Perversion (Perversion Trilogy Book 1)

by T. M. Frazier

“My Life. My Death. My Loyalty. My Honor. For you. For us.” His forehead falls to mine. “For Always.”

  Grim leaves first, allowing me enough time to fix myself up before rejoining the funeral. I’m feeling hopeful for the first time in a long time. The moonlight is still bright. The sounds of the funeral party, a mixture of laughter and music, floats in the air all around me.

  When I get to the end of the path, there’s someone waiting for me. I smile, thinking it’s Grim, until he steps from the shadows, and I come to a screeching halt.

  “This was a test, princessa,” Marco grinds out. He grabs my arm and squeezes tight. He presses his lips against my ear. “And you fucking failed.”

  Twenty-Eight

  The entire way back to the compound, Marco is silent. He doesn’t even whistle or sing along to the radio. I’d prefer anger or yelling to this eerie sort of calm he so rarely exhibits.

  He pushes me up the steps to his office, and when we’re finally there, he slams the door and pushes me hard against the table. He pulls up my dress. “This is on you, EJ. I warned you. Now, you’re gonna get everything I told you that you would.”

  “Don’t do this. You said I was family once. Like a sister to you!” Marco doesn’t stop. I hate the desperation in my cries, but I have no other choice. Marco’s threats are about to become reality.

  MY reality.

  Marco laughs, long and loud, like a hyena in the desert.

  My skin feels like a thousand ants are crawling all over it. My insides are on revolt, and I’m sure I’m about to empty the contents of my stomach along with some other vital organs all over Marco’s desk.

  “You’re right. You’re my sister. My family. I’m the head of this family, and you broke the fucking rules. Now, you’re going to have to pay the price. Besides, if you think reminding me that we’re family is going to stop me, then you’d be wrong. If you wanna know how wrong—” He leans down so close his lips brush mine. I can smell the tequila on his breath, and my stomach rolls. “Then, you should ask Gabby.”

  No. No!

  He didn’t.

  I look up into Marco’s eyes.

  He did.

  It clicks. The reason Gabby’s been acting so distant. The reason she’s flinched every time I’ve tried to offer her comfort. The reason why she fake smiles at him all the time, trying to appease him in every way. I should have known from the way she shivers when he enters a room. The deep sadness written all over her face. I’ve chalked it up to her being unhappy here. I just didn’t know HOW unhappy. I’ve spent so long hiding my feelings that I didn’t stop to think that Gabby was hiding a secret of her own.

  A horrible, horrible secret.

  Marco had raped her. His own sister.

  “I’ll kill you myself,” I scream, as he rips off my dress and tosses it against the wall. The fabric hitting the floor isn’t loud, but it might as well be a cymbal the way the sound shakes in my ears.

  Marco unbuckles his belt. He wraps it around my neck, pulling it tight. I’m choking, fighting to take in air. I feel the pressure building in my face as he cuts off my circulation. He pushes down his jeans, then spreads my legs as wide as they can go. “Slut, couldn’t even bother putting your fucking panties back on. I’ll show you who’s slut you are, and it’s not his.”

  “You’ll die for this,” I rasp.

  He snarls. “You want me to die?” He chuckles, then bites down hard on my ear. “You first, bitch.”

  I’m not always present in my everyday life. My mind is always elsewhere, adrift in one daydream or another to escape reality. But never have I closed my eyes and prayed to a God I wasn’t sure existed for my mind to be anywhere other than in my own body.

  Until now.

  Marco forces himself inside of me.

  I scream as the world crumbles and collapses all around me.

  His hand covers my mouth. I can’t fucking breathe.

  He pulls tighter on the belt.

  I see stars.

  “And to think,” he spits. “You don’t even know the real fucking reason I brought you here. But don’t worry. You’ll find out soon enough.”

  He pulls even tighter.

  Fighting him off is as useless as trying not to feel my body and soul as they're invaded. I heave like I’m going to vomit as his sweat-soaked skin rubs against mine, his hardness thrusting again and again inside me. His grunts of angry pleasure sound like the very worst out of tune song that I'm being forced to listen to over and over again.

  Finally, I stop resisting. My legs go limp as all the fight leaves me. After all, it’s a pointless use of my strength. If I keep fighting, I’ll die.

  It’s as simple as that.

  Instead, I will myself to be somewhere else.

  Anywhere else.

  While Marco hammers away at my insides, at what’s left of my innocence, I start to drift. I don’t float above my own body like a ghost. Fuck that. I don’t need to look down and see the horribleness I’m escaping. I don’t want to understand what’s going on, because there is no understanding.

  There is only pain. Hurt. Anger.

  Suddenly, I can feel the warmth of the sun as it beats down on my face.

  I open my eyes. I’m at my favorite spot in the park, sitting under the big oak right in the middle. I’ve got a great view of the pond, and my favorite pen is pressed up against the corner of my lip. I stare down at where I left off on my story. Only a few seconds pass before the pen is moving across the page as if it’s possessed and my hand is just along for the ride.

  I place myself inside my words, escaping into one of my fairytales like I never have before.

  Two lovers, cursed by an evil sorcerer to forever to live on opposite sides of a vast lake, longed to be together. If they so much as stepped one toe inside the water, they’d be sucked to the bottom where they would surely drown.

  But they grew tired, weary, and weak, living without the other. One day, they both jumped into the water. Desperate to be together, both were willing to risk drowning for the small possibility that they could reach one another before the curse took hold. Just as expected, the dark promise became a reality. The waters of the lake sucked them under and swirled them around and around until they were dizzy.

  Though they knew it was their end, they both kept one hand stretched out toward the other as they were pulled deeper and deeper to the bottom of the lake. Because to them, death didn’t mean that all hope was lost.

  At that exact moment, just as they were sure they’d drawn their very last breaths, their hands touched. They held on with all they had, wrapping their arms around each other.

  Finally reunited after an eternity apart.

  The dark waters cleared and calmed. Together, the lovers floated to the surface. But they didn’t stop there. They floated higher and higher above the water, hand in hand over the trees and through the clouds.

  Life wasn’t worth living without the other.

  They took the risk. They lost.

  Or maybe, they won, depending on how you look at it.

  And they died…happily ever after.

  Twenty-Nine

  Death is too easy a solution for Marco. Figures. The fucker is always doing shit the hard way.

  I wake up groggy. Not sure if I’d slept, passed out, or died.

  The searing pain from both inside and outside of my body lets me know that I am very much alive.

  There is no floating for me. No hand bound in Grim’s.

  No Grim anywhere.

  There is only pain.

  In my body.

  In my heart.

  When my vision clears, I find myself alone. I feel a rush of relief, but it’s short-lived when I find that I’m bound by both my hands and feet. Tied to the bed, my limbs spread like da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man. My inner thighs hurt. Everything is sore. I feel as if I’d been scraped from the inside out with a coat hanger. Something smells like death. It’s me. There’s dried vomit on my chin and all over my naked skin. My legs ar
e stained with streaks of my own urine, blood, and Marco’s cum.

  I pull at my restraints to no avail, but I keep trying anyway. I have to get free. I must get to Grim. I stop my movements all together when I hear voices coming from the other side of the door.

  I close my eyes and pretend to be passed out in case whoever is out there decides to enter the room. The voices grow closer. Louder. It’s a man and a woman talking, and I’m sure as the shiver that runs down my spine that the man is Marco.

  “She was passed the fuck out last time I checked. Won’t be up for a while. Taught that bitch a lesson.”

  The door opens, and I can see light behind my closed eyelids.

  “She’s not dead,” the woman says with an annoyed bite in her voice, offended I’m still breathing.

  “Calm your shit. The bitch is no use to us dead. She needs to be alive, so we have leverage.”

  The woman groans in frustration. She raises her voice. “What we want is power, Marco. And this stupid bitch holds so much power over Grim that her death would crush him. Don’t you see? If he's down, his organization is down. While he's crushed, we crush Bedlam. All of them. Then, the town is ours. TRULY ours.”

  Holy shit. I recognize the woman's voice. I steady my breathing and fight every instinct to open my eyes. My insides turn cold. The pain in my body turns into a pain in my chest. My soul. My heart, which skips several beats. The need to cough is strong, but I manage to swallow it down.

  “She’s no use to us dead. Bedlam will seek revenge. With her alive, we can negotiate and take it all. New territories. Grim will give everything up for his gringa pussy,” Marco argues. “Then, when we have everything…” Marco’s voice turns sickeningly sweet. “We’ll kill them all.”

  The woman sighs heavily. “I hope you’re right. Because, if you’re not, you just bought a fucking death sentence.”

  Marco scoffs and sucks on his teeth. “The bitch is practically dead already.”

  The door creaks open, and I risk opening my eyes just enough to where I’m looking through tiny slits.

  Long thick dark hair trails behind the woman who follows Marco out. She tugs on his arm, and he turns around. I close my eyes just in time.

  “I wasn’t talking about her. If this all goes to shit, it will be YOU in the ground," she threatens. "If not at the hands of Grim or his boys, then by MINE.”

  “Don’t get your panties in a twist. I got this.”

  The door slams shut. The voices become distant murmurs. I exhale, and suddenly, I can’t breathe. My chest is tight, and my lungs are on fire. I cough and suck in a strangled breath. I begin to ask myself a series of panicked questions.

  Why? What did I do? What could I have said?

  A tear rolls down my cheek, stinging my skin.

  What could I have possibly done to make Gabby hate me so much?

  Not The End!

  Emma Jean and Grim’s story continues in Possession,

  available for preorder now. Continue reading for a preview!

  A PREVIEW OF POSSESSION

  Emma Jean

  I don’t know how long it’s been since I’ve slept. Or how long since I’ve been tied to the ceiling above the bed. My arms over my head. My toes barely skimming the dirty, cum and blood-stained mattress below.

  The door opens, and what’s left of my pulse springs to life, preparing for whatever Marco has in store for me this time.

  I smell her perfume before I see her. Not like I can. It’s pitch black. “Gabby, is that you?” I rasp. I regret the words the second they’ve left my mouth because, in my delirium, I’ve forgotten she’s a traitor.

  “EJ, oh my god,” she says. I feel her arms wrap around me and hiss at the sting of the pain. “What have they done to you?”

  She pulls back her body but keeps her cheek pressed up against mine. I feel the wetness from her tears on my skin.

  “They did everything to me,” I say bitterly. “At least they left you alone,” I say. It pains me worse than my injuries to have to put my mask on in front of Gabby of all fucking people.

  She gasps and takes my cheeks in her hands. Her forehead presses against mine. “I’m so sorry it took me so long to come for you, but they have eyes on me all the time. I’m a prisoner here. Just like you.”

  Just like me?

  That’s a good one.

  Gabby’s hair feels soft and freshly combed. Her nails are sharp and I can feel the smoothness of the painted enamel as she rakes the back of her hand across my face. I can smell her signature perfume wafting from her clean skin. She smells showered. Fresh.

  Alive.

  I hate her for it.

  I smell like urine, vomit, and death.

  “What have they done to you?” she sobs, falling at my feet. She runs her hands up my body to feel for my wounds. “You don’t deserve this. Even after all his threats I just can’t believe he could do this to you. This is all my fault.”

  I almost laugh as I listen for the subtle traces of the lies I was once so good at picking up on. What bothers me the most is that I don’t hear anything in her voice but sincerity. Gabby has finally become a good liar. No, she’s been a good liar. Good enough to fool me all this time. Better than me.

  Each and every lie out of her mouth feels like a bullet exploding into my skin.

  “Why?” I croak. I’m not even sure what I’m asking. Why are you here? Why did you lie to me? Why is this happening now?

  “Because of Grim. That’s what I heard them saying anyway. I knew there was more going on than you let on. You should have told me, EJ. I could’ve helped, or at least, I could’ve tried.”

  She’s scolding me for withholding information from her. I swear if it didn’t hurt so fucking bad I’d laugh in her face.

  “I promise I’ll get you out of here,” she whispers. “Come on.” She grabs my wrist, feeling for the knot that binds me to the ceiling. Footsteps sound on the other side of the door. “Shit.”

  “Go, before they get you, too,” I tell her. What I want to say is Go, because pretending to still be my best friend is making my heart break even more than it already has.

  “I can’t leave you like this!” she cries in a whispered panic.

  “Yes, you can. How can you rescue me if you need to be rescued, too?” I ask, going along with her deceit.

  Gabby frantically runs her hands along the rope, searching for a way to release me. Even if she actually tries to untie me, unless she has a hacksaw, it won’t be easy, and it won’t be quick. The rope is thick and so tight it digs deep into my skin with my every movement.

  The footsteps grow louder, but Gabby’s still pulling at the knots.

  “Go, Gabby. Please,” I plea, with all the strength I can muster. What bothers me most is that my concern for her is still real, even if nothing else is.

  Gabby hesitates again before finally removing her hands. “I’ll be back. I’m getting you out of here,” she promises. And with a quick kiss to my cheek, her footsteps dart off to the other side of the room followed by the familiar sound of a window sliding open.

  It reminds me of when I’d snuck into Grim’s room. I’m temporarily comforted with thoughts of being in back there. In his bed.

  In his heart.

  A time not long ago when I had hope.

  The door opens, bright light floods the room. Marco’s shadowy silhouette stands in the doorway. “You look good all tied up and ready for me,” he says with a wicked chuckle before stepping into the darkness.

  My stomach rolls.

  A time when I wasn’t wishing for death.

  A PREVIEW OF NINE

  The Tale of Kevin Clearwater

  Kevin Clearwater, AKA “Nine”

  “Can you believe that Canada’s Prime minister is named Justin?” Preppy shouts from the living room.

  “Why the sudden interest in Canadian politics, brother?” I respond, emerging from the kitchen.

  “I’m trying to move some shit in from the good ‘ole north. Figured I s
hould know a little about the fucker trying to put the smackdown on my delivery.”

  “Although I’m pretty sure the Prime Minister himself isn’t trying to involve himself in your business personally, I’ll bite. What kind of shit are we talking ‘bout here?” I ask, leaning my elbows across the back of the couch.

  Preppy’s smile widens. His voice turns soft. He’s downright awestruck as he speaks. “The finest, purest, grade A maple syrup ever made.”

  “Syrup? You’re smuggling in syrup?” I’m not stunned. Preppy’s always up to weird shit. I mean, the man has a framed restraining order from Dr. Dre hanging above the dining room table.

  “My Preppy-cakes deserve the very best, little bro.” He stands, jumps over the back of the couch and wraps an arm around my shoulders. He holds his hand up to the ceiling like it’s a canvas and he's about to paint me a magical picture. “This syrup isn’t just any syrup. It’s made by mounties riding ginormous moose bareback in the deep woods of British Columbia. It’s very similar to how the good ‘ole American moon-shiners did things back in the day. And when I get it, I’m going to pour it all over Dre and…”

  “Got it,” I cut him off, pushing his arm off of me and slapping at his hand before he can finish making whatever gesture I’m sure I don’t want to see.

  Preppy shrugs and turns his attention back to the TV. “I mean really. Justin. What kind of name is Justin? Sounds like a tween actor.” He’s now holding a bowl of Cookie Crisp cereal under his chin, speaking between bites.

  I glance up at the screen. Justin Trudeau is waving to a crowd from the back of a car in some Parade. “Nah,” I say, “he looks more like a former boy-bander, you know, the one who dropped out of the group first, tried other things. A little real-estate, a little meth, a little house arrest. Eventually, he decides to clean up his act. After some extensive dental work, a shit-ton of Botox, and enough penicillin to cure a small plague, and BAM! He’s back, singing about sweaty, dirty love again while dancing like a cheerleader at a half-time show. Although, now he’s singing to a much older, much smaller, crowd of course. But there is still plenty of panty-throwing honeys to be had. He needs a little blue pill these days to get the job done, but he still manages to slay a fuck-lot of nostalgic choker-wearing bitches, their doc Martins all wrapped around his shoulders like it’s nineteen motherfuckin’ ninety-nine.”