The Perversion Trilogy: Perversion, Possession & Permission

by T. M. Frazier

  The soldiers close in on me.

  It’s now or never.

  “Desafio de la muerte!” I yell, dropping my gun to the ground.

  The crowd erupts in gasps and whispers.

  Marco stills. He slowly swings around to face me. “What did you say, motherfucker?”

  “You heard me,” I growl, cracking my knuckles.

  “That shit don’t apply to you.” Marco scowls. “You can’t challenge me to a fight to the death unless you’re a member of Los Muertos. And you’re not,” he scoffs. “You ain’t nothin’ but a dead man.”

  “Killing me like this won’t change anything, but refusing my challenge will change things, like how your people will see you. You’ll always be weak in their eyes. The man who had the chance to take on Bedlam and walked away with his dick tucked between his legs.”

  “Maybe it won’t change shit, but I’m gonna do it anyway,” Marco sneers.

  “Fine, kill me. I’ve got a next-in-line who will take this fight on after I’m gone and a dozen more after that. This will never end. The only people you’re hurting by turning me down are your own.”

  “How the fuck do you figure?”

  “Accept the fight. If you win, Bedlam’s business is yours. The guns. The casino. The brothel. All of it.”

  “You think I’m going to fall for that?” Marco hisses. “Like I said, you ain’t one of us. You can’t challenge me. Unless it’s to a contest on who can hold their breath longer.” He snaps his fingers. “On second thought, you’re about to win that one.”

  He signals to Mal who raises his gun to my head.

  “Wait!” a voice calls out. It’s feminine, but it’s not Tricks. I don’t see the owner of the voice until she pushes her way into the center of the crowd. It’s Gabby. The real Gabby. “Marco’s right.”

  Gabby’s defending him? Maybe, Tricks is all wrong about this girl.

  “A challenge can only come from a member of Los Muertos, but the person challenging leadership can choose a proxy,” Gabby interjects.

  Maybe, not.

  Marco releases Tricks to get in Gabby’s face. “You’re not a member, Gabriella. Stay the fuck out of this.”

  Gabby stands her ground. She points to Tricks. “No, I’m not a member, but she is.” Gabby’s smile is smug and defiant. “Don’t you remember? You had her jumped-in and everything.”

  Marco grabs her, roughly shaking her shoulders. “What the fuck are you doing, Gabriella? You wanna die, too?”

  “If you want to kill me, so be it. It’ll be a nice change to actually be dead, instead of living with the threat of it every day.”

  Marco won’t be unmanned in front of his people. I know it. I’m counting on it. “Unlike you, your sister’s got balls.”

  Marco pushes Gabby into the arms of another soldier who drags her away by her hair. Gabby holds onto her scalp with both hands but doesn’t let up. “He can’t refuse one of his own laws in front of all his people. Not unless he believes he can’t win! Say it, Tricks. Say it!”

  “Shut the fuck up, puta!” Marco roars. Strings of spit fling from his mouth, his neck corded in rage.

  “I choose Grim to represent me,” Tricks yells.

  “Say the words!” Gabby shrieks, as she’s pushed down to the ground.

  Tricks squares her shoulders. “Desafio de la muerte.”

  “You think you’re so fucking slick, don’t you, EJ,” Marco sneers. “You want to challenge me? Fine. I was going to be nice and have the boys take the Bedlam Bitch out back to kill him. Now? You can watch me kill him myself.”

  “Or, better yet, I can watch him kill you,” she replies

  I fall even more in love with her right then and there. Her strength is astounding, and my chest swells with pride as she stares hatred right into Marco’s bulging eyes.

  “I’m offering you a choice,” she continues. “Put every life around you at risk with a war, or face Grim like a man. Right here. Right now. By your own rules.”

  “Until one of us ain’t breathing,” I add. “Put out the fire before it spreads further. It’s your people and the people of this town who will burn in the flames.”

  “You think I care about this fucking town?” Marco laughs. He points from one dilapidated building to another. “This is my town, right here. This is my family. My kingdom! This is all that matters. Everyone outside of that fucking wall is already dead to me.”

  I look from a trembling Gabby to a battered Tricks and then back to Marco. “If this is how you treat your family, remind me not to come over for the fucking holidays.”

  “Fuck you, Grim. You have no idea what goes on here. What I’ve sacrificed to build this. You’re just white trash who thinks he’s a gangsta. You come to my house and call me out?” He pounds his closed fist against his chest. “I didn’t think you were stupid white trash..until now.”

  I take off my hood and then my jacket, setting it on the ground. “Let’s go then. You can find out how stupid I really am.”

  “You think you can take me?” Marco clucks his tongue. “I’ve been fighting in the streets since I was a toddler. I’ve fought bigger and badder than you, and you wanna know what those motherfuckers have to say about me, now? Nothing. Because they’re all fucking dead.”

  I shrug. “You want me dead? Here is your chance.”

  Marco snarls and removes his yellow wife-beater, throwing it a girl who looks like she’s about to pass out when it almost slips through her hands. Relief washes over her as she recovers it right before it hits the ground.

  The crowd grows thicker before erupting into whistles and shouts as Marco and I reach the center. People stand shoulder to shoulder to get a better view of Bedlam vs. Los Muertos.

  Marco cracks his neck. “You wanna die tonight, Grim? Is that what this is about? You got a death wish? You know, there are better ways to commit suicide.”

  “I’m not suicidal, but I could use a fresh kill.”

  “Killing Gil didn’t quench your thirst for blood?” Marco asks.

  His question throws me. “You set me up, asshole. Or maybe you believe your own lies now. I didn’t kill Gil. You did.”

  “No, I did.”

  Gabby?

  “Enough!” Marco roars. “I’ll deal with you later. Take her away.” Gabby is dragged, kicking and screaming into a building. When the door shuts her screams are swallowed inside.

  I steal a glance at a Tricks who’s frozen, staring at the door.

  “Weapons!” Marco shouts, handing his gun to Mal.

  My gun is already on the ground. I reach into my pant leg and withdraw my blade, tossing it to the side. “Happy?”

  “Not until you’re dead, Bedlam.”

  “You first, motherfucker.”

  The second the words leave my mouth, we run at each other. Screams tear from our throats like bare-chested modern-day gangster gladiators.

  It’s a fight to the death.

  Winner takes all.

  The loser goes straight to fucking hell.

  Twenty-Eight

  Grim descends on Marco like a winged demon straight from Hell. Leaping into the air with determined fury. They exchange blow after blow. Each one Grim takes feels like it lands directly in my own chest. He’s wailing on Marco with all that he has. Both men are bleeding from their faces. Grim’s strong muscles flex and ripple as he goes after Marco like a rabid animal.

  Shots ring out.

  Gabby runs out from the building behind us, but I quickly lose sight of her behind the crowd.

  Piercing screams fill the air as people scatter in every direction.

  “Tricks!” I hear Grim yell above the crowd.

  “Grim!” I shout back. I don’t see him, anywhere. I don’t even know which direction his yell came from.

  More shots are fired.

  More screams.

  I duck and push my way through a sea of people running in the opposite direction. I spot Gabby. She’s on the ground, her yellow t-shirt has a growing red stain d
irectly over her heart.

  “Gabby!” I cry, running to her side. “Gabby!” She’s not breathing and neither am I. “Help! I need help!” I scream.

  Men wearing SWAT gear appear. They don’t just come from the front gate. They appear from all sides, caging us in.

  “All of you! Drop the fucking guns, or this will end badly. For you, at least.” A voice warns. A tall uniformed man strides to the front. He steps over the body of a Los Muertos soldier.

  “How do you fucking figure, lawman?” Marco asks.

  I can see Marco, but more importantly I can’t see Grim. Mal and all the other soldiers have their guns raised and pointed back at the uniformed men. Lacking Task Force is painted in bright yellow lettering on the back of their armored vests.

  The man smiles at Marco. “Because we’ve got bulletproof vests and helmets.” He chuckles. “And the last time I checked, tattoos don’t stop bullets. We can go to battle, if you’d like, but I suspect we’ll wipe out most of your crew before you can cause any real damage to mine. Plus, we’ve got you surrounded.” He points to the rooftop of the building where several men aim long guns into the courtyard.

  Marco wipes at the blood on his face, smearing it across his cheek. He glances down at his bare chest where tiny red lights dance across it. He freezes.

  The man in charge smiles. “Tell your men to drop the fucking guns.”

  Marco nods to his men, who throw down their weapons. The Reverend, who is standing in the back corner, moves slowly until his back is against the fence.

  “Don’t go anywhere, padre. We’re not finished here,” Marco warns under his breath. The reverend freezes.

  Marco looks back to the man holding all the power. “Who the fuck are you, lawman?”

  “Agent Lemming of the Lacking gang task force,” he answers. “At your service.”

  “As you can see we’re kind of in the middle of something, here. It’s my wedding day.”

  “Not anymore,” Agent Lemming replies. “And I’m not one to say anything bad about another man’s culture, but where I come from weddings don’t usually include a bare knuckle brawl.”

  “Sounds boring as Fuck,” Marco comments.

  I still can’t spot Grim, but his jacket isn’t where he’d dropped it.

  A dark shadow moves around the fence. It’s him It’s Grim. He waves me over, wanting me to come to him, but I can’t leave Gabby. I point to her and Grim understands. Slowly and silently he creeps along the fence, making his way toward us without being seen.

  “So, what? You here to arrest me or something?” Marco crosses his arms over his bare chest. “You got a warrant?”

  “Oh, I’ve certainly got a warrant,” Agent Lemming replies, producing a folded document from under his bullet proof vest. He waives it around in the air. “But it’s not for you.”

  Lemming clears his throat as another uniformed pulls my arms behind my back. “Emma Jean Parish, you are under arrest for obstruction of justice, accessory to murder in the first degree and conspiracy to commit murder.”

  Bullets rain down from above.

  “Lemming!” Shouts one of his men from the top of roof. “Bedlam fugitive at six o’clock. I think I got a shot in. What’s the call?”

  “Permission to pursue,” Agent Lemming says casually. “Retrieve the fugitive. Dead or alive.”

  THE END-ISH

  Grim and Emma Jean’s story continues in Permission. Click here to preorder and read it on December 11th.

  Permission

  Book Three

  PERMISSION

  per·mis·sion /pərˈmiSHən/

  1 authorization

  2 consent

  “Nobody can hurt me without my permission.” - Ghandi

  One

  There’s a certain beauty in death, in witnessing life leave a body. One cycle ends while another begins. Much like a decaying flower shedding its last petal, or a dead, rotting animal, feeding the trees that take root in its bones. I don’t claim to know where anything goes after it dies, or if once a final breath is exhaled, it’s just like it was never there at the start.

  Being on the giving end of death has always been easy for me. Thrilling even. I’ve never once watched someone die (who isn’t part of my family or Bedlam) and thought, No, they should live.

  The bleeding girl I’m carrying is different. This feeling inside of me is different. I want for her to live. Demand it. Will it even. I want to see her open her eyes, hear her take a motherfucking breath. To speak a fucking word, goddamnit! Not because I care about her, but because she’s essential to Tricks's happiness, which makes the girl important to me.

  It’s a strange fucking feeling. Caring by association. I don’t even fucking know the girl. Never spoke a word to her. Yet, I hope and wish with everything I am that Gabby will live.

  There are so many things beyond a living, breathing best friend that I want to give Emma Jean Parish. I want to give her a life. A real life. A place of our own with a big kitchen, a huge workshop in the garage, and a writing room for Tricks.

  Ever since she first told me about the stories she made up to escape whatever terrible fucking things were going on in her life, I pictured her hovered over a laptop late at night, typing furiously away on the keyboard and blowing locks of honey blonde curls from her face. She could write children’s fairy tales or even a story based on her life. Tricks’s imagination is something not of this world. It should be shared instead of being limited to just conning people. Although, Tricks’s cons require both her brilliant imagination and a ridiculous amount of natural and learned talent. Her books could entertain people. Help them even. Whatever she wants to do, all I know is that she was made for something more in this world. I want her to thrive and succeed and be more than…me.

  Another thought comes to mind. I want to run toward the image as much as I want to shake it away. Tricks, growing big and round, carrying what would surely be our hellion of a child. But could we raise our baby in Lacking? A place where kids only play outside when they’re at school, hidden behind tall cement fences, far enough away from the worry of being hit with a stray bullet.

  I could take Tricks away, leave Lacking. And I would do just that, even though it would mean leaving my brothers. All things considered, it seems like the best idea of them all, but giving up Bedlam and leaving Lacking city limits, doesn't automatically mean all vendettas against me vanish with us. I could still be sought out for one reason or another, and again, Tricks’s life would be in jeopardy, along with the imaginary kid. The one I’m currently having delusions about as blood spills down my leg, staining my bright white sneaker with red streaks.

  I want to give Tricks that kid and that life. I want to make it possible for all of her dreams to come true. So far, all I’ve given her is heartache and fear, along with an inability to protect her from the people destined to make her life a living fucking hell when I’ve never known someone who deserves heaven more than she does.

  Even if Marco wasn’t around to threaten our every move, what kind of life could I really give her? I’m Bedlam, always will be. Sure, I’ve got money, a lot of it, stashed away in various places, but money doesn’t buy safety or freedom, or peace of mind.

  The thought of not having Tricks by my side for the rest of my fucking life hacks into me like a hatchet to my throat, hurting worse than the fucking bullet lodged in my leg.

  Every time I take a step, it’s as if someone is chipping away at my thigh with a fucking chisel.

  I can’t let my pain, physical or mental, stop me from getting to the reservation hospital. I’ve let Tricks down too much as it is.

  I can't let Gabby die.

  I won't.

  Without a free hand, I kick open the double doors of the reservation hospital. They bang loudly as they crash against the walls. I carry Gabby into the small waiting room where Sandy and Haze look up from their pacing.

  I hand Gabby’s limp little body off to the waiting doctor and his team. They lay her on a stretc
her and shout orders at one another as they race her back behind a door with the words RESTRICTED painted above the frame.

  I yank off my hood and am greeted with Sandy and Haze’s disapproval.

  “That was some stupid fucking shit you pulled,” Haze says, crossing his arms over his chest. “Going over to challenge Marco without even fucking cluing us in on your plan.”

  “It was the only way,” I reply, exhausted from walking miles on backroads and thick brush.

  “You could have clued us in. We could have helped,” Sandy argues. I realize they’re more upset than angry. The knowledge stings worse than my leg. I never want to hurt my brothers. I’d die first.

  “Or, you could’ve both gotten killed, and you needed to be here for Marci.” I look around. “How is she?”

  Sandy’s expression softens at the mention of Marci’s name. “She’s still unconscious but stable. Took a bad blow to the head. Doctors are keeping her under until the swelling in her brain goes down, but they ran some tests, and they think she’ll pull through.”

  “Thank fucking Christ,” I say, blowing out a long-held breath.

  “Where the fuck is EJ?” Haze asks, looking behind me as if she’s about to stroll through the door.

  I shake my head. “Lemming. He stopped the fight and took her into custody, then the shooting started. Unfortunately, Gabby got caught up in the middle of it all and took a bullet to the chest. Also, Marco is still alive.

  “Looks like you’re in pretty rough shape yourself,” Haze comments. His gaze trails from the gash above my eye to the hole in my jeans and then down to the puddle of blood I’m standing in.

  “Took a bullet to the thigh,” I say, brushing it off. I have bigger things to worry about. I gotta get to Lemming and see why the fuck he’s taken Tricks.

  Sandy looks around, and I know he’s looking for medical staff to tend to my leg.

  “There’s no time for that,” I rasp.