The Perversion Trilogy: Perversion, Possession & Permission

by T. M. Frazier

  I’m going to take an extreme amount of pleasure in killing Marco and feed him his own dick.

  “Is it really you? Am I really safe?” she mumbles, pushing herself back to a sitting position.

  My rage is momentarily on hold when my eyes meet Tricks’s unfocused gaze. “Yes, it’s me. You’re safe now. Rest.”

  She nods. “Okay.” Her eyes roll back in her head, and she falls to the side like timber in the woods. I catch her in my arms.

  “Tricks!” I yell, lightly slapping her cheeks. “Tricks.”

  Nothing.

  Emma Jean

  Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral

  Too-ra-loo-ra-li

  Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral

  Hush now, don't you cry

  Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral

  Too-ra-loo-ra-li

  Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral

  The voice softly singing the slow lullaby in my head isn’t mine this time. It’s deep and smooth, like Frank Sinatra. Relaxing in a way I’ve never felt before. It’s that song that usually sparks my consciousness, but this time it does little to rouse me. Instead, I decide to stay here, floating in space, where no one and nothing can hurt me. I hum the song along with the voice and allow myself to drift off into oblivion.

  Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral

  Too-ra-loo-ra-li

  Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral

  Hush now, don't you cry

  Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral

  Too-ra-loo-ra-li

  Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral

  Sixteen

  Emptiness.

  That’s what I think when Tricks’s eyes flutter open and she stares up at me blankly, like a doll with glass eyes. There’s nothing there. No spark. No fire.

  No life.

  I can taste the bitterness of my disappointment. I’m still not used to it, even though it tastes the same every time Tricks wakes up as a shell of her former self.

  It’s been weeks since the night at Los Muertos.

  “Tricks,” I murmur, trying to guide her back to the land of the living like I’m coaxing a kitten out of a corner without scaring it.

  “Do whatever you want. Just don’t hurt me,” she whispers, staring over my shoulder at nothing.

  She pushes down the blankets, spreading her arms and legs wide, giving me full access to her naked body. The bruises on her body have faded, with the exception of a few of the nastier ones, but it’s the injury to her mind that has her trapped somewhere I can’t reach her.

  I growl and try to shove my rage down deep. Thoughts of tearing Marco’s limbs from his fucking body will have to wait yet another day. My anger won’t help me here. Not now. Not while Tricks is awake but still a million miles away.

  “Tricks, it’s me,” I tell her. “It’s Grim. I’d never hurt you. You’re safe.”

  Her mouth hangs open, and her legs spread farther apart.

  I push them back together. “Fuck. What do you need me to do for you? Tell me, Tricks. Anything and it’s yours. Let me help you. What can I do?” I ask.

  “Do whatever you want,” she answers flatly, with no emotion at all. No anger. No happiness. No sadness.

  No Tricks.

  I toss the covers back over her body and storm out of the room. I grab the bottle of whiskey from above the fridge in the lounge and take two long swallows, wiping my lips with the back of my hand as the liquor burns its way through my throat.

  “Any change?” Marci asks. She’s sitting at the table, sipping from a steaming mug. She holds out her hand, and I pass her the bottle. She pours in the whiskey until her mug is filled to the brim.

  “No,” I tell her. “Nothing I do seems to work. It’s been two weeks.”

  “The doctor said it’s going to take some time,” Marci says. Her words are meant to reassure me, but they only frustrate me further.

  “He also said probably no more than a couple of weeks.” I ball my fists. Marci hands me the bottle, and I chug until my eyes water. I plop down at the table and slam the bottle down.

  “Yeah, but that was the MD. The shrink said it could be more.”

  I sigh, we may have won the battle at Los Muertos, but I’m losing the one with Tricks. I hate defeat more than I hate the fact that Marco is somehow still breathing. The fucker probably hid and watched us kill a good number of his men from a third floor window.

  “You know,” Marci says calmly, sipping her drink. “When I first met Belly and he saved me from the MC, I was very much the same way Tricks was at first. The way he used to tell the story, I did nothing but lay in bed for weeks, and when he did approach me to give me food or offer comfort, I’d go full exorcist on him. I don’t remember any of it. You wanna know why?”

  “Why?”

  “Because it wasn’t me. I wasn’t really there. I needed to heal before I could join the rest of the world. Tricks needs the same.”

  “Really?” I ask. “Belly never told me that.”

  “Good. Because as far as romances go, ours would not have been a bestseller.” She chuckles, then smiles into her mug. “But it was ours. And it was wonderful. When I came back from the brink and back to Belly, I was never lost again.”

  “How though?” I press. “How did he bring you back?”

  She takes my hand in hers. “It was Belly. He stopped treating me like the nightmare I’d become and instead treated me like who I was before I’d slipped away. He cared for me like the woman he had been falling for, not the broken version of me who replaced her. He was himself. Angry, demanding, and the most horrible joke-teller who ever lived.” She sighs. “But by treating me like I was alive, he coaxed me into wanting to live again.”

  I slide the chair out and stand. I’m going back to Tricks and I’m going back now. “Thank you.”

  Marci reaches out and grabs my hand. “Just be careful, Grim. The broken don’t need to be put back together, they need to be loved for all their pieces.”

  I stand above Tricks for over an hour, watching her. The look of nothingness on her perfect face is killing me. Hurting me in ways I didn’t know I could be hurt. My hurt becomes anger in an instant. Instead of pushing it down, I use the anger and do what Marci said Belly did. I treat Tricks not as the shell I see before me, but as the woman I fell in love with. I grab her head, forcing her to look at me.

  “I’ll give you time, Tricks, but this isn’t over. We aren’t the kind of thing that can just be over. You and me Tricks. We. Don’t. End.”

  We. Don’t. End.

  It’s both a threat and a promise.

  And neither makes a damn thing better.

  Tricks is exposed yet again, having kicked off the blankets each time I try and cover her up. Spreading herself in offering. Giving into the darkness in her head instead of fighting.

  I’ve never believed in fate or anything cosmic. But the way I want, no the way I need Tricks is more than just my body begging to be joined with hers. I’m a man who’s recognized himself in a woman. She’s my other half. The piece of me that’s been missing since the day I was born.

  She’s my humanity.

  And right now, that humanity is gone, lost somewhere deep inside herself.

  Tricks stands from the bed and approaches my chair. Again, she’s awake, but it’s as if she’s sleepwalking. Her eyes still glazed over and unfocused. She drops to her knees before me. Blank as a slate, unresponsive. Waiting for my command.

  She’s used to being raped. Tortured by Marco and who the fuck knows else. I don’t know exactly what to do to bring her back to life, but I’m willing to try anything.

  Because I won’t give up on her. Not now.

  Not ever.

  I take the back of her head, entwining her hair in my hands. I pull hard, too fucking hard. Her blue-green eyes stay unchanged, but the smallest gasp escapes her mouth. It’s not what I was looking for, but it’s fucking SOMETHING.

  She looks up at me as if I’ve just hit her sex-slave on switch. She opens her mouth and licks her lips. It’s robotic and makes my stomach roll. She unzips my fly and
frees my cock. With one touch of my flesh to her hand, I’m hard as hell, and for the first time in my life, I fucking hate myself for it.

  She licks along my shaft and deep throats my cock. I wish I could enjoy her warm mouth wrapped around me, but there’s no joy when there’s no Tricks, and she’s not fucking here.

  Frustrated, I lift her by her arms and toss her onto the bed. It’s wrong. It’s so fucking wrong, but nothing has fucking worked, and I’m growing more and more desperate as the days pass.

  I push her panties to the side and enter her roughly in one painful thrust. Both to her, to me, and to my heart. Her head falls to the side once more, her eyes open like she’s looking out a window that’s not there.

  I thrust gently the second time, but she still doesn’t move. Her tits bounce gently. Her mouth falls open. She’s like a goddamned corpse. She doesn’t blink. Doesn’t talk. Frustrated, I growl and thrust harder. Nothing. Then, harder and harder still, until the top of her head slams against the headboard, but even then, she doesn’t so much as grimace.

  Desperate, I lean down and whisper, “Come back to me, EJ. It’s me. It’s Grim. I’m here. I love you. I fucking love you so much. Tell me something. Anything. Please, Tricks. Please. Tell me what you want me to do. How I can help you? I’m dying here without you.”

  She rolls her head back to face me and my heart lights up with hope that’s quickly dimmed. “Do whatever you want to do,” she repeats the same emotionless line from before.

  I growl, “Fuck this.” I lift her hips, slamming into her. “Is this what you want?” I cry, and it’s not a stretch because my eyes are filled with tears. I slam into her harder. “Is this what you need to come back to me?”

  I choke down a sob as I continue to fuck her with all of the desperation in my heart. I’ve never cried before. Not once in my entire life. But here I am, connected to the only woman I’ve ever loved, sobbing while my cock is inside of her.

  I roll us over so she’s on top of me. I plant kisses on her neck, her jaw, her lips while I thrust up into her so rough there’s no way she can’t feel it. Feel me.

  “I need you, baby. You’re my other half. I’m nothing without you. I’m yours. Please come back to me. Please,” I beg through a strangled cry and gritted teeth.

  My cock is as hard as ever, but I’m not feeling shit. This doesn’t feel good. This feels like fucking torture.

  I’m just about to give up when Tricks’s pussy squeezes around me. I don’t dare move. My mouth is pressing against her cheek. A stream of wetness meets my lips. I look slowly up to find Tricks eyeing me curiously. Her eyes are watery yet focused. Blue-green replacing all the black.

  “Grim. It’s...it’s you.” Her lips turn upward in a slow smile.

  Relief and sensation pour through me like cold water after having been thirsty for so long.

  Tricks then lifts herself up of her own accord and drops herself back down onto my cock. It’s the best fucking feeling in the world. I grab her face in my hands.

  “Tricks, you’re fucking here,” I whisper in awe, wiping her tear stain away with my thumb.

  “I’m here with you,” she says, biting her lip. She raises herself up and drops herself back down again. I groan. “Is this a dream? Is it heaven?”

  I don’t take my eyes off hers. Not willing to lose this moment. To lose her. “It’s not a dream. And you’re not dead. But it is fucking heaven.”

  Tricks speeds up her pace, rocking and grinding her hips onto my cock until she’s so tight around me I see stars. Her hands grip the back of my neck, nails biting into my skin. It hurts, but she could skin me alive right now, and I wouldn’t fucking care.

  My Tricks is back.

  Seventeen

  The next several days are spent with Grim and his family at the reservation where I get to know Marci, Sandy, and Haze. I’m jumpy and skittish, but thankful to be alive.

  Marci is a spitfire who likes to play cards and enjoys a splash of whiskey in her coffee. We spend a lot of afternoons together. She patiently teaches me how to play poker while lamenting on some of her favorite memories of Belly.

  Haze is a handyman and a tinkerer who spends most of his time fixing things and arguing with Sandy. He shows me how to run video wires and introduces me to the complicated security system in the backroom of the casino.

  Sandy is a goofball who can name all of the past presidents and every element on the periodic table. We play a game called Stump Sandy where I Google a topic and quiz him on it. He always knows the answers. He also introduces me to Night Fury, his video game of choice. To my surprise, I’m actually pretty good at it and almost beat him.

  Twice.

  The air around Grim is lighter when he’s with his family. He’s comfortable. Relaxed. Well, as relaxed as he’s capable of being.

  We don’t talk much about what happened to me at Los Muertos, but that’s mostly on me. Nightmares wake me most nights, but they aren’t dreams at all, they’re replays of men laughing as they take turns toying with my body and my pain.

  Grim and I haven’t had sex again since I regained consciousness in his arms with his body inside of mine. He feels guilty for what he did to bring me back to the land of the living. He’s told me as much. I understand why he feels this way, but if the roles were reversed there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to save Grim.

  Nothing.

  What helps is that no one in the family is treating me like a withering flower. They aren’t walking on eggshells. We are all just existing together, just as we are. Each day I feel stronger both mentally and physically. I’m less likely to scream when Mr. Fuzzy jumps at me from one of his many hiding spots offering me yet another dead thing.

  I learn more about Grim, too. He’s a reader. Mostly Sci-fi and Western-themed fiction. He likes to draw and is pretty damn good at it. The proof being an entire sketchbook of the many faces of Mr. Fuzzy.

  We spend time getting to know more about one another. We watch magic specials on TV together. Grim tells me he’s been following magicians throughout the years and his knowledge of their signature tricks is both mind-blowing and heart-warming. What I like the most is our talks. We exchange war stories about foster homes. About growing up without parents. About never quite feeling like we belong.

  I’m already in love with Grim, but that love deepens over those late night talks.

  I wake on my own from my first nightmare-less sleep in Grim’s arms.

  I run my fingers over the stubble along his strong jaw. He’s real. This is all real.

  Grim may be the reaper of the Bedlam Brotherhood, but the man who represents darkness is the one who pulled me from it.

  I flatten my palm to his cheek.

  His eyes flutter open. “I thought it might be a dream.” He pulls me against his warm hard chest, placing sleepy kisses to my cheeks and forehead. “But you’re still here.”

  “It was a nightmare, but those are over. At least, I hope they are. Now it’s a dream,” I tell him. “All because of you. Because you saved me.”

  He laughs. “You saved yourself. Rollo told me he saw you jump from the second story before that soldier got a hold of you.” His gaze burns into mine. “I may have carried you out, but you broke free.”

  It’s the first time we’ve spoken about that night. I don’t know how to reply. “I’m only equipped for sarcasm and lies. I have no clue how to reply to all that sweetness.”

  “Well, you’re in luck. I’m only equipped for death and destruction.” He smiles and I know he’s wrong because I see nothing but life in his eyes.

  “I want to take you somewhere, today,” he says. “We need to celebrate a nightmare-less night and we’ve been cooped up in here too long.”

  “Where?”

  He plants a tender kiss on my lips. “To somewhere the nightmares will never find us.”

  We shower together. Even though the electric current is humming between us, there’s nothing sexual about it. Grim insists on helping me wash myself, and when he sc
ratches my scalp while shampooing my hair, I moan at the sensation. The hot water feels heavenly.

  After we’re clean, I put on some clothes Marci has laid out for me. A fitted Bon Jovi t-shirt and a pair of yoga pants. We’re eating the amazing breakfast that Marci has prepared in the kitchen.

  “So where are the girls?” I ask through a mouthful of my second helping of scrambled eggs. “Since this is supposed to be a brothel and everything. I’ve been here for a while, but I haven’t seen a single one.”

  “We’re not fully open, so they’re only here a few nights a week for now,” Grim answers. “Plus, they’re on the other side of this building. We can go through that door but no one except Bedlam can come in.”

  “Makes sense.” I dig back into my food. When I look up, Sandy, Marci, Haze and Grim are all staring at me. “What?”

  Marci smiles. “You talk about being in a brothel like we just told you that you that we’re having steak for dinner.”

  Even after all the food I’ve consumed, my stomach growls at the word steak. “Are we having steak for dinner?” I ask hopefully. My appetite has been fleeting at best. Today, I’m downright ravenous.

  Grim smiles and reaches for my hand. It’s the most brilliant thing I’ve ever seen. My stomach is momentarily forgotten because my heart is now the organ that feels so full it could burst.

  “Yes, we’ll have steak. It was Belly’s favorite. I’m glad you’re so accepting about the brothel business. I knew I liked you,” Marci says. I pry my eyes from Grim’s and look up at her kind face. “It’s not for your ability to play cards, you’re shit at it.”

  “Hey, I’m still learning! Poker isn’t a simple game. And I like you, too. Besides, who am I to judge what others do? If it’s their own free will, more power to them.” I shrug.

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” Sandy says. “You got a sister?”