“Thank you,” I manage to say. I don’t know if a therapist would be helpful, but neither is losing sleep while my thoughts go around in a highway of circles with no off ramp.
“I’d offer for you to see the town priest, but I don’t take you for the religious type,” he says.
“I’m not, although I’m sure he’s very helpful. But I don’t think I’d feel comfortable talking about all the things. The violence and all, with a man of a god I don’t think I believe in.”
Callum’s laugh surprises me. When he sees me staring, he explains. “You’re in Ireland, Imogen. The priests can be the most violent of us all.”
Twenty
Grim
It’s been months. I’m starting to think Marco isn’t going to reply to the Chief’s request for him to show his face on the reservation, and we’ve had no luck in finding him. According to sources, he’s not in the Los Muertos compound and hasn’t been since the day I challenged him to a fight we never got a chance to finish. Yet the violence in Lacking continues to grow with each passing day, which makes me believe Marco couldn’t have gone far and that he’s still in control of Los Muertos.
“The bastard bought it. He’s here!” Sandy exclaims out of breath. “The Chief just sent me a text.”
I grab my jacket and head for the door. “Where?” I ask.
“On top of the hill by the far wall.”
We run to the van that’s already parked in the back. Haze is behind the wheel. The second we close the doors, we take off.
We get to the hill, and I draw my gun as we slowly creep up the side. It’s not until we get to the top that I realize there is no need for my weapon.
The chief is standing behind Mal and Marco who are buried up to their necks in an ant pile, Groaning and screaming as they’re eaten alive by the tiny insects.
“It can’t be you,” Marco whispers as realization sets in, followed by disappointing rage. He growls and waves his head violently from side to side but gives up when he realizes there is no escaping the trap he’s been buried in. “No! You’re dead!”
I smirk. “The Grim Reaper doesn’t die. But you do.”
Marco mutters something incoherent.
I kneel before him and press my gun to his forehead. “Ants? A bit dramatic, don’t you think, Chief?”
“Not dramatic. This is nature’s jail,” The Chief explains. He looks to my hand. “No. No guns.”
“What?” I ask, standing up while Marco and Mal turn their heads from side to side, trying their best to flick off the invading ants but only angering them further.
“You cannot shoot someone on these lands. It’s tribal law, and I forbid it.”
“And you think death by fire ants is a better idea?” I raise an eyebrow.
“It’s more creative,” the chief mumbles. “But no, your issue is with Marco. Mal will die by fire ants. You will use your hands to take down your enemy as a warrior. There’s no glory in guns.”
“It’s faster,” Haze argues.
“Touché,” the chief agrees, “but rules are rules, son. Rituals. Holy places. All those things.” He widens his stance and crosses his arms, and I know he won’t budge. I could just shoot Marco in the head. Ask forgiveness, not permission. But, I can’t do that to the Chief, and there’s something thrilling that makes my mouth water as I think about tearing Marco limb from limb.
Marco spits, “I’ll kill you, motherfucker.”
I take off my jacket and hand it to Haze. Sandy takes my gun.
I look to the Chief, who’s smiling.
I open my arms wide. “By all means. Dig the motherfucker up.”
Two of the Chief’s inner circle work to dig Marco free of the ants. His black eyes never leave mine. He stops flinching as the ants continue their assault on his face.
Once Marco is free from the pile, he slaps the ants from his skin, then wastes no time, roaring at me like a crazed lunatic.
“I should’ve mentioned,” the Chief calls out. “The ant bites promote a surge of adrenaline before they bite enough to actually kill.”
I duck, escaping contact with Marco’s fist.
Marco isn’t fighting me as a man. He’s crazed and bloodthirsty. A demon who doesn’t care if he goes down, as long as he takes me with him. That makes two of us.
He manages to land a few blows and me several of my own until we’re wrestling down the hill. We crash into Sandy, who falls over us. Marco lunges for Sandy, pulling his weapon from his waistband. He swirls it around and aims it at my head. I push my head against the barrel of his gun as victory dances in his eyes. “This is it, Grim. It’s over for you.”
“Marco! Help!” comes a shout in the distance.
Marco’s gaze shifts to where Mona is standing on top of the hill with Rollo by her side. She’s not in distress as her yell indicated. In fact, she’s the opposite. She looks cool and calm as she raises her hand and gives Marco the middle finger.
The entire episode is only a fraction of a second, but it’s all I need. Marco refocuses his attention on me, but he’s not quick enough. I lunge forward and knock the gun from his hands. I land on top of him, and I swing my fist with all of my force against his head. I’m not punching him. I’m punching through him. His skull cracks under my knuckles, but I’m still not done. Over and over again, I pummel the fucker. Blood splatters on my face and in my eyes, and I don’t care. I throw blow after blow until Marco gurgles through the blood, until the gurgles cease and so does Marco.
Power surges through me as the life force drains from his body. I’m disappointed that it’s over so soon, but regardless that he’s dead, I’m not done killing him. Not yet. I scream and rage and continue to pummel him, crazed with power and revenge and adrenaline.
“Enough,” Sandy says, pulling me off Marco.
I spit on Marco’s body. “Now, you really are Los Muertos, motherfucker.”
I look up to the Chief. “Are the ancestors satisfied?”
“What? Oh, the gun thing?” the Chief shrugs and waves his hand dismissively. “That’s not really a thing.” He pulls a large barreled silver gun with a wooden handle from under his jacket and pumps a single bullet into Mal’s skull. “Thank god. His shrieking and wailing was giving me a fucking migraine,” the chief says, rubbing his temple with the butt of his weapon.
“Then, why?” I ask, still out of breath, covered in Marco’s blood.
The chief smiles. “I didn’t want to rob you of the satisfaction of killing him with your bare hands. Feels good, doesn’t it?”
Sandy and Haze are both chuckling as I glance down one last time at what’s left of Marco. I slowly raise my eyes back to face the Chief. “It feels fucking amazing.”
“Good, then it worked. You can thank your girl,” he says. “She knew it would be better this way.”
“Tricks,” I say her name on my lips. I ball my fists, waiting for the anger of her interfering to come, but it doesn’t. Instead, I throw my head back and run my blood covered fingers through my hair.
And I laugh. I laugh so long and hard my ribs ache and my chest hurts. I drop to my knees in the dirt as the sky opens up and the rain washes Marco’s blood from my skin.
“What the fuck is so funny?”
I’d answer him if I could, but I can’t just yet. All I can think about is my girl, who, although, thousands of miles away…
Is still up to her old Tricks.
Twenty-One
Imogen
I’m lost in thoughts of Grim when I should be concentrating on the work in front of me. I wonder how he is. What he’s doing. If he misses me as much as my heart aches for him. I love it in Ireland, but as happy as I’ve been here, it doesn’t make me love or want to be with Grim any less, but it does complicate the situation more because now I won’t just be leaving a place when the time comes.
I’ll be leaving my family.
“Having troubles?” My mother asks, glancing at the empty page on my desk. Her eyes drop to the biggest complication, my l
arge rounded stomach, or more directly, the baby growing inside. “Are you feeling ill?”
“No, I…we are fine. It’s just that I’ll never get this right,” I complain, staring down at my text book. Gabby and I are both finishing our basic education courses. Soon, we will both have high school diplomas. I’ve found out that as excited and eager as I am to have an education, there are some subjects that give me the urge to toss the text book into the fireplace.
“It’s math. No one ever gets it right,” my mother says, “I’ll go fix you a snack. Be back in a moment.”
She passes my dad on her way out the door. I smile up at him, but his frown makes me worry. “What is it?”
“This is for you,” Callum says, handing me a small box. “Came from a messenger just now.”
“What is it?” I ask.
“I don’t—”
I cock my head and give him a look that says really?
He puffs out his cheeks and blows out his breath. “Fine. Yes, I opened it. Yes, I know what is inside, and yes, most importantly, I know what it’s not, which is anything that can harm you. At least, I hope not. You happy, my darling girl?”
I noticed over the last several months, that when talking to me or Gabby, or my mother, Callum, even when angry or upset, always ends his sentences with an endearment. A cushion to the blow. A reminder that he can be both upset and still love. It’s one of my favorite things about him. My other is watching Callum get flustered. Not being used to having two teenage girls to care for, it’s a daily occurrence that always ends in giggles from the three of us and Callum storming off in a cloud of Irish swears.
I smile. “Sort of.”
I look down at the small box. Written across the top in familiar handwriting is my name. I know exactly who it’s from. My heart beats wildly.
Gabby and my mother enter the room. “What is it dear? Is it the babe? Is everything alright?”
“Everything is…” I can’t finish because it’s not true. Everything isn’t fine. “The baby is fine,” I say, pressing my flattened palm to my rounded stomach. A little hand gives me a high five and then proceeds to pummel my ribs. I wince and take a deep breath.
“What’s that?” Gabby asks, pointing to the box.
“It’s from Grim,” I say.
“Just give her some room, and let her open the darn thing,” Callum barks. But he doesn’t retreat, and neither do Gabby or my mother. In fact, they all crowd in closer.
I take a deep breath and rip off the top. There’s no note. No card. Just a ring. A man’s ring. A simple black rose with bleeding red stones falling from the petals. I hold it up for my family to see.
Gabby smiles. My mother looks terrified.
I have no idea how to feel just yet.
I glance from the ring to Callum’s stoic face. “Does this mean what I think it does?”
He rocks on his feet and clasps his hands behind his back. “Aye.”
“So, Marco is…” Gabby trails off, but I know she’s not upset about potentially hearing of her brother’s demise. I recognize the look on her face. She’s merely impatient.
Callum nods. “Yes, darling. Marco Ramos is dead. The war is over.”
Twenty-Two
Several Months Later
Grim
Chief David pulls into the driveway, and I find it odd, considering I haven’t seen him outside the reservation save for a handful of times. He glances at the bucket of stucco in my hand. “Renovating?”
I look up to the house, shielding my eyes from the sun. “As much as I like to think the bullet holes give the old girl character, I think it’s time for a fresh start.” I set down the bucket on a step of the ladder and pick up a trowel and take a large scoop of the grey cement like mixture. I flick my wrist to shuck the mixture over one of the holes I’d already wired up, pressing it into the wire then smoothing it over. “Once it’s dry I’ll add another layer to mimic the skip trowel texture on the non-damaged portion of the walls. She’ll be good as new after a layer of fresh paint.”
The chief surprises me by shrugging off his jacket and laying it across the bed of his truck. He rolls up his shirtsleeves and picks up another trowel. He digs it into the bucket and begins to repair another one of the holes.
“You don’t have to help,” I say.
“Did you know what I did on the reservation before the casino opened?” he asks.
“No, I don’t.” We work quickly together. I pick up the bucket, and Chief David helps me move the ladder a few feet to the next set of holes.
“Stucco and drywall,” he says proudly. “It’s tedious work. But I always enjoyed it. Kept my mind focused. I came up with some of my best and worst ideas for the tribe and my people while laboring in the heat covered in drywall dust and stucco mud.”
“I can understand that,” I say looking up at the house. Bedlam. I want it to be more than a house. I want it to be a home. In case… I shake the thought away and resume my work.
“I know what you’re doing,” the chief says. “Does she know the war is over?”
“I’m not sure. Callum knows because Marci told Alby. I don’t know if he’s told her, but it doesn’t matter. I told her there isn’t a deadline on this. I want her to want to come back, and not just because the war is over and it’s safe for her now.”
“She’ll come. Of that, I have no doubt,” the chief says, sounding sure.
“We don’t know that for sure.” I finish the last bullet hole, then toss my trowel in the bucket. I don’t want to get my hopes up, but honestly, this entire house project is a sign that my hopes are already up. “If she does come back someday, I want to give her something to come back to.”
“A home.”
I nod. “Safety. Security. A life. A real one,” I admit.
The chief tosses his own trowel into the bucket. “Everything. You want to give her everything.”
I inspect the chief’s work. It’s immaculate, much better than my own. “You gonna tell me what really brought you off the rez today? I assume the trip wasn’t just to help me stucco. Good work, by the way.”
“Thanks, and you’re right. As much as I like working with my hands, it’s not the reason I’m here.” He wipes his hands on a rag and adjusts his turquoise bolo tie. “The reservation lab received an odd request. Actually, I received the request personally, and then sent it over to the lab.”
“Does is affect security?” I ask.
The chief retrieves his jacket. He reaches inside and retrieves a folded paper he hands to me. It’s a blood work form from the lab. “No, but it affects you.”
I hand him back the paper. “You’ve already tested my blood, if you don’t recall. Unfortunately, not a trace of the tribe. I believe your words were something along the lines of you’re the bastard son I’ve never wanted.”
He shakes his head and holds up his hands, refusing to take back the paper. “I know that. Read it. It’s not a Native blood test.”
I look it over again and realize it’s not blank, although the line where a name should be is blank. There are boxes checked for two samples A and B.
“We didn’t receive the actual samples, but the DNA breakdown was sent in an email,” he explains.
“It’s a paternity test,” I say, confused.
“It is.”
“Why did you get it?” I ask, as a ridiculous thought begins to unfurl in the back of my mind.
“Because we’ve got the best lab in the whole damn country. We can pinpoint origin down to a village or tribe or region, better than any of those mail-in tests can. And because a favor was asked of me and I figured you’d want me to oblige.”
“I mean why are you showing it to me?” I glance over the paper again, but it’s as jumbled as my thoughts. “Just tell me what the fuck is going on?”
“The DNA samples emailed over were of two females.”
The chief has a knowing look on his lined face. “You think Gabby and Tricks?” I shake my head. “But they already know they
aren’t related.”
“That’s what I thought at first. Maybe they just wanted to be sure. But then the report came back. It turns out that one female is around eighteen to twenty-five years in age, consistent with Gabby, but the other unrelated female is under a year.”
Love and worry and panic swirl around in my brain. I lean on the ladder for support. “A baby.”
“If they compared the baby’s DNA to Gabby’s it means they were trying to rule out, or find out if she was related to Marco.” I say as the realization takes hold.
“Yes, but since we store all of our DNA reports in our system, I told them to go the direct route and test the child against you.”
The baby could be Marco’s or any one of…I push the thought aside, it leaves my mind as quick as if it never was. It doesn’t matter whose DNA made our kid. Tricks is mine; so, the baby is mine. It’s just that simple. Like breathing. I don’t even have to think about it. Mine. A little girl. Holy shit. I have a little girl.
“The results,” he turns the page toward me.
I shove it away. “No, I don’t need to know.”
“Why not?”
I smile. “Because it doesn’t fucking matter. I’m a dad.”
“Good man.” Chief David slaps me on the shoulder. “Congratulations, Papa.” He shrugs his coat back on and looks up to the house. “Looks like you’ve got more renovating to do than you thought.”
I stand outside and look up at the house for hours without moving. I might never move again. I’m fixated on the swirling emotions inside me. I’m half-tempted to go to Ireland and drag Tricks back, even though every fiber in my being tells me it’s a decision she has to make on her own, but now, she’s had my baby, and I haven’t heard a word from her since I sent her the ring. It’s been so long. What if her feelings for me have changed? What if she doesn’t want me to be part of her daughter’s life?
Permission: The Perversion Trilogy, Book Three Page 10
