by Never, M.
“I sure as hell am.” His blue eyes are glassy.
“Then let’s go,” I blow in his ear, and I feel his erection grow beneath my thigh.
I place the glass on the table and then stand, beckoning him to follow. As I lead him away from his party, I can feel the watchful eyes of the two other men on the couch bore into my back. These are not your average joes. They may be dressed in expensive suit’s like high-profile businessmen, but make no mistake, they’re no one to cross. They’re liars and cheats and thieves and killers. More dangerous than a cobra.
But I can handle them, because so am I.
After we slip into one of the back rooms of the club, I lock the door behind us.
The young, good-looking man in the crisp-white button-up, black pants, and complete disregard for his wedding ring makes himself comfortable on the plushy couch, indicating he’s ready and willing to be serviced.
This makes my job so much easier.
I saunter over to him and climb onto his lap. Kissing his neck, I begin to unbutton his shirt while grinding seductively on his cock.
“Suck my dick,” he demands.
“We’ll get there.” I’ve barely reached the third button on his shirt. “I want you to get your money’s worth.”
“You choking on my cock will be a good start.”
Class act right here.
“Relax.” I become a little more aggressive. “I’m driving this. And I promise, the buildup will be all worthwhile.” I slip my hand down his pants and suck on his neck.
“It better be.” He drops his head, closes his eyes, and lets me take control.
First rule in warfare, never let your guard down.
Unbuttoning his fly, I free his cock and jerk him off until he’s fully erect.
“Now we’re gettin’ somewhere.” I can see the strain in his face and hear it in his voice. “But it’d be even better if you’d put your fuckin’ mouth on me already.”
“Shhh, relax.” I squeeze him harder. “I’m going to send you to heaven.”
Or, in your case, hell.
I literally have him by the balls, and he has no idea. No idea of what I’m capable of. He sees me like all the rest, a disposable whore.
As I continue to work him over, I slip out the small spade-shaped blade from beneath the back of my short, dark wig. The ends of the bob hitting just beneath my jawline.
He moans, elongating his arms and neck over the top edge of the couch, providing me the perfect opportunity. The opening I was waiting for.
Without hesitation, I stab the blade into the side of his neck, causing him to jerk and choke. “For Benny,” I whisper, right before I slit his throat.
A numbing sensation spreads through me as the life drains from his eyes. As he bleeds out quickly and quietly beneath me. After a few staticy moments, that familiar pulse begins in my chest as adrenaline courses through my body. It’s always the same right after a kill. Nothingness, then chaos. I’ve learned to control the highs and lows. I had to. I was forced to. Conditioned to.
I wipe the blade off on the dead man’s shirt, leaving a swipe of red over the white material. An eye for an eye. The way of my world.
Sliding the blade back up into my hair, I expeditiously make my way to the window. I push it open and climb out, disappearing down the fire escape and into the dark alley behind the club. There, I pull out a small backpack laying just behind the dumpster. Quickly, I pull out a pair of faded jeans and a hoodie. Losing the stilettos, I dress in the casual street clothes and slip on a pair of blush-pink ballet flats. I rip off the wig and toss it in the trash, then slide the blade into my back pocket. In thirty seconds flat, I go from hot and slutty to sweet and innocent. My long, platinum waves the perfect complement to my virginal, girl-next-door look.
The very first lesson Benny taught me was, if I was going to master the art of deception, I needed to change my shoes. That’s how he tracked me all those years ago. My sparkly, purple Converse are what gave me away. It was the first of many lessons Bastiano Velona would teach me. The man was, in many ways, my dark knight with corrupt morals.
He took me in. Clothed me, fed me, and he fostered me. Put a roof over my head and educated me in more than just English and math. He trained me to be a killer. His killer. When most sixteen-year-old girls were shopping for prom dresses, I was pulling a trigger.
I was his offense and his defense, dispensed to execute any task that required a deadly yet delicate hand. I was his ghost. His secret weapon. I took to his teachings like paper to glue. I thirsted for his approval. Strived to excel. I didn’t want to give him one reason to kick me out. Or toss me back on the streets, or even worse, send me to juvie.
So, I absorbed every word over the years as Benny became so many things to me. A mentor, a father figure, a protector. And I was his loyal pupil. His protégé. His disciple.
I loved him in a multitude of ways.
But that was then, this is now.
Those sparkly Converse still hang in my bedroom. Benny insisted that I keep them as a reminder. Of him, and my past. Of who I once was, and who I was to become.
I emerge from the alleyway and walk several blocks west before catching a cab. It’s a cool, late October night in the city, and the streets are bustling as usual in midtown. Hordes of pedestrians are crowding the crosswalks, causing congestion near 42nd Street.
Ugh, why did this idiot take all the main roads? I’m itching to get out of the city. I have a strong dislike for Manhattan, even though it’s where I spend the majority of my time. This place is riddled with bad memories and gallons of bloodshed.
The cabbie finally drops me at my destination. Pier 79. I hand him a fifty and climb out of the car. I stashed some cash in the pocket of my jeans. The entire night has been premeditated.
Swiping my Waterway card, I meander out to the pier and watch eagerly as the next ferry glides through the Hudson, sparkling under the full moon. This mode of transportation
always calms me. The skating of the boat over the calm water, the light rocking, the quiet. I can almost hear myself think.
The ride to Jersey takes less than twenty minutes. Benny bitched when I told him I was moving out of New York. But he was the one who told me I couldn’t live under his roof forever. That I needed to get my own place and integrate into society.
I only did what he told me to do. I rented an apartment and got a job as a waitress in a café. I even made a friend.
Waiting for me in the commuter lot is Claudia. I spot her little silver Civic as soon as I get off the ferry.
I hop in the passenger side as she applies her fire engine red lipstick in the vanity mirror.
“Waiting long?”
“No.” She blots her lips. “I just got here, actually.” She flips the visor up and looks over at me. “Ugh, Stevie.” She points at a piece of my hair. “Please tell me you were going for red highlights.”
“What?” I pull down the visor to see what the hell she’s talking about. “Fucker!” Several strands of my platinum hair are covered in blood. I must not have wiped the blade as clean as I thought. “It was dark in that goddamn room. I couldn’t see shit.” I brush the dried blood out of my hair with my fingertips.
“I’m sure no one noticed.”
“No one except you. And probably everyone else who looked at me.” Fuck.
“Even if they did notice, I’m sure cold-blooded killer isn’t the first thing that came to mind.”
“Let’s fucking hope not.” I bristle.
Claudia is the only person on this Earth who knows who I truly am. What I truly am. And astonishingly doesn’t judge me for it. Although, it’s not like she’s little miss perfect; the sultry Puerto Rican has a few skeletons in her closet, too, but none as heinous as mine.
“Are you ready to go get your booty shake on, chiquitina?” She throws the car into drive.
“That and then some.” I relax in my seat.
“Vamonos, then.” She slams on the gas and peels out of th
e parking spot.
“Jesus Christ, woman.” I grab the oh shit handle as I’m tossed around the front seat. “You drive like a friggin’ mad man.”
“I know.” She giggles as she guns it down the road.
“Did you make the call?” I ask as she merges into traffic in the direction of Jersey City. It’s her stomping ground. Where she was born and raised, and where she likes to party. And ever since I met her, where I like to party, too.
“Yesss,” Claudia hisses conspiratorially. “My aunt made all the arrangements. Valentino will meet you at the club. I hear he’s gorgeous, too.”
“Perfect. Although, I probably won’t be looking at his face while we do it.”
“Stevie, I don’t get you sometimes. You’re smart, funny, and a total badass. Why pay for sex? There’s guys throwing themselves at you every time we go out. I sort of fucking hate you.”
“Claudia, we’ve been through this. It’s . . . cleaner.” It’s the best way I can describe it. There’s no strings or expectations or icky emotions. Or explanations.
“It’s a cop-out, if you ask me.”
“No one asked you.” I look out the window and fiddle agitatedly with the thin gold band around my index finger.
The last thing I need is an attachment. Physical, emotional, or any other kind. There’s a hole in my chest the size of Jupiter, and the only thing that fills the void is killing. Of avenging the death of the man who raised me.
Who saved me.
Watching that blood spill tonight was like carving another notch on my bedpost. Another enemy down. Another eye for the all-seeing eye.
“How long are you going to go on this tirade?” Claudia places her hand on mine. I didn’t even realize she parked until I returned to reality.
I turn my head to face her. “Until they’re all dead. Or I am. Whichever comes first.”
“You’re not going anywhere. I’ll resurrect you from the damn grave. Hear me?”
I grin because I know she’s serious. She’d probably have her witchy great-grandmother chanting incantations over my headstone until I crossed back over.
“Why do you put up with me?” I sigh.
“Because you’re my chiquitina. And if I ever need to collect a debt, I know who to call.” She smiles cheekily.
“I am good for one thing.”
“Better than good for nothing.” She digs around in her little Louis Vuitton purse and pulls out the lipstick tube. “Put some of this on. Look hot for Valentino.”
“Do you think red is my color?” I swipe the bold color across my lips.
Claudia raises one of her perfectly sculpted eyebrows. “Red is your fucking bitch.”
Habana has the hottest salsa night in three counties. At least that’s what Claudia boasts. I really just go for the booze and to ogle the eye candy. Latin men can seriously move.
We walk into the medium-sized room that is primarily a dance floor and wall-length bar. Purple and pink strobe lights bounce off the ceiling as a parade of couples swivel their hips, engage in two-step warfare, and spin around the room to poppy, fast-paced beats. The atmosphere is always lively, I’ll give it that.
“Go get laid,” Claudia tosses out as she spies her first victim—I mean, dance partner. A cutie in a pinstriped button-up sipping a Corona at the bar. “I’ll be busy on the dance floor.” I watch her flutter away, her beaded mini skirt wagging across her hips as she seeks out her prey. Poor guy, he has no idea Hurricane Claudia is about to hit him.
Go get laid. Good idea. My blood is still simmering from the fresh kill, and I need a release. A very loud, orgasmic release.
I head to the back of the club. I gave very explicit instructions to Claudia’s aunt. Have him be waiting by the bathrooms with a red drink so I can identify him.
Although Claudia has her life together now, that wasn’t always the case. Before going to nursing school and getting away from her abusive father, she was heavily into drugs and ran with a bad crowd. A really bad crowd. Her family is very unique. Sort of like mine. Her aunt runs a successful “dating” service in the city and is the reason Claudia got clean. Although it’s a very legit business, she does have some underground contacts. Which is how she found Valentino and the string of other men I’ve gotten acquainted with in a bathroom stall.
As for the rest of Claudia’s family? Her scumbag father is in jail. Lucky for him. Because if he wasn’t, I’d make him wish for the grave.
She also has four brothers who are the perfect split between good and evil. Two run with a gang, engage in criminal activities, and are complete pieces of shit. I would gladly put them both six feet under. The other two are stand-up citizens. Have jobs and families, and love and support Claudia unconditionally. They can live.
Claudia is the only real thing in my life. Her friendship is tangible. She makes me feel normal when it’s clear I’m anything but. For Claudia, I would do so much more than just collect a debt. If there’s one thing Benny drilled into my head, it’s loyalty. And my loyalty is stronger than war or peace or even death.
I spot a tall, shadowy figure in the corner outside the bathroom doors. As I get closer, I spy the red drink he’s holding in his hand. A crimson highball glass of something.
I approach him casually, and his handsome face lights up with a smile. Claudia wasn’t kidding, he is gorgeous.
“Ghost, I presume?” He gives me a once-over.
“In the flesh.” I ogle him right back. I’ve used the cover Ghost ever since Benny was killed. Ever since it became my personal vendetta to pick off every single one of Gianni Velona’s foot soldiers and then Gianni himself—the man responsible for taking Benny’s life and taking him from me.
My nickname on the street is Ghostface Killer, because they don’t know who I am or that I’m coming until I strike. They don’t even know I’m a woman. Although that might all change after tonight.
I’m not one for small talk or wasting time, so I take Valentino’s hand and lead him into the women’s room. We stride by two women chattering in front of the mirror, and I feel their judgmental eyes on me. One whispers, “Slut,” just as Valentino and I lock ourselves in the handicap stall.
“You’re just jealous you have no one to fuck you!” I call out as I unzip my hoodie.
I hear their gasps and I smile. Prude bitches.
Moments later, the two women are vapor as Valentino and I get down to business. His eyes are like two shiny green pieces of glass as he scans my slutty lace bra. Like a perfectly provisioned craftsman, he pushes me against the wall and kisses me like the pro he is. I match every one of his fevered tongue strokes as he massages my breasts and grinds his hips against mine. After a few rapid minutes, we’re both breathing like beasts and clawing at each other’s clothes. I can tell already, this guy is going to be worth every penny.
“Why on fucking Earth does a woman like you need to pay for sex?” He rips open the button of my jeans and shoves his hand into my pants.
“Cleaner,” I pant as he fingers me.
“Nothing about this is clean,” he jokes as I ride his hand.
I bite his bottom lip and tug hard. “Then let’s make it worthwhile and get really dirty.”
“I’m all for that.” He nips back at my lips before shoving my pants and underwear down. This is the best part. Right before. The buildup. The anticipation. Like I’m climbing the rails of a filthy roller coaster. I just want to be used.
Valentino fingers me faster, the sound of my arousal mashing against his hand.
“Fuck, you’re wet, baby. So damn wet.” He looks down at my exposed pussy, all bare and slick, and nearly salivates.
“So what the fuck are you going to do about it?” My heart is pounding and so is my core. I want to come. I want to scream. I want to release all the pent-up frustration and energy spinning inside me.
Valentino withdraws his hand and whirls me around, slamming my face against the wall. I fucking love it. Not many men are rough, but this guy knows just how to handle me.<
br />
“I’m going to do what you paid for,” he rasps in my ear. “Put your hands over your head.”
I lift my hands and rest my cheek against the cold tile wall. The music from the club is muted in the bathroom and periodically women come and go, talking and giggling and flushing the toilets. It’s all white noise to me as Valentino helps me escape. As he runs his hands along my naked hips and squeezes my ass cheeks.
“Fuck, I want you.”
“What are you waiting for then?” I jut my ass out and feel his rigid erection through his jeans.
“Just taking a second to let the client know their business is appreciated.” He skims his fingertips over my abs, tracing the cuts of my six pack and exploring all the peaks and valleys.
Claudia is going to have to find out where her aunt found this one. Because I’ll be ordering again.
“Come on,” I urge him seductively.
“How can I deny a sexy plea like that?” I hear the zipper of his jeans, and I peek behind me. I watch out of the corner of my eye as he lowers his pants, pulls a condom out of the pocket of his leather jacket, and rolls it on. He’s going to fuck me just like that. Fully clothed, while I’m half-naked. I tingle all over.
Use me.
Valentino grips my hips and yanks, forcing me to bend over. “Look at the wall and fucking moan.” He nudges the head of his cock against my wet entrance, teasing me. “I said moan.” He doesn’t penetrate me until the sound of my suffering escapes my lips. My moans elevate as he sinks inside me, as if he knows expressing the sound will heighten the feel. I think it does, because my pussy throbs around him immediately. The sweet agony of an orgasm coming on all at once.
“Fuck.” I scratch at the wall as he sternly pumps in and out. My pussy clenching his cock brutally from the force of his pelvis and stress of his unyielding strokes. I roll my hips, meeting him thrust for thrust until we’re both heaving and the deadly kiss of my climax ensnares us both.
I cry out shamelessly as I come, not giving two shit who hears us. Valentino matches my outburst, the two of us using each other to pulverize our orgasms into dust.
