31 Kisses

by Sonya Jesus

  I preferred the ignorance. It came with a kind of peace I’ll no longer be able to find again. Fuck, I’d trade every deadly bullet for sweet kisses any day of my life… but I traded that all in for vengeance.

  It wasn’t long after being adopted that my uncle gave me a choice: grow up free of this life without any obligations or family ties, or help him avenge the man we both loved.

  The decision was instant. The people responsible for my father’s death had to pay. We buried him in pieces. First, when his body showed up, we waited to see if someone would find his head. No one did, so we buried him. Nine months later, two months before my sixteenth birthday, a decapitated head was found by new homeowners. All the bones in his face were smashed in and his teeth were pulled. They identified him by the serial number on a metal plate he had put in as a child. It wasn’t until two and a half years ago that my uncle identified all the people responsible.

  He called me into his office, embraced me and said, “Kelsie, it’s time to get revenge.” He handed me the Beneventi Caccia, or the hit list he called a hunt, with thirty-one names on it. Within the last couple years, I’ve taken out the first twenty-six, making me an Argento, or a silver level killer. I’m the first person my age and gender to be given the title, which also means my uncle’s capos and soldiers fear me.

  That I don’t mind so much. I do struggle with how easy killing is for me though, and how proud I am of my accomplishments. A small part of my subconscious gets triggered with every murder I plan, but each time it matters less. At some point, the metallic smell of blood and the pungent stench of corpses stopped inflicting torment and started giving me a thrill. Each one brought me one step closer to avenging my father.

  There’s a piece of me—a small sliver clinging to humanity—that wishes the idea of hunting people would torment me, but it doesn’t. It gives my life meaning. Only a certain kind of detached soul can do what I do.

  Major yanks me out of my own thoughts by opening the creaky bathroom door.

  “Did you decide on a price?” Major asks, as he steps onto the red-orange linoleum lining the bedroom floor. His erect dick hangs out of his zipper, dangling like a prized position.

  “I see you got started without me,” I say, as I let my eyes linger on his small, stubby penis. He’s circumcised. His wife must have made him do it.

  “You like what you see, don’t you?”

  I’d rather see it detached from a body, than attached to his, but I can’t say that and still play the part of a desperate hooker. Instead, I opt for, “It’s ready for me.”

  He brings his hand up to stroke himself. “It’s ready for you all night long.”

  By the excitement in his pitch, I have a feeling he just swallowed a blue pill to keep him going. Those take a bit to kick in though.

  Here we go. I reach underneath my skirt with both hands, and loop my fingers through the strings of my panties. I delay by taunting him.

  He takes a seat on the bed, dick out. He reaches for his belt buckle and tugs on the leather strap until the pin dislodges from the hole. His belly flops out, covering his wanker. He lies back on his elbows, to reveal more of himself to me.

  A commotion in the room next to us irritates the shit out of me. More people means more witnesses. The walls here are fucking paper-thin. Another reason why I didn’t want 31X.

  I point to the shared wall. “Looks like we have neighbors.” And they’re awake.

  He smirks. “I beat them to the suite. Some old geezer with a sexy blonde hooker wanted to splurge for an hour.”

  I frown. I hate changing my plans.

  “Oh, don’t worry, sugar. I prefer sexy brunettes.”

  Guess we’re going to have to drag this night out. I tug the panties halfway down and walk over to him, stopping a few inches away. I hike up my skirt just a little, so that his eyes are drawn to me. I glance down at his dick; it’s not hard enough for him to let me ride just yet.

  I shimmy out of my G-string and let it hang around my stilettos, which are fucking killing me.

  He lifts up and sits straight, bringing his face to my center. His hands cup my ass and bring me forward, so that I can feel his warm breath on my core.

  “I want to lick you,” he says, as he nuzzles his fat nose between my thighs.

  I put my hands on his shoulders and hold myself in place.

  His hands inch my skirt up, exposing my lower half to him. He sniffs hard. “Your arousal smells so good,” he hums, then darts his tongue out. The slithery organ touches my skin, causing me to jolt back, keeping it just out of reach.

  “Money first,” I choke out.

  He reaches into his back pocket, pulls out a wallet, fat with cash, and then turns a stern face to me. His hand travels back to my butt, lifts off my ass and comes down hard on my cheek, jolting me forward.

  “Don’t back away from me,” he orders, as his tongue parts the folds of my center. It glides inside and wiggles, as if it’s slurping up every drop. I force myself to think of Hayden, but it doesn’t work.

  He retreats and looks up at me, sliding his icky tongue all over me as he watches. “I licked it. It’s mine now.” A big, toothy grin, reaching from ear to ear, glares up at me.

  “It’s all yours, baby,” I respond, as I run my fingers through his thinning white hair. I could break his neck right now, but my uncle would kill me if this assassination got pinned back to him, so I direct his mouth to my cookie again and spread my legs. “Lick me some more.”

  His tongue dives into me without any skill. In and out, avoiding any stimulating part of me. He groans when he thinks he’s getting me wet, but really, it’s just his saliva coating my insides. His big hands grope my ass cheeks, squeezing them and positioning me at a better angle. He treats it like the last ice cream sundae on a hot day.

  I roll my eyes back and stare at the ceiling, praying for patience. I suddenly have a deeper understanding for hookers. How do they pretend that slobs like Major turn them on?

  He moans loudly.

  I fake a sigh of pleasure and ask, “Oh, yeah. How are you so good at this?”

  He stops and says, “Years of practice, darling.” Then eats me out again. It feels like an hour of him going to town in my love canal, but it’s only about three minutes before he’s out of breath. Thank fuck.

  The couple in the room over is already going at it. We can hear the headboard hit against the wall, something that apparently turns Major on. “That was a nice meal.” He licks traces of me off his lips. “Get down here and get your appetizer.”

  Seriously? I’m not sucking him off. I draw the line there. But I need to buy some time, so I get down on my knees and take a seat on the floor in front of him.

  “What are you doing?” he says with a slight irritation in his tone, but instinct tells him to get ready. He grabs his dick in his hands and starts to pump.

  “Well, I’ve always been a fan of dinner and a show.” I spread my legs wide.

  “Fuck,” he growls, twitching as I run my fingers over my center.

  “How’s the view from up there?”

  “Best seats in the place,” he urges me on.

  I take two fingers, hold his gaze for a moment, and play with myself. I close my eyes and compel my mind to drift off to a place where I’m not ashamed of what I’m doing. I wish I knew how to turn this part off—and not feel. It’s easy to do that with my victims, but a bitch to do with myself.

  What can I do though? If I turn away from the Beneventis, I’ll end up on the street and doing this exact same thing. I’m broke and even more broken. At least with them, I have people who’d notice that I’m gone.

  Whoring myself for a kill, though, that one is new for me. An all time low, even.

  I almost open my eyes to reality, but I hold on just a little while longer because even my self-hatred is more pleasant than the moment I am living.

  I cast that debalitating thoughts away and think of tonight’s party. Hayden will be there, hopefully just hanging out al
one and waiting for me. I picture him whispering in my ear, asking, “Want to get out of here?”

  I’ll lead the way up to his room. We won’t spend time talking, we’ll get right to business. He’ll get me any way he wants, and I’ll get to hold on to a sense of normalcy.

  Hayden is my sliver of peace in this world—the one connection I have to my humanity. Every life I take tethers me to the Benevetis and the mob life. Hayden grounds me to the real world, or as real as I can have. He’s just a guy, who wants to teach kids and eventually get married, live a simple life, with a simple woman.

  Sometimes I like to pretend I’m that woman. I’d be an EMT, helping to save lives instead of taking them. He’d get home late from an after-school program. I’d be in the kitchen, with nothing but his T-shirt on, preparing dinner. He’d try to convince me to put dinner on hold, so he can teach me something. I’d be tempted, but I’d put up a fight. We’d end up making dinner together, then making love on the kitchen floor.

  Simple life for simple, happy people.

  I’m not simple and I gave up on a lifetime of happiness years ago. If I’m lucky enough to hold on to fleeting moments of happiness—moments that usually involve Hayden—I cling to them.

  “How are you not a high-class escort?” Major’s heavy voice interrupts the serene moments my heart conjured up.

  I take a deep breath and open my eyes. Reality sinks in, and I’m aware of the placement of my fingers. I’m also aware of how wet I have become. I glance at my spectator. He drops to his knees and knee-walks over to me; his erection flopping with every movement. I quickly remove my hand.

  He latches onto my wrist, holding it in place.

  My jaw clenches as I steady my breaths. The burning in my throat rises to my cheeks and my cheeks fill with adrenaline.

  He runs his other hand over the apples of my cheeks. “You’re blushing?”

  “No.”

  “I have friends who would pay thousands for you.” He removes my hand and positions my wrist so my fingers are right in front of his face, the liquid of my arousal glistens in the low light of the room. He angles my fingers and then inserts them in his mouth.

  There are those bile-infused cheesy chips again, threatening to come up and contaminate the soon-to-be crime scene even more than it already is.

  He moans as he sucks on them, sliding his tongue between the two fingers and swirling it around the top. He’s so enthused that he doesn’t see me gag.

  I have to speak before I do something rash. “Are you offering to pay me thousands for tonight?”

  He pops my fingers out of his mouth and looks me dead in the eye. “Yes. For you, I would. And I’ll even pass your name on to those high-end friends if you fuck like you look.”

  “And how do I look?”

  “Too fucking perfect to be a hooker, but I’m so happy you are.” He sits back on his wide ass, and stretches his legs out to the sides. He curls his finger and beckons me forward. I do. His fingers find my center, and he takes two fingers and forces them inside, stretching me unpleasantly. I groan and wait for my body to adjust to him. His hand rips my shirt, tugging it down, and exposing my breasts. He buries his face between them as his fingers work my center. I lean back, giving him access to my body as I plot my next move.

  Kill him, my instinct urges.

  I listen for the couple in the other room. They’re still going at it. I have to expose my fake track marks.

  His two fingers turn to four fingers, causing me to wince. I’m about ready to break his thumb, when he bites down on the curve of my breast and sucks on the flesh. He’s going to leave a mark.

  I grimace from the pain but quickly catch myself when he looks up at me suspiciously. Do hookers get bit a lot? I fumble with my surprised face and try to cover, “It’s been awhile since I had a biter.”

  “You aren’t stretched out,” he points out as he frees my vagina from his hold. “It hurt, didn’t it?” He doesn’t sound sorry about it. “How long have you been hooking?”

  “Not long,” I confess. “Kind of fell into it when things went south with my acting career.”

  “Shame,” he says, as he frees my breast from my bra and pops the nipple in his mouth.

  “Yeah,” I agree.

  He bites down hard, hurting me. Reflexively my hand catches his throat and pushes upward, using the downward pull of his weight against him. “No more biting!”

  He releases my boob and says, “Be good tonight, and I can get you in with the right people.”

  Decency won’t save him, especially not when I know he’s using my fake failed career as a negotiation tactic. “Really?” I play right into his game.

  “Absolutely. A face like yours should be on TV, and a body like yours should be worshipped by tons of horny teenagers, but first, I want to know it is all mine.”

  I suck in my bottom lip and contemplate. I lift up, latch on to his hair and whisper in his ear, “Bite me harder then.”

  “Dirty, little bitch,” he says as he brings me on top of his lap. The tip of his dick nearly penetrates my entrance. He reaches into his back pocket and produces a condom. I take it from him, inspect it for holes and then roll it on him. He’s still fully clothed.

  I need my bag. “Let me grab the lubricant.”

  He snatches me back, catching me by surprise and kissing me. “You like that, you slut?”

  I smile and think about how close he is to death. I hold onto him and drop my mouth to his. The people in the next room finally come to a stop. I’m assuming she’ll leave as soon as he’s done.

  He takes advantage of my distraction and wraps his hand around my throat. Tight. His fingers press against the delicate skin of my neck, and he backs me down to the floor, pinning me underneath him. He sneers at me as shock swipes across my body. Where the hell did this come from?

  He gets on top of me, smothering me with his body as his hips go wild. Thrusting into me like he’s trying to mark me for life. Wear and tear, I think to myself. Rough. Sadistic bastard. How many girls as he done this to?

  His hold tightens around my neck.

  I gasp as the grip gets tighter and tighter. I can’t speak. I’m going to pass out. I reach into my pocket, pull out an emergency pocket knife and hold it to his side.

  His grip around my neck loosens and he starts to retreat. “You didn’t say it wasn’t an option,” he says, as his back hits the side of the mattress.

  “I didn’t say a lot of things,” I tell him as I attempt to curb the murderous instinct to gut him from throat to the tip of his dick. “Get up!”

  He gets on his knees and uses the bed to help him up.

  “Get on the bed. Back to the headrest.”

  A small smile curls across his lips.

  He thinks this is foreplay? “If we are going to play that kind of rough, I need a hit. Do you mind?” I glance at his erection. Trusty blue.

  “Want some?” I ask, hoping to get this over with.

  “No, thank you. I have to take a piss test at work this week.”

  I take my jacket off, exposing the fake track marks some make-up guru on the Internet taught me how to do, and lay it near the nightstand.

  He notices them. “Is that why your career went south and landed you on the street?”

  I cover my scars with my palm and look toward the Jacuzzi on the other end. “Bad habits make you do bad things.”

  He lowers his eyes to my still covered arms and undresses, showing me his marks. I remember reading about how his drug addiction cost him his dreams. He was hospitalized two times because of overdoses and attended rehab every few years. That’s why finding him here, dead from an overdose after a three-month stint in rehab, won’t draw suspicion. And everyone knew he liked hookers. That’s why his wife never slept with him.

  “Addicting, isn’t it?” he asks, as he admires his war wounds. He’s fresh out of the sober program, so jostling his memory won’t be too hard.

  “Yes,” I say with a goofy grin. “It’s like n
othing else. The way it pumps through your veins, filling you with nothing but adrenaline… it’s like the world is yours.” I drop my head and grab my bag. “It’s the best feeling in the world, losing yourself and forgetting all the shit in your life.” I giggle. “And my God, the sex is fucking amazing. Like everything is lit up everywhere. It’s out of this world.” I open my eyes and look at him. “Ever fuck someone high?”

  He nods. “I’ve had sex while high plenty of times before.”

  “Ever fuck someone you got high with?”

  He swallows hard. “No.”

  “You’re missing out,” I say with a moan, luring him into my trap. “And getting high during sex, just when you’re about to climax… you don’t need anything else in life, but heroin and an orgasm.” I shift my legs together and pretend like the thought turns me on. If my background check on him is right, he won’t turn down the temptation.

  I head to the bathroom and leave the door slightly open so he can see me. I hide behind the door and squirt myself with the syringe full of lube and flush the toilet. Then I pull out the clean syringe from my purse and pretend to shoot myself up, moaning in the process.

  Before I know it, the door is being pushed back and he’s in the bathroom. I drop the syringe, pretending to be startled by his intrusion, and kick it under the sink so he doesn’t realize there is no needle.

  He comes up behind me, now fully naked, and presses his body into mine from the back. He trails kisses on my shoulder. “Tell me you’ve got more. It’s been months since I’ve gotten fucked up.”

  “I have one in my purse, but it’s not as good. I get it off this guy who dilutes his stuff with IV fluid.” I got the needle of the hooker, but i filled it with enough to kill him.

  The sound of the neighbors’ water running signals that their probably done with their hour. I’m almost done too.

  “Will it do the trick?” he asks.

  “Absolutely. You just need to have the whole dose like I just did. It’s in my purse if you want it.”

  The gun won’t surprise him; most working girls carry some form of protection. He locates the syringe from inside my purse. “So, you were saying something about an orgasm?”