Possession

by T. M. Frazier

  Possession

  The Perversion Trilogy, Book Two

  T.M. Frazier

  POSSESSION

  The Perversion Trilogy, Book Two

  * * *

  Copyright @ 2018 by T.M. Frazier

  ISBN/SKU:9780578419824

  ISBN Complete:978-0-578-41982-4

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the publisher, except brief quotes used for reviews and certain other non commercial uses, as per copyright laws.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Edits: Karla Nellenbach, Last Word Editing & Ellie McLove, Love-N-Books

  Cover design & formatting: T.M. Frazier

  CONTENTS

  Lacking, Florida

  DEFINITION OF POSSESSION

  OPENING QUOTE

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  An Excerpt from Permission

  A message from the author

  ALSO BY T.M. FRAZIER

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  For Goldilocks and Squeaks

  Lacking, Florida

  UPDATED STATISTICS

  14,890: Number of residents

  26.2: Median age of residents

  $13,212: Average household income

  75.8%: Poverty ratio

  2: Score on the safe cities scale (100 being the safest)

  possession | pəˈzeSHən |

  noun

  1 the state of having, owning, or controlling something.

  “Who hears me, who understands me, becomes mine, a possession for all time.”

  - Ralph Waldo Emerson

  One

  The night air is humid and stagnant. Even with no breeze to carry it, my nostrils burn as I breathe in the putrid sulfur scent wafting off of the mangroves just beyond the trees.

  Cloaked in the shadows of the deepest corner of the backyard, I’m waiting and watching for Tricks. She’ll be walking up the path back from the marine stadium any second now. The plan was to leave separately so we aren’t spotted together, but I’m rethinking that plan more and more and the seconds continue to tick.

  I light a cigarette.

  I’ve never been a patient man. My past experiences with waiting have ended in disappointment or tragedy. Waiting too long to pull a trigger resulted in the first time I was shot. I’ve never made that mistake again. Waiting for a delivery only to find out it’d been hijacked. Waiting for Digger at BB’s Bar resulted in attending his funeral a few days later. Being the only kid waiting on the front curb after school resulted in me walking home and later stumbling upon my mother’s still running car, her body slumped over the wheel.

  There is an exception in all this, and I waited five and a half years to find her. Now, she’s mine.

  Tricks. A piece of heaven surrounded by hell. A glowing light in all of the dark.

  Something amongst all of the nothing.

  Taking her for the first time…my cock swells at the thought. I went at her like a wild fucking boar, rutting into her, forcing her back against the cold hard wall of the marine stadium. It was fucking perfect.

  She was fucking perfect.

  It was like we were fucking with more than just our bodies. Minds. Fucking souls if I believed in that kind of shit. That’s the thing with Tricks. She makes me want to believe in things. In life. In humanity.

  In us.

  What we just experienced together was next level shit. It has never, ever felt as fucking good to be inside a woman the way it did to be inside Tricks. Then again, none of the other women I’ve fucked were MY woman.

  Belly’s funeral is still chugging along full-steam ahead inside the house. “Welcome to the Jungle” by Guns-N-Roses is blaring through the speakers along with the sound of boisterous laughter. I look through the big glass window where a sea of heads bob and sway along to the music. Cigarettes poised to lips. Drinks flowing. Smiles. Joy.

  Belly would have loved this. I bet if there is an afterlife, he’s up there all pissed-off that he’s missing out on his party.

  I tilt my head toward the cloudless night sky and take a drag of my cigarette. “Hope you can hear them all in there, Pops. They’re all here for you.”

  I stub out my cigarette. There’s still no Tricks in sight. The path is dark and rutted with holes and rocks. Maybe she’s lost her way or twisted her ankle. Fuck it, I’m going to look for her.

  I haven’t even made it to the edge of the yard when a silhouette appears in the trees. Tricks. Finally. The figure jogs into the moonlight. Glossy brown hair, big dark eyes.

  Not Tricks.

  The girl is out of breath. She pushes her hair from her face revealing a beauty mark beneath her right eye. She looks familiar, but I can’t place her.

  She spots me. “Grim?”

  “Do I know you?”

  She shakes her head. “No, but I know you. I mean I know about you. From EJ. I’m Gabby.”

  Gabby. That’s why she looks familiar. Between the parts of her I’d seen on the casino security footage and Trick’s description of her, I feel like I’ve seen her before.

  “Marco’s sister,” I say, without holding back the distain in my voice.

  She nods. “But more importantly, EJ’s best friend.”

  “Why are you here?” I glance over her shoulder. “Where’s Tricks?”

  “Marco sent me. He called the men who brought EJ here away on other business. He sent me to get her and bring her back.”

  “Where is she?” I repeat.

  She hooks her thumb in the direction of the path. “She’s waiting for me on the other side of the amphitheater.”

  Unease rattles through my body. I make a decision. Right here. Right now. One I should have made the first time around.

  Tricks is staying with me.

  “I’m going to get her,” I growl, stepping around Gabby.

  She tugs on the back of my shirt. I swing around and shoot her a warning look, but she appears unfazed. Either, I’m losing my touch or this girl’s been through a lot worse, a threatening look being the least of her problems.

  “You can’t!” she whisper-shouts. “She’s waiting for me with Raydo, Marco insisted on sending one of his men with me.”

  Of course he fucking did.

  “Fuck!” I swear, cocking back my arm I punch the nearest tree. Chunks of bark fall to the ground, smaller pieces lodge in my knuckles. Waiting has again ended in disappointment. I lost my window.

  And it’s all my fault.

  Gabby continues. “I don’t have a lot of time, but EJ wanted to tell you she was leaving. She didn’t want to risk being caught with you, so I told her I would come tell you for her. I made up an excuse to Raydo that I had to pee really bad so I could get away.”

  “And he bought it?”

  She smiles slyly. “Not unti
l I told him I was having lady troubles and threatened to describe it to him in vivid detail.”

  Gabby and Tricks were best friends, but I know now that they also share the same aptitude for deceit.

  Gabby looks around again, and I wonder if it’s out of habit, like she’s been forced to look over her shoulder her entire her life, much like Tricks.

  Something occurs to me. I cross my arms over my chest. “Wait, how did you know where she was?”

  Gabby fishes her phone out of her pocket. “I can only call two people with this: Marco and EJ. But when she didn’t answer, I used this.” She spins it around so I can see the screen, showing me a blinking dot positioned just on the other side of the amphitheater. ‘EJ’ flashes right above it. “The tracking app was EJ’s idea. A good one, too.”

  My irritation with her fades, knowing that Tricks and Gabby have had each other’s backs all these years. Gabby’s safety was the main reasons Tricks went back to Los Muertos in the first place. I didn’t like the decision, not then and not now. But I can understand it, and I respect it. Plus, Tricks’s loyalty to her friend makes me proud. Loyalty is everything. Without it you’re nothing.

  “Oh, and she wanted me to give you this.” Gabby hands me a crumpled napkin. I silently read a hastily scribbled quote.

  The pain of parting is nothing compared to the joy of meeting again.”

  -Charles Dickens

  I tuck the napkin into my pocket. “Keep an eye on her.” It’s both an order and a warning. “If she’s not safe, or you feel like something is about to go down, or for any reason at all, come find me.” I take Gabby’s phone and add the number of my burner to her tracking app. “You may not be able to call or text me, but now, you can find me.” I save it under Emma Jean.

  Gabby takes her phone back and raises her eyebrow in question at the name.

  I explain, “Since you already have an EJ and Grim, the reaper of Bedlam, seemed a little obvious.”

  She tucks the phone back into her pocket. “The two of us aren’t allowed out anywhere alone together. Not anymore. But I’ll try and pass along any messages if I can.” She looks down the dark path. “I’ve got to go. He’ll be wondering what’s taking me so long.”

  “Gabriella!” a masculine voice calls from down the path. “Where the fuck did you go, chica?” Followed by a string of Spanish swears.

  “Shit,” She doesn’t waste time with goodbyes, jogging back down the path into the night. I hear her voice in the distance. “I’m right fucking here, you moron. Lady things take time, you know. I could tell you more about it if you want to know…” Her voice trails off.

  The music and laughter grow louder as I make my way back up to the house, but so does the feeling of unease twisting in my gut. Tonight may be Belly’s memorial service, but right now, what hurts the most is knowing Tricks is on her way back to into hell. If anything happens to her there isn’t anyone who will be able to save Marco from my wrath.

  I enter the house and pause to glance at the frame hanging high up on a rafter. It was one of Marci’s crochet projects. But the style of how they’re written doesn’t make the words any less menacing.

  Or real.

  I’ll bathe in the blood of my enemies.

  And when my time is up and I arrive in hell, even the demons will bow down.

  Because the devil has come home.

  Two

  I don’t know how long it’s been since I’ve slept. Or how long since I was tied to the ceiling above the bed. My arms over my head. Forced to sit in an upright position on the cum and blood-stained mattress.

  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 oranges. My thoughts immediately go to the person I stole orange body spray from the dollar store for every holiday. “Gabby, is that you?” I rasp, scanning the darkness.

  “EJ, oh my God, it’s me.” Gabby wraps her arms around me. I hiss at the sting of pain the contact brings. Both to my body and my heart. “What have they done to you?” she asks, releasing her hold but keeping her cheek pressed up against mine. Her tears roll down my face as if they’re my own.

  “Nothing you didn’t already know,” I say bitterly.

  She gasps and takes my cheeks in her hands, pressing her forehead against mine. “What? No! EJ. I swear I didn’t know any of this. I knew Marco was keeping you somewhere, but he wouldn’t tell me where. No one would. I’ve looked and looked for you, but he has eyes on me all the time now. I’m a prisoner here, just as much as you.”

  Just as much as me?

  “I doubt that,” I mutter.

  Gabby’s hair feels soft and freshly combed. Her nails are sharp, and I can feel the glossy smoothness of the painted enamel as she softly runs the back of her hand across my face. She smells of oranges and soap. Showered. Fresh.

  Alive.

  I smell like urine, vomit, and death.

  “What has he done to you?” she sobs, falling at my feet. She runs her hands up my body to feel for my wounds. “I’m so sorry, EJ. I never meant for any of this to happen. You don’t deserve this. I can’t believe Marco could do this to you.”

  “Really?” I ask.

  “You’re right. I can believe it. Marco’s a fucking psychopath. But I should’ve prevented this from happening before it ever began. I should’ve run away with you the second he brought us here, no matter what he’d threatened. As far away as we could get. But I was just a kid. I was scared. I still am. I should’ve tried harder. So much harder” she sobs. “And look what he’s done to you. This is all my fault.”

  I listen for the subtle traces of lies in her voice. I don’t hear anything but sincerity. I’ve lost my touch, or maybe Marco has beat it out of me.

  She clears her throat. Her voice is full of determination. “I didn’t get you out then, but I’m getting you out now.”

  I shake my head. “Gabby, just go. Just get the hell out of here and stop pretending like you really care. Your brand of torture may be different from Marco’s...but it hurts more.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” Gabby whisper-yells. “I’m trying to help you.”

  “No one can help me now.” The second I speak the words I know it’s a lie because there is someone out there who can help me.

  Grim.

  “You’re not thinking straight,” Gabby says. “But you will be, once I get you out of here. She feels for the knot in the rope tethering me to the ceiling and gives it a few unsuccessful tugs. “Come on,” she grates.

  There is a sound from the other side of the door.

  Approaching footsteps.

  “Shit,” Gabby hisses as she struggles with the knot.

  “Go,” I tell her again.

  Panic fills her voice. “No! I can’t leave you like this!”

  “Yes, you can. And you will.”

  When she doesn’t make a move to leave I pretend as if she’s still my best friend. As if she hasn’t broken my heart and betrayed me. If anything I’m playing into her hands, but I need to talk to my best friend, even if it’s for the very last time. “Gabby,” I say, softening my tone. “If you get caught how are you going to rescue me?”

  Gabby continues to run her hands along the rope, frantically searching for another way to release me. Even if she’s actually trying and this isn’t all for show, 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 the thin flesh of my wrists. I can no longer feel my hands.

  The footsteps grow louder, but Gabby keeps trying.

  “Go, Gabby. Please,” I say with all the strength I can muster, wishing she could see the pleading look on my face. It’s natural for me to want to protect her, even now.

  Gabby hesitates one last time before finally lifting her hands from the rope. “I’ll be back, EJ. I mean it when I said I’m getting you out of here,” she promises.

  The part of me pretending she’s still my best
friend believes her. The part of me who knows the truth is numb.

  With a quick kiss to my cheek, she darts off to the other side of the room. The familiar sound of a window sliding open announces her exit. The window closes again. The rattle of the glass jostling inside the pane reminds me of Grim and the time I’d snuck into his room. I’m temporarily comforted with thoughts of being back there. In his room. In his bed.

  In his heart.

  The door opens, and bright light floods the room. A shadowy silhouette of Marco stands in the doorway.

  “You ready for me again, baby?” he asks on a wicked chuckle. He steps into the room. Darkness into darkness.

  My stomach rebels, rolling as if purging its contents will also purge Marco from the room. But there’s nothing in my stomach.

  And only terror in my heart.

  “I’ll take that as a yes.” His voice is closer now. Too close.

  Marco’s hands roughly grip my body, pulling me painfully forward, toward him, and his maniacal laugh.

  I picture Grim and try to escape to him, if only in my mind, but my brain has other plans. When I’m far enough away from my horrible reality, it’s not Grim I see.

  It’s Gabby.

  Three

  NINE YEARS OLD

  I slide my shoebox of magic tricks from its special hiding space underneath the tattered couch. I search the contents, singing mindlessly under my breath.