The Perversion Trilogy: Perversion, Possession & Permission

by T. M. Frazier

  I suck in a breath and flatten my palm over the tattoo. “It’s me,” I whisper.

  “It’s you. For you,” he says. “Tricks, most of them are for you. The bleeding heart, the peach lips…why else would I have a magician’s top hat on my hip?” He chuckles. “And then there’s this one.” He points to some script lettering above his sculpted V line right above his left thigh.

  Those who have a strong sense of belonging have the courage to be imperfect. - Brene Brown

  I recognize the quote instantly. It’s one of my favorites. “It’s from my letter.”

  “It is.”

  “This is all…” I begin without knowing what exactly it is I’m trying to say. “I can't believe these are all for me.”

  He takes my wrist and guides my hand over his rapidly beating heart. “Do you feel this?”

  I swallow hard and nod.

  “Well, I didn’t. Not before you came along that first day. It wasn’t lust at first sight, you were too young for me to think of you that way. And I can’t say I fell in love with you that day, but I became capable of it because of you and felt it for the first time when I finally found you.”

  I’m silent because I don’t know what to say. I’m so overwhelmed by it all. “I just…holy shit.”

  “This one is my favorite,” Grim says flipping around to his stomach. “This,” he points over his left shoulder. It’s another rose.

  “It’s white,” I remark.

  Grim flips back over. “Bedlam is the black rose so that makes me the black rose,” he tucks a strand of hair behind my ears, “I’ve always thought of you as the white.”

  “Oh, Grim,” I say, feeling my eyes well up with tears.

  “After you disappeared I wasn’t old enough to get a legit tattoo yet, the ones I already had were from juvie, so I scratched your name into the skin of my forearm.” He shows me a jagged scar that’s healed poorly over time. You can’t even make out your name anymore, but you really couldn’t then either.” He pauses to think for a minute. “It was strange, you know. To feel so connected to someone I barely even knew, but yet I felt like I knew you. There was something almost…I don’t know if comforting is the right word, but it’s close enough. So, yeah, there was something comforting about feeling the pain of marking your name on my body, about watching the blood spill to the floor, knowing it was you I was bleeding for.

  My chest tightens. “If that wasn’t so gruesome, I’d almost think it was kind of romantic.”

  He wags his eyebrows. “You know me, babe. I’m all about the romance.”

  I rest my head on his chest, soaking in his warmth and the surge of emotions swelling up in my heart as a result of all he’s just shared with me.

  Grim props himself up on his elbow. He then fills me in on the events that took place since the last time we’d seen each other at Belly’s service. He tells me about the planted drugs the task force found in his house and about Gil’s dead body in his room. About how he spent time locked in a cell at the sheriff’s station and then about his dramatic escape with the help of a friend before coming to my rescue.

  “I would have come for you sooner. I’m so sorry it took me so long.” The pain and regret in his voice are palpable.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” I search his eyes, holding his face in my hands like he had with mine. I smile as a tear escapes my eye and rolls down my cheek. “You came just in time.”

  He pulls me back down to him, and we relax into each other’s warmth.

  Despair is a disease that rots the soul a little at a time. A disease where both the culprit and the cure, is hope. I’ve been plagued with it for so long I don’t know how to take in the happiness lying right next to me.

  I’m not sure I really know how to even be happy anymore.

  But I can learn.

  I glance up at Grim and smile.

  His lips twist. “What?”

  “So, this is how it can be,” I whisper.

  “How what can be?” he asks with an amused gleam in his eyes.

  I roll off him into the grass and spread my arms to the sides. I take a deep breath of fresh air and stare up at the sky until he appears, hovering above me. Our eyes meet. “Life.”

  Something falls from the sky and lands on Grim’s back. We both leap to our feet and look around, but there’s no one in sight. At first, I think it’s a soccer ball that landed on us. When Grim kneels down in the grass and stands back up with it in his arms, I realize how wrong I am. It’s striped and furry and very, very dead.

  Grim looks down like he can’t believe what he’s holding. He takes a step toward me, and it’s not a what he’s holding at all, but a who.

  The dead cat in Grim’s arms is not just any cat.

  It’s Mr. Fuzzy.

  There’s an open piece of paper stapled to his tiny body. Blood is smeared across the crude, colored-pencil drawing of a skull, wearing a yellow bandana over the lower half of his face. There's a message at the bottom. It’s only two words, but the short length doesn’t make the message any less powerful.

  Gabby’s next.

  Grim plucks a necklace from around Mr. Fuzzy’s neck, and I don’t have to get close to know what it is.

  My locket.

  A full-body convulsion washes over me, twisting my insides like the wringing of a rag. I clutch my midsection and lurch to the side, heaving into the grass until my stomach is empty, and my heart is full of dread.

  Twenty-One

  Marci brings me a shoebox. “Will this work?”

  It looks about the right size. “I think it will be fine, thank you.”

  I take it from her and set Mr. Fuzzy inside his makeshift coffin, sponsored by Nike.

  I close the lid and grab a marker. The outside of the box becomes more like a message board to Mr. Fuzzy as I decorate it with quotes. All I can remember about love and loss, and even a few about cats.

  A cat is a lion in his own lair.”

  -Indian Proverb

  As every cat owner knows, nobody actually owns a cat."

  -Anonymous

  What greater gift than the love of a cat.”

  -Charles Dickens

  Haze crosses the room carrying a different kind of box, one filled with office supplies and not a dead pet. He sets it down on the far end of the long table.

  “How’s your shoulder?” I ask, gesturing to where he’d been shot on the night of my rescue.

  He shrugs. “Sling came off yesterday. It’s basically just a scratch.” He ruffles my hair. “Don’t you worry about me. It’s not the first time I’ve been shot, kid. Won’t be the last.”

  “Hopefully it will be the last,” Marci argues.

  “What’s in the box?” He points to Mr. Fuzzy’s final resting place.

  “Don’t ask,” Marci says.

  Sandy weaves around Haze and grabs a beer from the fridge.

  “Well, now I’m more curious.”

  Sandy hands Haze a beer. “Don’t ask, you know what they say, curiosity killed the—”

  “Sandy!” Marci scolds.

  Sandy raises his shoulders to his chin. “What? Too soon?”

  She slaps his chest with the back of her hand. “Yes, too fucking soon. It will always be too soon. Show some respect.”

  “To a cat?”

  “To Tricks. To your brother.”

  My smile is small and tight-lipped. “It’s fine. He’s right. It’s a cat.” What I really mean is At least it’s not Gabby.

  Marci picks up on my unspoken words. She wraps her arm around my shoulder and kisses the top of my head. “We’ll get her out of there. Bethany’s made contact with her. It’s just a matter of time.” She looks to Mr. Fuzzy’s coffin. “This threat isn’t really a threat. It’s a play to get you to go back.”

  “That’s not fucking happening,” Grim grates. He enters the room much like a cat. Muscled and lean. He prowls toward me with a possessive look burning in his golden eyes. “Ever.”

  “I’m not goi
ng back there,” I say.

  “But you thought about it,” Grim accuses.

  “Yes, I thought about it. Of course, I thought about it. But only to weigh my options for Gabby’s sake.”

  Grim runs his fingers through his hair.

  “But I’m not. I promise.”

  Grim looks tired. His eyes are sunken and his forehead is lined with worry.

  “You need some rest,” I tell him.

  “I need to blow up that fucking compound with everyone inside!” he tosses an empty beer bottle from the table. Sandy ducks as it crashes against the wall over his head.

  I want to argue with him, but he’s not in a state for a fight. I try a gentler approach. “Not while Gabby’s in there, right?”

  He blows out a long sigh. “Right. Not while Gabby’s in there.”

  I stand and tug on Grim’s jacket, with the intention of leading him to one of the rooms for some much-needed rest. I’d completely forgotten about Grim agreeing to Chief David’s ritual until there's a knock on the back door of the brothel and Sandy lets him in.

  “We’re kind of dealing with something right now,” Grim says to the Chief, pointing to the shoe box.

  “I know. You told me over the phone.” Chief David reads the messages on the top of the box then lifts the lid to peer inside. He quickly covers it back up. “It’s all the more reason for the ritual. I’m not taking no for an answer. So get your shit and let’s go. The council members are waiting.”

  “Chief,” Grim starts.

  “It’s not a request, Grim. You know the drill. My land. My rules. I need to keep my people safe, and with the amount of carnage that follows Bedlam around, it’s in everyone’s best interest.”

  Grim conceded with a tight nod.

  Fifteen minutes later, we’re standing on top of another small hill, this time overlooking a cemetery of some sort. Each grave isn’t marked with a stone but with a large pile of broken shells.

  Chief David introduces me to two other council members and pulls a red blanket across his shoulders. He then places a blue one over both mine and Grim’s shoulders and begins chanting in a tribal language. Occasionally, he looks to the sky, and the other tribal members reply in unison.

  Our blue blankets are removed, and we are pushed together. A single white blanket is placed over the both of us. At one point, the Chief asks us in English to hold out our hands. An older woman, not more than four and a half feet tall steps up and pours water from a jug as Chief David continues to chant. The casino may look like his priority to the outside world, but inside the reservation, amongst his people, it’s really them he cares about most. His people. His rituals.

  Even us.

  When they’re done, they all clap their hands together. The blanket is removed from our shoulders and the Chief has us each sign our name into an ancient looking book. After we do, it’s all over. We thank the tribal council as they leave while Marci lingers off to the side to wait for us.

  Chief David stops in front of us with the book we just signed tucked under his arm. “It’s done. You are cleansed, and the ancestors of my people will watch over you. Do not be afraid to ask them for guidance when needed.”

  The Chief’s cell phone rings. He pulls it from his pocket. “Chief David,” he answers. He waves to us as he walks away. “No, that won’t work. I have single slot machines that make more a day than that entire game…”

  Grim wraps his arm around my shoulders, and we greet Marci who’s hanging up her own phone. Her face is lined with worry. “That was Sandy. He found Gabby. He’s bringing her here.”

  “That’s amazing!” I shout, but Marci frowns, not sharing in my excitement.

  “What the fuck happened?” Grim asks.

  “Gabby...she’s been shot.”

  Twenty-Two

  We race back to the brothel. By the time we get there, Sandy is in the lobby, flipping through a magazine in front of a closed door.

  “Where is she?” I ask frantically.

  The door opens, and a man appears, shutting it halfway. “Thanks for coming, Runner,” Grim says, obviously familiar with the man. He looks to me and explains. “Runner is the head doctor for the tribe.”

  “Is she going to be okay?”

  He nods. “Yes, I stitched her up and removed anything that might cause her infection, but the wound itself was a pretty clean shot to the shoulder. A through and through as they call it.”

  “Can I see her?” I ask, peering around his shoulder into the room. I only manage to see a pile of bloodied gauze in a trash can by the door.

  “Give her some time. She’s resting now. I’m going to go back in and monitor her for a couple of hours to make sure she remains stable.”

  “Thanks, doc,” Marci says. I’m so worried about Gabby I didn’t notice Marci standing right behind me.

  The man nods and heads back into the room, closing the door behind him.

  “Alby called,” Marci says to Grim.

  “Alby as in Callum Egan’s right-hand man, Alby?” Grim asks with interest.

  Marci nods. “He’s in a helicopter from Miami heading to Naples. I told him we needed to talk. He’s going to be landing on the east side of the rez in about twenty minutes. If you leave now, you can be there when he lands and get this mess cleaned up before it becomes a bloody one.”

  “That’s if he believes we didn’t steal his fucking shipment,” Grim adds.

  “You won’t know unless you try,” Marci says, brushing a lock of silver back into her dark mane.

  “I’ll go with you,” Sandy offers.

  Grim looks to me. “No, you stay with Marci and Tricks.”

  “Take Sandy with you. This is important,” I tell Grim.

  “Haze is in the lounge,” Marci says. “Let him know you’re leaving so he can check in on us.”

  Grim looks hesitant at best, but he has to go. Besides, in order to keep him from sending me away, I’ll have to prove to him that I will take every practical measure to keep myself safe until it does.

  “I’ll be right here waiting for the doctor to come back out so I can see Gabby,” I reassure him, placing my hand on his arm and giving his bicep a squeeze. “I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”

  He hesitates, then makes his decision. He nods then plants a quick yet bruising kiss to my lips before pulling back.

  “Let’s go,” he says to Sandy, and they take off for the lounge.

  “That boy has got it so bad,” Marci says, leaning up against the wall as she watches the men leave.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “He trusts you,” she says.

  “Why shouldn’t he trust me?” I ask.

  “It’s not that he shouldn’t trust you. It’s just that I’ve known him for many years now. If given the choice to kill someone or trust them, well, let’s just say I know what bet I’d place my money on.”

  I hear the men shout something to Haze, then watch as they dart out the backdoor to Sandy’s waiting van.

  “Me, too.”

  I must have fallen asleep on the lounge chair, waiting with Marci outside of Gabby’s room. I wake with the same magazine I’d been trying to pass the time by reading covering my face. I toss it to the side and sit up, rubbing my eyes.

  “Marci?” I call out. No answer. She was sitting next to me with her nose in her own magazine the last time I saw her.

  The door to Gabby’s room is partially open. Marci is probably inside checking on Gabby. She should have woken me up when the doctor left, but that doesn’t matter now. I’m eager to see Gabby and make sure she’s okay.

  My spine cracks when I stand, probably because I’d fallen asleep curled up in a ball on a chair built for its seductive looks, not its posturepedic benefits.

  I stop when I enter Gabby’s room.

  There’s no one here. Not Marci. Not even Gabby. The bed is empty. I’m just about to look elsewhere when I spot a fresh trail of blood smeared on the floor. No, it’s not a trail. It’s a dragline. My eyes fol
low it across the room where Marci is slumped over in the corner between the loveseat and the wall.

  “Marci!” I shout, running over to her side. I crouch down over her. I’m just about to feel for her pulse when the door slams shut.

  I lift my head just as something swings toward me. Whatever it is connects with my temple. My body slumps over Marci’s.

  And then oblivion.

  Twenty-Three

  Sandy and I wait for over two hours. The helicopter is a no-show. I try for the third time to reach Marci, but the phone never connects.

  “Fuck,” I swear, shoving the useless thing back into my pocket.

  “No luck?” Sandy asks, scratching his head.

  “Still no fucking signal.”

  “Let’s just head back. Maybe, he called Marci to change the plans and she couldn’t reach us to pass on the information.”

  “Maybe,” I grumble, heading for the van.

  I’m on edge about the Irish being a no-show. But I’m even more on edge about leaving Tricks alone. Well, not alone, but without me.

  “She’s fine,” Sandy assures me as I jump into the driver’s seat. He closes the passenger door, and we take off down the hill toward the other side of the reservation. “You think her friend would dig me?”

  “What the fuck are you asking that for?”

  He shrugs. “I think she’s hot. And once the doc cleans all the blood off her and she’s conscious? Maybe, I’ll make my move.”

  I can’t help but smile at my brother. “You’re a fucking moron. You know that?”

  He sucks in a breath through his teeth. “Dude, I’ve got a good feeling about her. Plus, I’ve always had a thing for girls with that whole Cindy Crawford thing going on.”

  “What the fuck did you just say?” I ask, dread rips through me like a stampede of doom. A flash of the night of Belly’s funeral plays in my mind. The girl on the path. The security video.