The Perversion Trilogy: Perversion, Possession & Permission

by T. M. Frazier

  “You can’t help no one if you bleed out. Sit.” Sandy pushes me down into a plastic chair.

  A nurse looks at my blood-soaked leg. “I’ll get a room ready,” she says, shoes squeaking on the laminate as she rushes into the restricted area.

  “How do you think you’re going to get her out?” Haze scratches his beard. “If you take one step inside that station, you’re getting locked up, possibly for life. In case you’ve forgotten, you’re a fugitive, and we’re out on bail.”

  I grimace as pain shoots from my thigh up my spine. “You think that fucking matters?” I grate. “I’ve got to get her out.”

  “What about Mona?” Sandy asks. “You see her?”

  I shake my head. “Bitch was nowhere to be found. Not that I could see. There was something else going on that soaked up all of my attention.”

  “Like what?” Haze asks, taking the chair next to me.

  “Like the wedding I walked in on.”

  “No…” Sandy’s eyes go wide.

  I nod. “Yeah, that motherfucker Marco was marrying my girl in front of all of Los Muertos.” I fill my brothers in on everything that went on over at the compound. The second I've finished, the bell above the door rings, and our heads snap to the brunette standing in the lobby shaking. Her cheeks stained with tears.

  I stand and ball my fists. The nerve of this bitch.

  Mona.

  “Is…is Gabby going to be okay?” Mona asks on a whimper.

  “Let’s save some time here,” I begin as Haze pats her down and pushes her into a chair. He tosses me her phone, and I check it for tracking. It’s disabled. Even so, I throw the sim card to the ground, and Sandy smashes it with the heel of his boot.

  “You can cut the fake crying shit,” I tell her. “Save your bullshit tears for someone who doesn’t want to kill you. What’s your endgame, Mona? Why the fuck are you here?”

  She shakes her head and swallows hard. “I’ve done horrible, unforgivable things. I know I have. I can’t tell you how very sorry I am. Even though you won’t believe me, I really am sorry. There’s no excuse for what I’ve done.”

  I roll my eyes at her theatrics. “No, there isn’t. Tell me why I shouldn’t end you right fucking here and now.”

  “You…you’d kill a woman?” she stutters.

  I’d laugh at her concern if I could bother mustering a smile in the presence of this manipulative, evil psychopath who makes me, of all people, look as sane as sunshine. I shake my head slowly from side to side and correct her. “I don’t kill innocent women.”

  Mona sucks in a shaky breath, rambling as she exhales. “I just wanted to be loved. Accepted. When Marco took Gabby and EJ from the foster home, I was sent away like I was nothing. Nobody cared. After a few years, I thought I was completely forgotten. When I reached out to Gabby, she told me not to visit. I didn’t think I had a family anymore until Marco called me at school one day. He told me that Gabby was in trouble and that it was all EJ’s fault.”

  She sniffles, looking to her shoes.

  “Marco said he needed me. That I was the only one who could save Gabby from all of the hurt EJ was causing by being a traitor. He had a plan to get rid of her in a way that would benefit Los Muertos. I thought I was doing right by Gabby. By my family.” She grips her thighs with her hands and looks up to meet my angry stare. “I know it’s wrong. Gabby didn’t even know I was at Los Muertos for over a year. I told myself I didn’t tell her because I had to carry out the plan first, without the distraction of my sister, but it’s really because I couldn’t face her.” She closes her eyes tightly. “I promise, you can do whatever you want to do to me--I won’t fight you but only after I know if Gabriella is okay.”

  “Hold the fucking phone,” Sandy chimes in. “How the fuck was Marco marrying Emma Jean going to benefit Los Muertos in the long run?”

  My gaze lands on a picture of Chief David above the reception desk. I think of the story of Camila and his unborn child. Both my rage and the reason behind all of this becomes far too clear. “Because of the tribal benefits,” I answer for her. “Because Marco believes that Emma Jean is somehow Chief David’s daughter.”

  Mona nods.

  “No fucking shit,” Sandy says, followed by a long whistle. “Thought his woman was killed while she was pregnant?”

  “That’s what I thought,” I say. “Maybe, she had the kid , and maybe, it’s EJ. Or maybe, this is a lot more bullshit.”

  “Being fed to us by a sociopath,” Haze adds. “I’m going to go with lies, but this can easily be fixed with one simple little test.”

  Mona nods. “That’s why he set you up with the Irish. He figured he could have them take out Bedlam and gain access to both the reservation and your gun business all at once.” She fidgets with her fingers, pushing her cuticles back with her thumbnail. “It’s not just that. He thinks himself in love with her. He’s infatuated. She’s all he thinks about. Talks about. Yells about.” She rubs her temples. That’s when I notice the fresh scars on her wrists. When she sees me staring she yanks her sleeves down and folds her hands between her legs.

  “He’s so in love with her that he left her out on the streets to die, raped her, and turned her own childhood friends against her?” Sandy asks, echoing my own thoughts.

  Mona’s eyes are rimmed with red, underlined by deep shadows. “Isn’t it always the ones we love who we hurt the most?” She holds up her hand and offers me Emma Jean’s locket.

  I snatch it from her and resist the urge to strangle her with it. “Where is Marco now?”

  “I honestly don’t know. After the chaos broke out, I heard him talking with Mal about how I failed him. How he brought me to Los Muertos for no reason at all. That was when I realized he only cares about his agenda and himself.”

  “Redemption doesn’t happen in a day,” I point out.

  “It does when you’re listening to your brother tell someone that you don’t matter. That you never did. That you could be dead, and he wouldn’t even notice.”

  “Boo fucking hoo,” Sandy says with a roll of his eyes. “Tricks almost died because of you. Gabby might die because of you. My ma is unconscious because of you!”

  Haze kneels down by her side. “I understand you’re feeling really shitty right now.” He tugs at her chin and forces her to look up at him. “But you gotta understand, after what you’ve done…we don’t give a fuck.” He releases her and stands.

  The nurse comes back to the waiting room and motions for me to follow her.

  I look directly into Mona’s big lying eyes as I give my brothers my orders. “Take her to the war room. Tie her to a fucking chair, and don’t let her out of your sight. If she so much as takes a step in any direction you haven’t led her, kill her.”

  Two

  In an exam area behind a faded blue curtain, the nurse cuts open my jeans to examine the bullet wound in my thigh. “I’ll get the surgeon. This bullet has to come out.” She turns to leave the room, but I grab her by the arm, stopping her.

  “You do it,” I grit through my teeth.

  She shakes her head. “You’ll need to be under for the procedure.”

  “No, I’m not going under.”

  “I’m not licensed to perform surgery,” she argues with her free hand on her hip.

  “My mother was a nurse before the hospital shut down, and she started working at the casino,” I tell her. “I know that nurses follow doctors’ orders, but I also know that a lot of the time, nurses already know what’s best. You telling me you aren’t capable of removing this bullet?”

  She doesn’t hesitate. “No, I’m telling you I’m not licensed to.”

  “This is the reservation. No one is going to come after you. Look, if you don’t do it, I’m going to leave here and do it myself. Save me the trouble of infection, and just get this fucker out and stitch it back up.”

  She shakes free of my leg and inspects the wound. She stands back up like she’s about to argue again, but I cut her off before she sta
rts. “Miss, my girl is in trouble. I’ve got to get to her…please.”

  Her look softens. She rolls her eyes, then plucks two latex gloves from a nearby box and snaps them on her hands. “I’m warning you. It’s gonna hurt like hell.”

  I lie back while she gathers tools on a tray. “I’m counting on it.” The truth is, it doesn’t matter.

  No amount of physical pain can compare to how I’m already hurting.

  She digs the scalpel into my leg, and I use the pain to focus on my plan, but what comes to me are three words on repetition. I recite them over and over again as she digs around and slices into my flesh.

  Rage.

  Revenge.

  Redemption.

  “There you are,” Chief David drawls, as he steps into the curtained off area and closes it behind him. “What the fuck is going on that has Marci, you, and Marco’s sister, all taking up valuable space in my hospital?”

  “You know I prefer house calls, but Gabby and Marci needed more, and well, I was already here. I didn’t think you wanted any more of my blood on your floors.”

  The chief stands at the foot of the stretcher. “How thoughtful of you, Grim. Appreciate you lookin’ out for the tribe.”

  The nurse stands up, examining her work, making sure the bandage is secure. She takes off her gloves and tosses them into a red biohazard bin. She acknowledges the chief with a hand to her heart before turning back to me. “You’re all set. I’d offer you some pain killers, but…”

  “I’m good,” I say, waving her off. “Thank you.” I take out my wallet and shove several hundred-dollar bills into her hand.

  “No, you don’t need to,” she says, trying to hand it back.

  “Take it,” Chief David tells her. “And thank you.”

  She folds up the bills and shoves them into the pocket of her scrubs. “Keep it clean. Change the bandages every six hours. You might be a little light headed from the blood loss. Drink something sugary as soon as you can.” With a clipped nod to me and another hand over her heart to the chief, she’s gone.

  I sit up, and grimace. The pain from my wound stings, but it’s manageable. The chief hands me my shoes. I fill him in on everything that’s led me to being patched up in his hospital while I lace up.

  “I guess now is a bad time to tell you that Alby’s been spotted in town. Or maybe, it’s not a bad thing. How did your meeting with him go? You sort your shit out with the Irish?”

  I shake my head. “They never showed.”

  “A no-show with the Irish is as good as a bullet with your name on it,” the chief says.

  I give him a hard stare. “I know that. If they didn’t show for the meeting and give me time to explain myself, it means they’ve already drawn their own conclusions.” I reach for my jacket on the side table. I stand and shrug it on. “There’s something else I have to tell you. Marco. I’m sure he thinks that Emma Jean is a member of the tribe. More specifically, your daughter.”

  “What the fuck?” The chief blurts, taking a step back as if I shoved him.

  “Just think for a minute. Is there any way that Camilla had the baby? Even if it seems far-fetched, is there any possibility, at all?”

  The chief thinks for a moment, closing his eyes. “She disappeared without a trace. I suppose it’s possible she had the baby and survived for a time, but there’s no way Fernando didn’t eventually catch up to her. She would’ve found a way to get word to me if she were still alive. I’m as sure of it as I am sure I’m standing here talking to you.”

  “Emma Jean could be yours, then. If Camilla had the baby and hid her away somewhere before Fernando got to her.”

  “It’s…I guess it’s possible,” the chief says. “Are you saying you think Marco wanted her tribal benefits?”

  “And to have an in with the tribe so he can take over Bedlam’s business here. It would explain why he’s so adamant on his vendetta against us, besides his obsession with Tricks.”

  “Well, they’d have to be married,” he laughs, although he stops when he sees the angry expression on my face and my jaw, which is clenched so tight I might break my own damn teeth. His laughter is replaced with worry. “She didn’t marry—”

  I cut him off. “Not willingly, but Marco gathered witnesses. The ceremony was done. I don’t think her signature ever made it to the license, at least, not entirely, but I wouldn’t put it past Marco to forge it so he can get his hands on her tribal benefits.”

  “Fuck. Desperate, isn’t he? But she would contest it, surely, and say she didn’t enter the marriage freely. The tribe may consider marriage unbreakable, but only one that is true. This plan of his, it wouldn’t work.” He lowers his voice to a grumble.

  “It would if she wasn’t alive to contest it.” The words make me feel sick.

  “No, there’s another reason why that wouldn’t work, but that’s not important right now. Let’s just say it would work. If Marco wanted to collect Emma Jean’s benefits, he’d have to send in the marriage license with her blood test. If not, and he submitted separately, or at a later date, then he wouldn’t be eligible to receive her benefits at the time of her death.” The chief scratches his jaw. “I’ll call the office and ask them to keep an eye on all recent submissions. If he’s sent it in, or when he sends it in, you’ll know your theory is correct, and more importantly, we’ll have her blood on file to test against mine, but you might want to give me something of hers just in case, so we don’t waste time and I can find out for sure if your girl is my blood.”

  “Like what?”

  “Hair. A nail file. Shit, even her toothbrush will work. The lab on the reservation is state of the art. Top of the line everything. The tribe has spent a lot of money on the lab to ensure that a lot more doesn’t end up in the greedy hands of outsiders. We gotta make sure those claims of heritage are real.”

  “Outsiders like me?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

  “Nah, I tested you a long time ago. Was kind of hoping you were of tribal blood. Half the time, I feel like you’re the bastard son I never wanted.”

  I laugh. “Is that a compliment?”

  He shrugs. “If you want it to be.”

  “Out of curiosity, how often do applicants ever test positive for being a tribe member?” I ask, adjusting my jeans. Thankfully, since the nurse sliced them open, the fabric doesn’t rub against my wound. I shove my feet into my bloody sneakers.

  “A lot less often than you’d think. Rollo was the last one and that was several months ago.”

  “Rollo?” I ask. “As in Rollo, one of my men?” I ask, wondering how I didn’t know this.

  “One in the same.” He says. “He put in the test, but never the application for benefits. I asked him why once, he just shrugged and walked away.”

  The situation with Rollo is odd at best. I wonder why he never told me about being a member of the tribe. It’s definitely something I remind myself to ask him at a later time, but right now I’ve got other shit that needs to be handled.

  “Walk with me to the brothel. I’ll get you something of hers to test,” I say.

  “Then, what?” the chief asks, walking beside me.

  “Then, I’ve gotta get with Lemming and see what I can do about getting Emma Jean free.”

  “What charge is he holding her on?”

  “Not sure, bullets started flying, so I couldn’t make out his words. Whatever it is doesn’t matter, I’ve got to get her out. If she goes to County, Marco can get to her in there. She won’t be safe.”

  The chief’s forehead wrinkles. “Not so fast there, son. You’re juggling a lot of moving parts in those tattooed hands of yours. The task force will take you in the second you leave this reservation if Marco or Callum don’t take you down first. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but blood has been spilled all over Lacking in the past twenty-four hours. Margaret is ducking bullets seven ways ‘till Sunday. The war has begun, and you, my friend, are at the center of it all. You need a plan, and a good one before you head out into th
e wild west our streets have become.”

  I pause and think, rubbing my temples. “What I need is a good reason why no one will be looking for me, at least not for a while.”

  The chief grins and claps me on the shoulder. His eyes brighten.

  “What?” I ask.

  “We have an old saying in the tribe.” He leads me out the back door of the hospital and walks with me as I limp across the field toward the security buildings that house the Bedlam war room. He stops when we reach the building to face me, sparking an idea in my mind that leads to an all-out blaze.

  “The living don’t look for the dead.”

  Three

  Drip. Drop. Drip. Drip. Drop.

  The leaking bathroom faucet is the only sound in this otherwise silent room. I expected Lemming to bring me to the police station, but much to my surprise, I’ve been sequestered in the back bedroom of a house. The task force standing guard at both the door and outside the window.

  I pace the room as I worry about Grim and Gabby. When the pacing doesn’t help, I busy myself by exploring my surroundings.

  It’s a big room with its own bathroom. The master I suppose. It’s clean and compared to what I’m used to, downright luxurious. There’s a fully-stocked bookcase lining one of the long walls and a flat screen TV above the dresser. The bathroom has a large, soaking tub separate from the shower. Lining a shelf above the toilet are new travel-sized everything. Soaps, hair products. There’s even a clear makeup bag filled to the brim with never-used eyeshadows, mascaras, and items I don’t even know what they are for. There’s a blow dryer hanging from the wall, and below it, rows and rows of lotions of all sort. Perched on the corner of the tub is a stack of folded fluffy white towels. The massive bed is covered in more throw pillows than I’ve ever seen. The comforter is covered with girls’ clothes in various sizes with tags still attached. Sundresses, jeans, shorts, and even some vintage-looking band t-shirts. Next to the bed is a row of shoes. Three pairs of sneakers. Three pairs of sandals. Three pairs of flip-flops. Three pairs of boots. All the same, just different sizes.