of blood. "You know you can talk to me about this. What you did tonight was save the life of your daughter. If they killed you, they wouldn't stop with you. Grace would be next," Nicolette added. Maybe, that was true, or perhaps not, but right now, she needed to get her cousin to understand that sometimes you must kill. "This world we live in isn't kind. Rocco was saving his family, just like you were saving your own. Okay?" Nicolette said.
Gypsy had never thought about what Nic was saying, but suddenly she felt sicker than she had before. She felt that if she died, it would all go away, but if they hurt Grace, she would never be able to rest in peace. "I never thought," Gyspy cried, her voice trailing off in pain. Grace was the only thing she had left from her ex-husband. His only gift to the girl other than the memory of his presence in her life. "Thank you for coming today. For always being there for the two of us. I don't know what I would do if we lost you," said Gypsy. She meant every word she said. Though only a year apart, the two connected as though they had been raised together all of their lives. In reality, they only met months ago on a night neither one would ever forget.
"Wake up, god damn you f***ing stupid bitch. You have a baby inside of you, and you slit your f***ing wrist," Nicolette screamed. She had come across the young blond on the floor of a truck stop bathroom—what a way to meet your cousin for the first time. Wrapping her arms tight, Nicolette didn't bring her back because she cared for Gypsy. It was the child in her stomach that she saved. Almost dying herself during her own birth, Nicolette couldn't watch this baby perish. All she thought about was how her mother felt when she laid dying as her child spilled from her loins. No child would die if she could help it.
A quick shake of her head brought Gypsy back to reality. She reached for her cousin's hand, squeezing it tight, "If anything happens to me, please, you take Grace and raise her as your own."
"Shut the hell up. Nothing can or will happen to you. I swear to God, shut up," Nicolette said, her voice cracking with emotions.
Squeezing her hand tighter, her eyes now on her cousin, Gypsy repeated her plea. "Please, I mean this. If anything happens to me, you can't let the state take my child. I am begging you."
"Alright," Nicolette said. She hated that her cousin put her in this spot. Of course, she would take Grace, but she was putting it out to the universe that she thought her death was coming. Both of them knew that if Gypsy died, so would everyone around them. God help the world if they lose her to the dark side.
After a long, slow exhale, Gypsy knew that Nicolette would never break her promise to her. She would have documents drawn up that gave the child to her cousin upon her death. There was no way that Spencer Kennedy would get his hands on her daughter. She would never rest if something like that came to be.
As she pulled in front of the massive beach home, Nicolette parked but didn't remove the keys from the ignition. She wasn't staying. Tonight Nic needed to make sure that the Lucchese family never found out that Rocco's last meeting was with Gypsy tonight. She refused to allow this all to fall back on the shoulders of someone already bursting at the seams with so much pain. "I want you to go in, shower, and act as though nothing at all happened tonight. Play with Grace, share a movie, but most of all, don't worry. I am going to make sure tonight that no one knows you spent the evening with Rocco Lucchese. Okay?" Nicolette said.
A nod of her head before Gypsy exited. She knew this woman was sent from the heavens above to save her. Little did she know, God had nothing to do with Nicolette's birth. "I love you, Nicolette. Thank you for being my guardian angel," Gypsy said. Before leaving the car, she squeezed her cousin's hand once again, looking back the moment the door was closed. Something terrible was coming, but what, she didn't know.
"Okay, fat boy, you're first," Nicolette whispered as she drove away.
Gathering her thoughts, Nicolette sat the Bible down, stood, and left the church that held her father's remains. Thanatos unleashed ideas inside of her that she never knew she could feel. She was angry, but not the fury that would not sedate with a long walk, or even a violent act. She needed to destroy someone and unleash a sickness that even Lucifer would applaud. For some reason, her one meeting with the man touched her so deep that she felt burned with disgust.
As the chapel's door opened, the California heat warned her of the hell that awaited her below. The weatherman said it was 117 in Los Angeles, but she knew it had to be hotter. The smoldering heat coming off of the sidewalk seemed to be in waves.
"What the f***," she said. As she shielded her eyes from the scalding sun, the young brunette knew this was punishment on the world. If the Devil had a sense of humor like Thanatos suggested, then Mother nature was her wingman or woman. Whatever your belief was. The entire state felt a rain of ash due to the wildfires that were quickly eating the world one continent at a time.
Nicolette couldn't get in her car quick enough. The air conditioning blasted against her face with almost an orgasmic release. She pushed herself back in the seat, eyes closed. It wasn't until she heard a scream that she slowly opened her lids, looking around, but seeing nothing. This place was a slum compared to Italy, but she had chosen to call Los Angeles home, so she was close to family. She would never like it, though.
As she pulled away from the curb, Nicolette got the first glance of who was screaming. The girl couldn't be any older than sixteen, and her arm tight in the fist of an older man. He appeared to be homeless, but with the sh*tty fashion sense of Americans these days, he could have more money than she did. Stringy hair, holes in his jeans, and by the looks of the girl, she wasn't enjoying this little game he seemed to play.
"So one help me, please. God, help me," she screamed.
The last part brought a burst of mechanical laughter from Nicolette. God helped no one but those f***ing kiss asses who filled the church every Sunday, and she wasn't even sure he helped them. She pulled to the side of the road, turning off her car, and watched as they disappeared into a building that looked to be under construction. No cars in front meant no one inside to help the teen. Why the hell couldn't she have driven off five minutes earlier? Now, she had to help. There was no way she could drive on and know that what happened to her cousin could happen to this little girl. Slamming her hands down on the wheel, Nicolette knew this was a test. Lucifer was testing her and hoping for her to let this kid suffer. He would.
As she slipped from her Bugatti, Nic looked around as she set the alarm. That car was her baby, and if anyone touched it, she would not be responsible for her actions.
Screams echoed in the distance, but being who she was, Nic tracked them into the second floor of the building. The man was already pawing at the woman's clothing. If she were a minute later, he would have raped this girl and scarred her for life, if not killing her. Standing in the door's jam, knocking on wood, Nicolette knew she just gave him the ultimate c*ck block.
"Pizza delivery for f*** face. Is that you dumbsh*t?" she asked.
The male stopped in a mid slap, his eyes now on Nicolette as she stood there watching. Grunting, he growled out, his mouth spilling saliva onto the girls face, "Get the f*** out of here or you're next."
"No, you see, I have a delivery to make, and I have a perfect rating. You need to stop and pay me before proceeding," Nicolette said as she advanced towards the man. One swift kick to the ribs, and he was on his back, moaning like a whore in heat.
"Get OUT," she screamed to the young girl.
Scrambling for the clothes he removed, her face filthy with tears, the timid young girl ran from the building crying. Her footsteps disappearing and the door slamming behind her. If she had more than one life, she just used it up.
The male leaned up on his elbows, mouth snarling like a beast. His night wouldn't end as he expected. "You f***ing no good cunt, I'll show you a lesson you'll never forget," he threatened as he stood, pulling his pants down to expose his erection.
Pointing and laughing, Nicolette knew that would hurt more than anything. "Wow, does that happen to come in adult size? I mean, you brought a cap gun to this battle? What did you plan on doing, rubbing clits with the poor girl," she laughed. Nicolette could be brutal, but this man's suffering would endure worse than what she did to Frank.
Charging forward, pushing her into the wall, the male had his ego hurt, and that was a bruise that would never heal. No man wants to hear he lacks in the manhood department. He ripped at her clothing, the male threatening to show her how to treat a man, never saw her knee rise, and hit his testicles, but he felt it when he dropped to his knees, resting in the fetal position.
"I warned you. Hell, you might have talked your way out, but not now," Nicolette sighed. On the table sat a roll of duct tape, and beside it, a still plugged in shop-vac. She was happy the place still had electricity. He wouldn't be, but for Nicolette, it made life easier.
As she grabbed the tape, Nic knew she would need to work quickly. He might be down now, but he would regain his composure within minutes. A quick yank of tape, she broke it off with her teeth. With the use of her stiletto in his back, she forced him to his stomach, sitting hard on his back to hold him in place. He might have been bigger, but Nicolette was strong.
"Give me your hands," she asked but yanked them back before he could. A wrap of tape around the wrists and he was secure. Sure, he could run, but she knew he wouldn't. Not with his nuts swelling to the size of grapefruits. The next shocked, even Nicolette. Turning, she sat on him still, facing away from his head. A massive glob of spit from her mouth on his pantsless ass, and she fed the shop's nozzle back into his anal cavity. His screams were getting louder; she used the same tape to hold the vacuum in place. Shaking it back and forth, Nicolette made sure it was secure before rising from his back. She had never heard a man cry like that. He was sobbing, again, calling for God. When would they ever learn?
"I warned you that I had a delivery to make. You ruined my rating, and now, well, I ruin your ass," Nicolette said. Leaving the man lying on the floor, she walked out of the room, flipping the switch on the wall to turn the outlet. A whoosh of suction and screaming was all Nicolette heard as she headed out of the building. Oddly enough, she felt better.
As still as a mouse, Gypsy sat on the floor in a puddle of filth and blood. Her ears in tune with the elements. Something was moving on the rickety old boards above. Maybe a wharf rat, or could be pigeons. Both of them could come in through the broken windows around the top of the building. Tiny fragments of dust fell, her eyes remained on the detached d*ck on the floor. Sure, she teased in the past about being mad enough to rip off a man's penis, but she never thought it would happen for the love of God. The only person she thought she would kill would be her father, but Rocco Lucchese took the highway to hell first. As she waited for the ball to drop, the sound from above went silent. Yep, a bird, it was only a f***ing rat with wings, well, she hoped.
There is a time in life when relief sets in and you think everything is over. Well, for Gypsy, that feeling didn't come, not yet, at least. Every hair on her body stood at attention, her stomach tightened with dread, and all for a good reason. A door slammed behind her, and footsteps rapidly left the building. She was right. She wasn't alone. Someone witnessed the ordeal, and now, she knew this was far from being over. Just when life was looking up, the past pulled the rug from beneath her feet once again.
"F***!" she screamed. Sitting on the floor until the morning light broke through the cracks in the wall, Gypsy knew she needed to get out of there before whoever Rocco had waiting for him came to pick him up. Men like Lucchese didn't show up to the party without back up of some kind. Another reason she felt uneasy. Why hadn't someone shown up yet? Scrambling to her feet, Gypsy grabbed the black dress that lay in a heap on the floor, slipping it over her head to cover her from the elements. If she knew that she would spend the night in a drafty old building, she would have dressed for the occasion. What she needed more than anything was a phone. Gypsy looked around the room for her small clutch. Maybe she left it in the car. The driver had probably disposed of it by now. A slight vibrating sound coming from the body was her beacon of hope. Rocco's phone was ringing.
"Sorry, Lucchese, as you said, it's only business," she laughed. Pushing the body over, her hand went to her mouth immediately. His body still seeping a small amount of blood. It was the wound that made her sick to her stomach. In less than 5 hours, the circle of life began. A rodent chewing on the gaping wound, she kicked at the vile little rat, sending it flying across the room. A squeak of pain and fear came from the animal as it ran away. Using only the heel of her shoe, Gypsy pushed down on his pockets, grinning when she hit something hard. His phone. She quickly put her hand in the pocket, yanking the small cellular device out.
"Sh*t, what the hell," she growled as she pushed buttons. It was fingerprint locked. A quick shrug before grabbing the stiffs hand, using his finger to open the lock screen. "Ew, f***, gross. You finally got stiff," she spat. As she dialed the numbers, her fingers shook like a junkie on the second day of being clean. "I need a ride. I'm at the place where Frank was. I need you to get here now. Something happened," she said. There was only one person in the world she could trust right now. Nicolette was not only her cousin, but she was the only one who could get her out of this mess.
Twenty minutes later, the sound of car tires pulled her attention back to reality. It was either heaven or hell knocking at the door, and honestly, she didn't know which one of those was Nicolette.
"Where the f*** are you?" a voice called out.
"I'm in here," Gypsy called out, needing her cousin to come inside. She would need to know what happened and how they could dispose of the body without anyone knowing who did it. In that department, Nicolette was a professional. "Hurry, we got problems," Gypsy added.
As the door opened, a blinding stream of light followed the female but dimmed the moment the door closed. "What the hell did you do? F***, Gypsy, what the f*** happened?" Nicolette asked. Dressed in a pair of black slacks, a white silk blouse, and boots, Nicolette was shocked. Covering her mouth with her hands, she burst into a roar of laughter the moment she noticed the detached penis lying on the floor. "Why am I not shocked? Who the hell is this?" Nicolette asked.
Wrapping her arms around herself in a tight hug, Gypsy shook her head, "Rocco Lucchese. He knows about what we did to Frank and wanted revenge. Nic, what the hell am I going to do?" Gypsy asked.
Nicolette bent at the waist to catch her breath from the overwhelming stench of rotting fish and decaying human remains. "Grab something we can weigh the body down with, and we can toss him in the ocean. It's time for Rocco to get those cement shoes everyone is raving about," Nicolette laughed. None of this was funny, but sometimes nerves react in the oddest of ways.
As both of the women searched for bricks, the pier came alive with the sound of trucks, workers, and sea life. Both were thankful the building was not open for business and sat directly over the ocean. "Use that rope over there and tie a couple of bricks to his legs. I'm going to make sure there is no wallet and take all the jewelry off the body," Nicolette said.
As the two finished, Nicolette looked over to her cousin with a worried expression. "You might want to look away. I need to make sure there is no way to identify the body," she warned. As Gypsy turned, the tall brunette used the same knife that killed him to remove his fingers' tips, each one taken to the bone. The remnants of his skin tossed in the corner. She knew a rat would dine on that before anyone thought to look for the man. The next part was the worst. Using a large cement block, Nicolette held it over his head, dropping it full force onto his mouth. Dental records need to be untraceable. The sound it made on impact was deafening.
"Oh god, f***, Nicolette," Gypsy turned, her hand immediately over her mouth filling with vomit. Gagging, she spilled the contents of her stomach on the floor at the sight of Rocco. His face resembled one that had a steamroller drive over the top. Brain matter spilled, but this time, it wasn't on her face. "Why did you do that? F***, Nic, why?" Gypsy cried. As she wiped on her mouth, her cousin explained.
"Dental records would identify him. Now he is just a lump of sh*t that no one will recognize," Nicolette said. With no emotion in her voice, Nicolette grabbed one arm, pointing to the other, "Get his hand. We need to dump him in the ocean before anyone shows up."
Rocco Lucchese sank into the pacific ocean as the two women stood on the dock, watching his body go down. No prayers or fanfare was given. They rid the world of another waste of life. "Make sure you left nothing behind inside. We don't want anyone to trace this back to you, okay?" Nicolette said. She was as cold as ice when it came to death, but for her, this was just another day and another scumbag gone. "And don't get anything on my car seats. Take that dress off before getting into the car. Blood, stains," Nicolette said.
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.
"F*** 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 f*** 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 bullsh*t 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 f***ing 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 f*** 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. "F***, 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 d*ck through his pants, almost salivating from the view. Frank was the only one in the group to f*** her, and the stories he told had his d*ck throbbing.
"Are you serious? I thought you had more respect for your wife than to f*** another woman?" Gypsy said. She was trying to buy a little time but knew in her heart that sh*t wasn't going to fly this time. These men could care less about who they sink their d*ck 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 d*ck 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 d*ck. 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 c*ck coming with her.
"You ripped my d*ck 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 f***, what have I done?" she whispered. The noise from the rafters let her know she wasn't alone.
amused
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