#Mature #Rape #Teen #Virgin
What do you do when an uninvited guest steps into your life and turns it upside down?
**This story is a work of fiction, but centered around someone I absolutely love! The names of all parties involved in this story have been changed for the sake of anonymity. This will be a bit of a slow burn, and posted in chapters. If you enjoy, please leave a comment. Thank you!**
Chapter One
My name is Michael “Iron Knuckles” Falcone. My family calls me Mikey, and my friends call me Knuckles. My enemies? Well, they don’t really call me anything, because they’re dead. “Sleepin’ with the fishes,” that’s what my dad used to say when I was a little boy. I guess it kinda stuck around.
But I ain’t here to tell you how I got my name, though that might come up eventually. No, I’m here to tell you about the one that got away. The biggest scam ever played on these heart strings, I’ll tell ya that.
She was a mystery wrapped up in a mystery, and I was in love with her the moment I laid eyes on her.
But I’m getting a little ahead of myself. Where do I start? I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to begin the night I met her…
I guess I should start by telling you exactly who I am. You know my name, but that’s only part of me. I was 37 years old, fit and handsome (as the ladies tend to describe me to their friends), with short jet black hair swept back. I have no facial hair; I try to keep a crisp, professional look in my business.
My business! That’s where you’ll really get to know who I am. I own a swanky gentlemen’s lounge on the corner of Fifth and Commercial. A high-quality, well-respected establishment that my father started when I was just a tiny sparkle in his eye.
Not long after I turned 23 my father became ill. Most of the time he wasn’t himself, always shouting at someone or some thing nobody else could see. During one of his coherent moments of peace he managed to call me to his bedside.
“Mikey, my boy,” he said as he grasped my right hand. “I will be gone soon, there is no doubt about that. I feel the Reaper’s stare every day. I am almost ready to go with him, I just need to take care of one more thing.”
“Anything, father,” I managed to squeeze out between choking sobs.
He squeezed my hand once, then his muscles relaxed and his eyes closed. A moment, two, three moments passed.
“Father?” I asked, leaning forward.
His eyes slowly parted. “I was catching my breath,” he said, and breathed deeply. “When I am gone there will be no one to look after The Shining Star. I want you to have it, look after it as if it is your own.”
The Shining Star? It was going to be mine? How could I refuse? First thing was first: I would rename it. Henceforth it would be known as Jimmie’s Shining Star Lounge, after my father, Jimmie Falcone.
I promised my father that I would take care of it, and I have. His name on the building has brought in his usual patrons and turned them into monthly, weekly and daily regulars. The addition of live music and singing girls has made business skyrocket. My father would be proud.
That is not to say that it was not doing well enough under my his ownership. On the contrary, he was very good at what he did. I simply added to what was already there, unleashed its potential.
But things would change, rapidly, the night “she” wandered into my lounge and into my life.
*~* — *~*
The night was waning, and quickly it seemed. Business had been a bit busier than normal for a Tuesday night, which was always good. But the time for closing was right around the corner, and “last call” had just been issued to our patrons, some of whom had already shut up their mental shop awhile ago. I walked around and took their cards from them.
Patrons of Jimmie’s Shining Star Lounge were given a drink card, roughly the size of a driver’s license, on which they would write their name. Every time they purchased a drink the wait staff would initial the image of a beer mug, marking off one drink at a time. There was a total of twenty drinks on each card. Depending on the customer and the drink, most never made it past twelve.
Upon entry, in order to get a drink card, one would have to forfeit the keys to their vehicle. In this way I was doing my duty of keeping drunken patrons off the streets. And it worked out well for the hotel to my left; my patrons become too drunk to stumble home to their correct address, so they would become patrons of the Rialto Grand Hotel. My business is the shark, and the hotel is the tiny fish that rides my tails and cleans up the parasites. Not that I am referring to any of our patrons as parasites.
I had just collected the cards of the most inebriated and sent them with escorts to the hotel next door. Now, I know what you are thinking, and you would be mistaken. The use of the word escort then was exactly as it was intended, not this sexual perversion of the word that fuels the adult industry in today’s age.
More than half of our patrons were gone, leaving the main floor quite empty. The ones who remained still had their facilities about them, and we had one more number coming up, the final act on stage.
“Gentlemen, please give a very heartfelt welcome to the lovely Sunshine!” The announcer’s voice boomed. Out from behind the curtains strolled a brunette woman in a gold dress that accentuated her form. Arms raised to gather the attention of the patrons, she began her song, quickly gaining attention from everyone.
That was when it happened. It was not fast and loud, as one might expect. The door opened up and the sound of heavy rain drew my attention. In walked a young girl who looked as if she’d seen better days. She was completely drenched from head to toe, her hair matted to her head and shoulders. The thing that really caught my attention was that the black dress she wore was tattered and torn. Immediately I knew something had happened to her. Setting the last of the cards on the hooks where the keys hung I turned my attention to the girl and went to her.
“Hey, Sweetie, are you alright?” I asked her as I carefully took her by the arm and led her to my office upstairs. More of an apartment, actually. I had a living room, kitchen, restroom and bedroom.
“Nicole, will you do me a favor and finish things up for me, please?” I asked one of my staff as she passed by.
“Of course, Mr. Falcone,” she said as she smiled and walked away.
The girl on my arm seemed to be more in shock than anything as we reached the door. Unlocking it I led her to the couch in the front room. She hadn’t said a word.
“Can I offer you anything to drink? Eat?” I asked, unsure of what to do or say.
Finally, she looked at me. “No,” she whispered.
I took a seat in my chocolate brown leather recliner to her right. “You look as if you got into a scrap. May I inquire what happened?”
She sat there in silence a moment longer, then clasped her hands together between her knees. She looked up at me again. “I was…on my way home… my best friend and I had just been to the theater. I passed an alley…” and she motioned behind the lounge.
I was pretty familiar with the goings on in that alley. I had run off many a ruffian causing problems in one way or another. I leaned forward in my seat. “Someone attacked you,” I said.
She nodded as she looked down at the floor. “I tried to run, but there were four of them,” she whispered. “I saw another girl lying on the ground, sobbing, her clothes torn. They caught up to me quickly and added me to their list.” A tear slowly rolled down her cheek.
My heart went out to her. This poor girl was the victim of her bleeding heart. An anger built up inside me. I rose from my seat and retreated to my room. A moment later I emerged with a towel.
“Here’s a towel, Sweetheart. You are more than welcome to use my shower and get yourself cleaned up.” I pointed awkwardly toward my room. “I’ll just wait out here.”
She smiled so sweetly, then got up and grabbed the towel from me.
“Can I ask you what your name is and how old you are, Darling?” I asked her out of a sudden desperation to know.
“I’m Kayla. I’m thirteen,” she said behind a beautiful smile, then turned and walked toward the bathroom in my room.
I left her alone and walked back downstairs. She would need clean clothes, I thought. I went next door to the hotel gift shop and spoke with the night manager, who allowed me to go in, even though it was closed. I picked out a grey sweatshirt with the hotel logo on it, a pair of women’s slacks, socks, shoes and an umbrella. I removed the tags and handed them to the manager with the promise I would return to the gift shop first thing in the morning to pay for them.
I took the items upstairs and laid them out on the bed, with a note explaining they were for her. Then I went back downstairs to help with closing up.
Nicole came over to me. “Is everything OK?” she asked, concerned.
“Everything is fine,” I said. “This girl was attacked in the alley behind us. Security is minimal back there. I kind of feel it’s my fault this happened to her. I swear I will set this straight.”
“Mr. Falcone, this is not your fault,” Nicole said. Then frowned, as if she didn’t really understand.
“Not directly,” I said. “Do not worry about it. Go get your time sheet. Let’s get you out of here, Nicole.”
When she was out of sight I picked up the phone and dialed 911.
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#Mature #Rape #Teen #Virgin