Possession

by T. M. Frazier

  She spins my chair so I’m facing her and twists her face in concentration as she applies concealer under my eyes, mascara, blush, and lip gloss. It feels heavy and foreign on my face since I’m not used to wearing much makeup.

  When she’s done, she walks over to the other side of the room and removes the dress from where it’s hanging on the door. I take that moment to look at myself in the mirror. I look simple but pretty. She’s muted the circles under my eyes and even managed to take the sharpness from my cheekbones. I’m surprised she didn’t take the opportunity to make me look like a clown or try to embarrass me. Whatever she was primping me for, she really did want me to look presentable.

  But why?

  I don’t have time to think too much about it because Mona motions for me to stand and rips the towel from my body. I’m standing naked before her, but I don’t try to cover myself. My bruises may have faded, but they are still there. If not on the surface of my skin, then deep underneath where they will always be. She removes the hanger from the dress and tosses it onto the bed. She unzips the back and holds it open for me to step in then spins me around, zipping it closed.

  “Please, Mona. Can you tell me anything about what’s going on? Why you’re primping me like you used to primp your Barbie dolls?” I’m hoping that my mention of our shared past, a memory of my own, would show her that I did at one time care about her and somehow strike a chord, and get her to answer me. “I just want to know what I’m walking into.”

  She opens her mouth to answer me, but the room floods with music from down below in the courtyard. She smiles. “You’re about to find out. Trust me, you’ll hate it.”

  Mona reaches for the door handle, I grab her wrist. “I believe you when you say that I’ll hate it, but I will never trust you. I mean, you’re probably fucking your own brother.”

  She slaps me across the face. The only sting I feel is a sting of pride.

  “They say the truth hurts.” I lick the blood from the corner of my lip. “But, I didn’t feel a fucking thing.”

  Mona’s fuming. Her face is beet red and her nails are digging into her palms while the tendons in her wrists shake with rage. The door to the room swings open. Mal and another one of Marco’s soldiers appear with the usual large guns cradled in their arms. Mal sneers at me, his fingers lightly caressing the metal loop around the trigger as if I need a reminder that he isn’t afraid to pull it. Something else is different as well. Mal’s hair is slicked back where it’s usually falling into his face. Plus, he’s wearing a shirt. It’s a yellow t-shirt, but still, for him it might as well be a fucking tux. I wasn’t the only one required to dress up for…whatever this is.

  “Let’s go,” Mal says. “Don’t fuck this up.”

  He leads me down the steps to the front door, and when it’s pushed open, I’m blinded by the sunlight. I shield my eyes as Mona huffs her impatience, grabbing me by the elbow and shoving me into the light. I’ve gone about thirty feet before I can blink through the light and focus on what’s before me. I’m in the courtyard with all of Los Muertos circling around us. I shiver with flashbacks of the night I was unceremoniously jumped in.

  Unceremoniously.

  My throat tightens. My stomach lurches as realization sets in.

  The crowd around us isn’t chanting. They don’t look angry. Not this time. They look…almost serene. They part to give us room to walk, creating an aisle, both cementing and confirming my worst fear.

  When I see Marco standing with his hands folded at the end of the crowd, I heave, but nothing comes up. Mona pushes me forward, and I stumble next to Marco. Behind him is an elderly looking man who looks just as scared as I am. His pale wrinkly skin is lined with beads of sweat. His hands shake as he opens the small book he’s holding.

  I look around me for somewhere to escape, but all I see is a sea of people and Mal standing so close to my side I feel the prod of his gun against the middle of my back.

  “There’s my bride.”

  This isn’t some sort of Los Muertos ritual or jumping in.

  This is a wedding.

  Marco flashes me a warning smile from the end of the makeshift aisle.

  My wedding.

  Twenty-Six

  Marco smiles, not like he’s greeting a bride, but like he’s holding in a secret only he knows. I’m pushed up the aisle by Mal with help from the gun he’s holding to the small of my back.

  I’m pushed to stand before Marco. “Why?”

  I’m also wondering how. “I’m not yet eighteen. Not for another few months. It won’t be legal.”

  “There’s so much you still don’t know,” Marco says. He leans down and whispers, “The why doesn’t matter. Not to you. What matters is that if you cause a scene, I’ll make sure to take it out on Gabby later. You’re here because you want to be here. Now fucking smile, bitch.”

  I press my lips together in a tight lipped smile, it’s all I can manage considering that my lips are trembling.

  Marco glances looks over his shoulder, and my eyes follow to where Gabby is standing off to the side of the crowd. Memo stands behind her with his own large gun pressed into her back. She flashes me an apologetic smile as a tear rolls down her already bruised cheek.

  “Don’t you dare hurt her,” I whisper through my tight smile.

  “That’s on you, mi reina.” My queen.

  Marco gives the reverend the go-ahead to the reverend who begins in Spanish. I follow along well enough, although for the first time I wish I didn’t understand the words.

  Love is a circle. It has no beginning and no end…

  Love is a sacred vow…

  The bond between man and wife is unbreakable…

  Do you promise to obey your husband and the laws of his home?

  Only until death parts you…

  When the time comes, I’m prodded by the gun at my backside to say I do the words leave my mouth on a whisper.

  Marco shouts, “I do!” Loud and clear for all to hear.

  His subjects clap and cheer.

  Marco leans in and takes my face in his hands, pressing his cold lips to mine. The crowd grows louder, as my new reality sets in like a boulder upon my chest.

  “You’re my wife now, chica blanca,” Marco says, with a satisfied grin on his face.

  The reverend interjects, producing a folded document from his book. “Well, she will be. There’s just a matter of signatures, and then, I’ll file the papers with the clerk’s office this afternoon.” He passes a pen to Mal who signs on the witness line and then to Gabby who mouths I’m sorry as she adds her signature to the document. Marco presses the pen into my hand and points to the page.

  His eyes point to a trembling Gabby.

  I take the pen and find the line over where it says BRIDE, but my printed name below it doesn’t look right. My vision is blurry from the brightness of the sun, I blink in an attempt make out the words.

  Marco growls, low and throaty, “Now.”

  I press the pen to the page and front gates burst open.

  In walks my savior. My everything.

  Grim.

  Twenty-Seven

  GRIM

  Marci’s on life support. My girl is once again in the hands of the enemy. I’m a wanted fugitive. My current plan might end in my death.

  Things are as bad as they could possibly be…until they’re worse.

  Nightmares play out until they reach the peak of terror. They don’t end until you’re fully submerged in water and just about to drown. When the lights of the fast-moving train are only seconds from away, but you can’t free yourself from the track. Right as your loved one gets shot before your eyes.

  When you walk in through the gates of Hell to find your enemy marrying your girl.

  No matter how much I will it, this nightmare isn’t going to end. Because the shit I’m seeing isn’t a dream. It’s real.

  Too fucking real.

  “You son of a fucking bitch,” I growl as guns are drawn and aimed my way from al
l sides.

  “You’re too late, motherfucker,” Marco smiles, his gold tooth gleaming. “It’s been done.”

  “It’s never too late,” I hiss.

  “I’d ask you to stay for cake, but, you’ll be busy dying,” Marco spits, dragging Tricks away by the arm.

  “Noooo!” she cries, pulling against him, planting her feet into the ground. He drags her with little effort.

  The soldiers close in on me.

  It’s now or never.

  “Desafio de la muerte!” I yell, dropping my gun to the ground.

  The crowd erupts in gasps and whispers.

  Marco stills. He slowly swings around to face me. “What did you say, motherfucker?”

  “You heard me,” I growl, cracking my knuckles.

  “That shit don’t apply to you.” Marco scowls. “You can’t challenge me to a fight to the death unless you’re a member of Los Muertos. And you’re not,” he scoffs. “You ain’t nothin’ but a dead man.”

  “Killing me like this won’t change anything, but refusing my challenge will change things, like how your people will see you. You’ll always be weak in their eyes. The man who had the chance to take on Bedlam and walked away with his dick tucked between his legs.”

  “Maybe it won’t change shit, but I’m gonna do it anyway,” Marco sneers.

  “Fine, kill me. I’ve got a next-in-line who will take this fight on after I’m gone and a dozen more after that. This will never end. The only people you’re hurting by turning me down are your own.”

  “How the fuck do you figure?”

  “Accept the fight. If you win, Bedlam’s business is yours. The guns. The casino. The brothel. All of it.”

  “You think I’m going to fall for that?” Marco hisses. “Like I said, you ain’t one of us. You can’t challenge me. Unless it’s to a contest on who can hold their breath longer.” He snaps his fingers. “On second thought, you’re about to win that one.”

  He signals to Mal who raises his gun to my head.

  “Wait!” a voice calls out. It’s feminine, but it’s not Tricks. I don’t see the owner of the voice until she pushes her way into the center of the crowd. It’s Gabby. The real Gabby. “Marco’s right.”

  Gabby’s defending him? Maybe, Tricks is all wrong about this girl.

  “A challenge can only come from a member of Los Muertos, but the person challenging leadership can choose a proxy,” Gabby interjects.

  Maybe, not.

  Marco releases Tricks to get in Gabby’s face. “You’re not a member, Gabriella. Stay the fuck out of this.”

  Gabby stands her ground. She points to Tricks. “No, I’m not a member, but she is.” Gabby’s smile is smug and defiant. “Don’t you remember? You had her jumped-in and everything.”

  Marco grabs her, roughly shaking her shoulders. “What the fuck are you doing, Gabriella? You wanna die, too?”

  “If you want to kill me, so be it. It’ll be a nice change to actually be dead, instead of living with the threat of it every day.”

  Marco won’t be unmanned in front of his people. I know it. I’m counting on it. “Unlike you, your sister’s got balls.”

  Marco pushes Gabby into the arms of another soldier who drags her away by her hair. Gabby holds onto her scalp with both hands but doesn’t let up. “He can’t refuse one of his own laws in front of all his people. Not unless he believes he can’t win! Say it, Tricks. Say it!”

  “Shut the fuck up, puta!” Marco roars. Strings of spit fling from his mouth, his neck corded in rage.

  “I choose Grim to represent me,” Tricks yells.

  “Say the words!” Gabby shrieks, as she’s pushed down to the ground.

  Tricks squares her shoulders. “Desafio de la muerte.”

  “You think you’re so fucking slick, don’t you, EJ,” Marco sneers. “You want to challenge me? Fine. I was going to be nice and have the boys take the Bedlam Bitch out back to kill him. Now? You can watch me kill him myself.”

  “Or, better yet, I can watch him kill you,” she replies

  I fall even more in love with her right then and there. Her strength is astounding, and my chest swells with pride as she stares hatred right into Marco’s bulging eyes.

  “I’m offering you a choice,” she continues. “Put every life around you at risk with a war, or face Grim like a man. Right here. Right now. By your own rules.”

  “Until one of us ain’t breathing,” I add. “Put out the fire before it spreads further. It’s your people and the people of this town who will burn in the flames.”

  “You think I care about this fucking town?” Marco laughs. He points from one dilapidated building to another. “This is my town, right here. This is my family. My kingdom! This is all that matters. Everyone outside of that fucking wall is already dead to me.”

  I look from a trembling Gabby to a battered Tricks and then back to Marco. “If this is how you treat your family, remind me not to come over for the fucking holidays.”

  “Fuck you, Grim. You have no idea what goes on here. What I’ve sacrificed to build this. You’re just white trash who thinks he’s a gangsta. You come to my house and call me out?” He pounds his closed fist against his chest. “I didn’t think you were stupid white trash..until now.”

  I take off my hood and then my jacket, setting it on the ground. “Let’s go then. You can find out how stupid I really am.”

  “You think you can take me?” Marco clucks his tongue. “I’ve been fighting in the streets since I was a toddler. I’ve fought bigger and badder than you, and you wanna know what those motherfuckers have to say about me, now? Nothing. Because they’re all fucking dead.”

  I shrug. “You want me dead? Here is your chance.”

  Marco snarls and removes his yellow wife-beater, throwing it a girl who looks like she’s about to pass out when it almost slips through her hands. Relief washes over her as she recovers it right before it hits the ground.

  The crowd grows thicker before erupting into whistles and shouts as Marco and I reach the center. People stand shoulder to shoulder to get a better view of Bedlam vs. Los Muertos.

  Marco cracks his neck. “You wanna die tonight, Grim? Is that what this is about? You got a death wish? You know, there are better ways to commit suicide.”

  “I’m not suicidal, but I could use a fresh kill.”

  “Killing Gil didn’t quench your thirst for blood?” Marco asks.

  His question throws me. “You set me up, asshole. Or maybe you believe your own lies now. I didn’t kill Gil. You did.”

  “No, I did.”

  Gabby?

  “Enough!” Marco roars. “I’ll deal with you later. Take her away.” Gabby is dragged, kicking and screaming into a building. When the door shuts her screams are swallowed inside.

  I steal a glance at a Tricks who’s frozen, staring at the door.

  “Weapons!” Marco shouts, handing his gun to Mal.

  My gun is already on the ground. I reach into my pant leg and withdraw my blade, tossing it to the side. “Happy?”

  “Not until you’re dead, Bedlam.”

  “You first, motherfucker.”

  The second the words leave my mouth, we run at each other. Screams tear from our throats like bare-chested modern-day gangster gladiators.

  It’s a fight to the death.

  Winner takes all.

  The loser goes straight to fucking hell.

  Twenty-Eight

  Grim descends on Marco like a winged demon straight from Hell. Leaping into the air with determined fury. They exchange blow after blow. Each one Grim takes feels like it lands directly in my own chest. He’s wailing on Marco with all that he has. Both men are bleeding from their faces. Grim’s strong muscles flex and ripple as he goes after Marco like a rabid animal.

  Shots ring out.

  Gabby runs out from the building behind us, but I quickly lose sight of her behind the crowd.

  Piercing screams fill the air as people scatter in every direction.
>
  “Tricks!” I year Grim yell above the crowd.

  “Grim!” I shout back. I don’t see him, anywhere. I don’t even know which direction his yell came from.

  More shots are fired.

  More screams.

  I duck and push my way through a sea of people running in the opposite direction. I spot Gabby. She’s on the ground, her yellow t-shirt has a growing red stain directly over her heart.

  “Gabby!” I cry, running to her side. “Gabby!” She’s not breathing and neither am I. “Help! I need help!” I scream.

  Men wearing SWAT gear appear. They don’t just come from the front gate. They appear from all sides, caging us in.

  “All of you! Drop the fucking guns, or this will end badly. For you, at least.” A voice warns. A tall uniformed man strides to the front. He steps over the body of a Los Muertos soldier.

  “How do you fucking figure, lawman?” Marco asks.

  I can see Marco, but more importantly I can’t see Grim. Mal and all the other soldiers have their guns raised and pointed back at the uniformed men. Lacking Task Force is painted in bright yellow lettering on the back of their armored vests.

  The man smiles at Marco. “Because we’ve got bulletproof vests and helmets.” He chuckles. “And the last time I checked, tattoos don’t stop bullets. We can go to battle, if you’d like, but I suspect we’ll wipe out most of your crew before you can cause any real damage to mine. Plus, we’ve got you surrounded.” He points to the rooftop of the building where several men aim long guns into the courtyard.

  Marco wipes at the blood on his face, smearing it across his cheek. He glances down at his bare chest where tiny red lights dance across it. He freezes.

  The man in charge smiles. “Tell your men to drop the fucking guns.”

  Marco nods to his men, who throw down their weapons. The Reverend, who is standing in the back corner, moves slowly until his back is against the fence.

  “Don’t go anywhere, padre. We’re not finished here,” Marco warns under his breath. The reverend freezes.