Possession

by T. M. Frazier

  I choke down a sob as I continue to fuck her with all of the desperation in my heart. I’ve never cried before. Not once in my entire life. But here I am, connected to the only woman I’ve ever loved, sobbing while my cock is inside of her.

  I roll us over so she’s on top of me. I plant kisses on her neck, her jaw, her lips while I thrust up into her so rough there’s no way she can’t feel it. Feel me.

  “I need you, baby. You’re my other half. I’m nothing without you. I’m yours. Please come back to me. Please,” I beg through a strangled cry and gritted teeth.

  My cock is as hard as ever, but I’m not feeling shit. This doesn’t feel good. This feels like fucking torture.

  I’m just about to give up when Tricks’s pussy squeezes around me. I don’t dare move. My mouth is pressing against her cheek. A stream of wetness meets my lips. I look slowly up to find Tricks eyeing me curiously. Her eyes are watery yet focused. Blue-green replacing all the black.

  “Grim. It’s...it’s you.” Her lips turn upward in a slow smile.

  Relief and sensation pour through me like cold water after having been thirsty for so long.

  Tricks then lifts herself up of her own accord and drops herself back down onto my cock. It’s the best fucking feeling in the world. I grab her face in my hands.

  “Tricks, you’re fucking here,” I whisper in awe, wiping her tear stain away with my thumb.

  “I’m here with you,” she says, biting her lip. She raises herself up and drops herself back down again. I groan. “Is this a dream? Is it heaven?”

  I don’t take my eyes off hers. Not willing to lose this moment. To lose her. “It’s not a dream. And you’re not dead. But it is fucking heaven.”

  Tricks speeds up her pace, rocking and grinding her hips onto my cock until she’s so tight around me I see stars. Her hands grip the back of my neck, nails biting into my skin. It hurts, but she could skin me alive right now, and I wouldn’t fucking care.

  My Tricks is back.

  Seventeen

  The next several days are spent with Grim and his family at the reservation where I get to know Marci, Sandy, and Haze. I’m jumpy and skittish, but thankful to be alive.

  Marci is a spitfire who likes to play cards and enjoys a splash of whiskey in her coffee. We spend a lot of afternoons together. She patiently teaches me how to play poker while lamenting on some of her favorite memories of Belly.

  Haze is a handyman and a tinkerer who spends most of his time fixing things and arguing with Sandy. He shows me how to run video wires and introduces me to the complicated security system in the backroom of the casino.

  Sandy is a goofball who can name all of the past presidents and every element on the periodic table. We play a game called Stump Sandy where I Google a topic and quiz him on it. He always knows the answers. He also introduces me to Night Fury, his video game of choice. To my surprise, I’m actually pretty good at it and almost beat him.

  Twice.

  The air around Grim is lighter when he’s with his family. He’s comfortable. Relaxed. Well, as relaxed as he’s capable of being.

  We don’t talk much about what happened to me at Los Muertos, but that’s mostly on me. Nightmares wake me most nights, but they aren’t dreams at all, they’re replays of men laughing as they take turns toying with my body and my pain.

  Grim and I haven’t had sex again since I regained consciousness in his arms with his body inside of mine. He feels guilty for what he did to bring me back to the land of the living. He’s told me as much. I understand why he feels this way, but if the roles were reversed there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to save Grim.

  Nothing.

  What helps is that no one in the family is treating me like a withering flower. They aren’t walking on eggshells. We are all just existing together, just as we are. Each day I feel stronger both mentally and physically. I’m less likely to scream when Mr. Fuzzy jumps at me from one of his many hiding spots offering me yet another dead thing.

  I learn more about Grim, too. He’s a reader. Mostly Sci-fi and Western-themed fiction. He likes to draw and is pretty damn good at it. The proof being an entire sketchbook of the many faces of Mr. Fuzzy.

  We spend time getting to know more about one another. We watch magic specials on TV together. Grim tells me he’s been following magicians throughout the years and his knowledge of their signature tricks is both mind-blowing and heart-warming. What I like the most is our talks. We exchange war stories about foster homes. About growing up without parents. About never quite feeling like we belong.

  I’m already in love with Grim, but that love deepens over those late night talks.

  I wake on my own from my first nightmare-less sleep in Grim’s arms.

  I run my fingers over the stubble along his strong jaw. He’s real. This is all real.

  Grim may be the reaper of the Bedlam Brotherhood, but the man who represents darkness is the one who pulled me from it.

  I flatten my palm to his cheek.

  His eyes flutter open. “I thought it might be a dream.” He pulls me against his warm hard chest, placing sleepy kisses to my cheeks and forehead. “But you’re still here.”

  “It was a nightmare, but those are over. At least, I hope they are. Now it’s a dream,” I tell him. “All because of you. Because you saved me.”

  He laughs. “You saved yourself. Rollo told me he saw you jump from the second story before that soldier got a hold of you.” His gaze burns into mine. “I may have carried you out, but you broke free.”

  It’s the first time we’ve spoken about that night. I don’t know how to reply. “I’m only equipped for sarcasm and lies. I have no clue how to reply to all that sweetness.”

  “Well, you’re in luck. I’m only equipped for death and destruction.” He smiles and I know he’s wrong because I see nothing but life in his eyes.

  “I want to take you somewhere, today,” he says. “We need to celebrate a nightmare-less night and we’ve been cooped up in here too long.”

  “Where?”

  He plants a tender kiss on my lips. “To somewhere the nightmares will never find us.”

  * * *

  We shower together. Even though the electric current is humming between us, there’s nothing sexual about it. Grim insists on helping me wash myself, and when he scratches my scalp while shampooing my hair, I moan at the sensation. The hot water feels heavenly.

  After we’re clean, I put on some clothes Marci has laid out for me. A fitted Bon Jovi t-shirt and a pair of yoga pants. We’re eating the amazing breakfast that Marci has prepared in the kitchen.

  “So where are the girls?” I ask through a mouthful of my second helping of scrambled eggs. “Since this is supposed to be a brothel and everything. I’ve been here for a while, but I haven’t seen a single one.”

  “We’re not fully open, so they’re only here a few nights a week for now,” Grim answers. “Plus, they’re on the other side of this building. We can go through that door but no one except Bedlam can come in.”

  “Makes sense.” I dig back into my food. When I look up, Sandy, Marci, Haze and Grim are all staring at me. “What?”

  Marci smiles. “You talk about being in a brothel like we just told you that you that we’re having steak for dinner.”

  Even after all the food I’ve consumed, my stomach growls at the word steak. “Are we having steak for dinner?” I ask hopefully. My appetite has been fleeting at best. Today, I’m downright ravenous.

  Grim smiles and reaches for my hand. It’s the most brilliant thing I’ve ever seen. My stomach is momentarily forgotten because my heart is now the organ that feels so full it could burst.

  “Yes, we’ll have steak. It was Belly’s favorite. I’m glad you’re so accepting about the brothel business. I knew I liked you,” Marci says. I pry my eyes from Grim’s and look up at her kind face. “It’s not for your ability to play cards, you’re shit at it.”

  “Hey, I’m still learning! Poker isn’t a simple game. A
nd I like you, too. Besides, who am I to judge what others do? If it’s their own free will, more power to them.” I shrug.

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” Sandy says. “You got a sister?”

  I flinch as the word pierces my heart, dropping my fork. It clamors to the plate. The room goes silent.

  “Shit,” Sandy says. “I forgot.”

  I shake my head. “It’s okay.” I look to Grim. “Any word on Gabby yet?”

  “No,” he says, and my heart sinks further into my stomach. I push my plate away. My appetite now gone.

  “But we will. I promise.” Grim says, pulling me up from the chair. “We’re going out for a while.”

  “Don’t go off the reservation,” Marci warns.

  “I know. We won’t.” Grim assures her. “We’ll be back soon. Any luck with Callum?”

  Marci shakes her head. “Not yet, but I’ve reached out to some mutual friends. Alby says Callum has been off the grid for a while, but if he hears from him he’ll put us in touch.”

  “Call me if you hear anything. On Gabby or Callum.”

  I’ve never been this far inside the reservation. I’ve never even realized there was more here than the casino, but there is more. A lot more.

  An entire town unscathed and unmarked by the violence and bloodshed taking place just beyond the gates. There is no graffiti on the buildings. No blood stains on the roads. A group of children play and laugh in the middle of the street as they kick around a soccer ball. But the thing that astonishes me most, the thing that takes hold of my heart and won’t let go… is that no one here looks afraid.

  “It’s okay. You’re safe here,” Grim says. “Marco wouldn’t dare come here, and even if he tried, my men are guarding the perimeter of the entire reservation.”

  I nod as if I understand, as if I know what ‘safe’ means.

  “There’s someone I want you to meet,” Grim says, tugging me into a small but modern office building. A secretary sits behind a large, shiny, white desk, wearing slacks and a neatly pressed blouse.

  She greets us with a smile. “He’s expecting you. Go right on back.”

  Grim nods his thanks and tugs me through a series of cubicles and offices. The interior of the office surprises me. There’s a large copy machine. Lots of windows. Bright lighting. It’s like an office from a movie about Wall Street.

  “Surprised?” Grim asks. We stop in front of an open office door.

  “I thought…I don’t know. It’s not very…” I search for the word. “Traditional.”

  “Tradition is a point of contention here on the reservation,” a tall, pale-faced, wrinkled man with white-blond hair tied in two braids answers. He stands from behind a big oak desk and buttons his suit jacket. “The casino provides a life for my people, but money and traditions don’t exactly go hand in hand.” He extends his hand to me. “I’m Chief David. You can call me Chief David,” he says with a burly laugh and a strong southern accent.

  I take his hand in mine, feeling embarrassed. He shakes it firmly. “I’m Emma Jean Parish. It’s nice to meet you. And I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply…”

  Chief David waves me off as he slaps Grim on the back in greeting. “Don’t worry about it, Emma Jean Parish. We may be losing some of our traditions out here, but I like to focus on the positive. Before the casino, there was nothing around these parts but poverty as far as the eye can see. The walls around this land concealed nothing more than a ghetto. It resembled a third world country more than it did a city located right here in the good ole U.S. of A. Now, the casino provides more than eleven thousand dollars a month to each tribe member, including the children. And that’s after taxes. That means families of four are pulling in more than a half a million dollars a year and with the success of the casino, that number is expected to keep growing.”

  “Wow,” I whisper.

  “And eleven thousand is just the minimum,” the Chief continues. “The higher rank you are in the tribe, the more money you are entitled to. Plus, it’s inheritable. So, if a tribe member dies, the money gets passed on to his next of kin. It’s never lost. Never taken away. However, those who are of mixed blood receive less.”

  “So, if a tribes member marries someone from the outside, his children don’t receive as much?” I ask, trying to make sure I understand what he’s saying.

  Grim answers. “With money, our people have abandoned some of our old ways. The council doesn’t want it to be the reason we lose being a people all together.”

  It makes sense now, but it still doesn’t seem fair.

  “To make a short story even longer, that’s why you see less and less traditionally built huts and custom spun quilts around here and more cement homes, custom-built cars, and the sweet sweet blessing that is air conditioning.” The chief spreads his arms wide as the air conditioning kicks on with a loud hum, blowing around the stray hairs too short to make it into his braids.

  “How does one become a member of this tribe?” I ask curiously, my mind reeling with all the ways I could create fake paperwork, and how much convincing it would take to make the tribal council believe I’m one of them. Even if just a fraction of one of them. It would do.

  “A blood test,” he answers flatly.

  “Sign me up,” I say, holding out my arm and flicking the blue vein in the crease between my bicep and forearm before quickly withdrawing. “Question, first. Do I get the results or do you?”

  Both Grim and the Chief laugh, although I didn’t tell a joke. I look at Grim. “What? You said we’re safe here. And the people are so nice. And they give out money.”

  Grim smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He may find my words funny, but there’s also sadness in his eyes. I know it’s because of my excitement over feeling safe.

  “So, EJ,” the Chief starts, drawing out his words slowly. “You’re welcome anywhere and everywhere on our lands, except, of course, for the casino floor.” He smirks and cocks his head to the side. “My guests prefer to lose their money of their own free will, not have it stolen from them.”

  I suck in a breath of surprise. “You know?”

  Grim nods. “I told him.”

  Chief David leans back in his chair. “Grim here wanted to make sure that if you or your friend came back in, and he wasn’t around that I wouldn’t…” He looks to Grim then back to me, rethinking his choice of words. “...hesitate in calling him.”

  You mean Grim was making sure you wouldn’t kill me.

  I find myself about to apologize for the second time since meeting the chief, but he holds up a hand to stop me before I can start.

  He rounds his desk and takes a seat, motioning for us to do the same. Grim and I both sit in chairs on the opposite side.

  “Now, for a little business. I got a call from an Agent Lemming this morning,” he says to Grim, pouring himself a tall glass of Scotch. He pours another for Grim and slides it across the desk to him then holds up the bottle and shakes it in offering. I shake my head. He sets down the bottle and looks to Grim. “Your name came up.”

  Grim takes the glass and throws back a hearty gulp. “Imagine that,” he says, not sounding the least bit surprised.

  “Lemming told me that if I spotted you on the reservation that I should take you to him immediately. Told me this crazy story of you blowing out a wall in the sheriff’s office and escaping his custody on a murder charge.”

  “Sounds about right,” Grim answers casually. “Except I didn’t blow out the wall. I only escaped through it.”

  “Naturally,” the chief replies.

  What? My mind reels.

  Grim shoots me a glance that says, I’ll explain later.

  “So, what did you tell him?” Grim sets the glass down on the desk.

  The chief twirls his own glass around in his hand. “I told him what I tell every lawman who calls my office, asking me for favors. I said, ‘Your people killed my people and pushed the rest from their homes. When you realized the error of your ways, your government corralled
us onto this cozy piece of shit land you bestowed upon us in exchange for not holding a grudge over the genocide. It’s ours to do with and govern as we please. This means your laws don’t apply to me or anyone on my reservation.’” He shrugs. “And that was about that. I’m pretty sure he hung up before the end. Shame. It’s the best part.”

  “He can’t be arrested here?” I ask. “I just figured they didn’t know where you were.”

  “They can’t pursue a fugitive onto reservation lands, and they can’t arrest him. They can, however, ask me to arrest him and turn him over to them. But, they can go fuck themselves. That’s not going to happen.”

  A door behind the chief opens, and much to my surprise, it’s Margaret who appears. Her long bold red maxi dress sweeps over the floor. Her large gold hoop earrings dance like wind chimes as she moves.

  “Grim,” she greets. Grim stands, and she kisses him on both cheeks.

  “Margaret,” he replies before taking his seat again. “You remember Emma Jean.”

  “I do,” Margaret says before leaning down to kiss me the same way she did Grim. “I’m glad to see that you’re still alive and kicking.”

  “I never got a chance to thank you. For…”

  “I did nothing. You remember that,” she says with a smile. Her beautiful English accent sounds like a spoken song.

  She kisses the chief square on the lips, then perches at the edge of his desk. When he goes to take a sip of his drink, Margaret snatches it from his hands and swallows down the remainder of its contents. He rolls his eyes.

  “Marco is on the rampage,” Margaret announces. “Looks like the war we’ve all been trying to avoid has officially begun.”

  “I think that’s my fault,” I say, but the second the words leave my mouth I realize I don’t believe them anymore. The guilt that always comes when I think of my role in starting a war between Los Muertos and Bedlam is nowhere to be found.

  Because it’s not your fault.