Chapter 1

Here I was, stranded in a fucking haunted house looking for a way out and coming up empty-handed.

What?

You ask if I am scared. You are fucking-A right I am scared. I have busted into all kinds of houses but never into a fucking haunted house and I promise you, God, I will be good from here on out, if you allow me to get out of this place in one piece.

Sure, I have been around the block a few times.

I know the difference between a whore and a nice girl.

I have looked a man in the face and saw that look of panic just before I ended his miserable life to save my own.

I once even screwed a pretty girl who was really a man which is not my thing at all.

A little background info on me includes the fact I spent almost two years in a Russian prison learning the ins and outs of simple survival.

Then, I graduated to the five year stint in the French Foreign Legion where I cut potatoes and tortured innocent civilians under orders from my superiors to extract worthless information that they considered intelligence with a completely biased view.

Now, I am just past thirty years of age and can speak English, Russian, French, and German fluently but all with the accent of a Ukrainian Jew. I grew up in Kiev belonging to a Ukrainian Jewish family that treated me more as a servant rather than a blood relative.

I know it is a big jump from the French Foreign Legion to breaking into houses for a living and not exactly rolling in dough.

The short explanation is that I fell into bed with an East European prostitute with a heart of gold and a pussy that had me on a short leash.

Her name was Lena, and she had the kind of beauty that was almost ghostlike and difficult to control even when you were on top.

I lived with her and her “sisters” in a big house near the Notre Dame Cathedral that was usually silent during the day but came to life at night when the female staff received visitors from all over the city.

She had picked me up from a drunken state literally right out of the gutter, washed me off and clothed me in respectable clothing and assigned me the duty of protecting the house and all the female asses inside.

My payment was food, housing and pussy galore including hers on special occasions.

Her sideline was as the female boss of a criminal gang that preyed on client’s homes robbing them of their worldly goods. I became part of the gang and felt the theft was excusable since the victims were generally well off and would not miss their stuff because they had the foresight to secure proper insurance.

Our gang was small.

We only had four men and two females all trained in covert entry and had strict rules about what to steal and what to leave behind.

Marcel was the oldest. He had been machine-gunned in Algeria by our own side and spent a full year in the hospital being put back together like Humpy Dumpty. His distinct limp was noticeable, and he walked with a sort of sideways shuffle that revealed there were still some parts missing.

Claude was brainier that the rest of us and was usually found with his head buried in some silly book about strange subjects that were a complete puzzle to me. He was our primary scout and told us when we should avoid a target because it was too risky for entry. I believe that he was the most dangerous of all of us because he carried a short-barreled handgun that he used to deliver a “Coup de Grace” on any loose ends that might pose a problem for the discovery of our existence. I found it impossible to maintain eye contact with him because I saw that distanced look that a lot of my Legionnaire comrades had developed after years of bloody conflict.

George was a muscle man. He was powerful and simply put didn’t know the full extent of his own strength. We used him to bully our way into or out of a residence when all other methods failed to produce results. Just the sight of him sitting quietly in our house of ill repute was enough to instill a sense of decorum in most clients without question.

I, of course, was the fourth man and I hesitate to describe my criminal assets, but I had a lot of experience with covert entry and exit and was skilled in the estimation of value of antique and vintage articles found inside the home.

Lena was our female leader, and we all followed her instructions without question because she knew more of the full picture than the remainder of us and she kept us all under her thumb in any situation.

Our second female thief was a Gypsy girl with dark hair and dark skin and lips that drove me wild with anticipation of oral games that promised endless delight. She was the youngest of the group and I estimated her to be only still in her late teens.

Her ability to do feats of gymnastic magic gave us an edge on fences and elevated entries that required acrobatic expertise. She was able to climb a rope faster than our best climbers in the Legion and she showed no fear of heights or other obstacles of any sort.

She pretended her name was Madeline, but I suspected that was a fabrication because when someone called out her name from a distance, she never reacted as one would expect when one hears their name called so loudly.

Whatever her name, I was assigned to be her backside lover and George was her front man. Lena was stuck with Marcel attending to her frontal needs and poor Claude took care of her sweet rear. We had all agreed with our assigned positions and promised not to switch unless requested by one of the females with proper procedures.

It suited me to a “T”, and I loved my posterior rewards on Madeline’s pretty ass.

As a functioning criminal gang, we probably broke all the rules of correct criminal activity, but we managed to stay a step ahead of the authorities for almost two years now with lots of loot lining our pockets.

We liked to stay together on a job but sometimes when we were busy, we would split up into two groups with George, Madeline and me working one home and the other three busy with a second location.