Perversion (Perversion Trilogy #1)

The jacket and hood are gone. Grim’s shirtless. The ridges of his ab muscles flex with his every breath. The cords of his neck are strained, the petals of the black rose tattoo moving with each inhalation. His hands and chest are covered in grease. His white sneakers stand out amid the darkness of his black jeans slung low on his hips.

His hair falls into his eyes as he glares down at me. They aren’t glowing without being under the fluorescents in the alley. They’re not yellow like I thought, either, but more of a brown speckled with green that gives them a golden hue. They’re heated with anger, and something else I can’t quite make out.

Maybe confusion at the feeling passing between us because it’s muddling my thoughts as well.

“So, you decided to break into my house and take it back?” he asks like he can’t quite believe it himself. “You found me, so that means you know who I am?”

I nod and say the words with a fake yawn. “You’re Grim. The executioner for the Bedlam Brotherhood.”

“And yet you decided to come steal from me anyway,” he says.

I try and push him off me, but he’s got at least a hundred pounds on me. He goes nowhere fast, and I think I pull a muscle in my stomach.

“When you put it that way, you almost make it sound like a bad idea,” I hiss. “And I’m not stealing. I’m just taking back what’s mine!”

“Why is this thing worth risking your life?”

“Why do people keep asking me that! It just is!” I shout, my annoyance outweighing my need to toy with him to get what I want. I try honesty instead. “Inside is a picture of someone. He’s important to me.” I sigh heavily, blowing a strand of hair from my eye.

“And?” he prods, pushing the cool barrel of the gun against my forehead. “Why?”

“Because he’s the only person I’ve ever loved!” I blurt.

“Bullshit,” Grim leaps off me like I’m the one holding a gun to him. I sit up against the bed and catch my breath while he stands there in a mixture of shock and anger. “Nobody does stupid shit like this for a picture.”

He picks the locket up from the floor and tries to open it, but it’s rusted and there’s a trick to it.

There’s a scratch at the window. A large, striped cat leaps into the room and directly into Grim’s arms. The way he’s looking from the cat to me stirs up a memory. I glance at the locket in his hands, and the room begins to spin around me. My eyes darting from the locket to the cat to Grim.

He doesn’t look away from me when he says, “Not now, Mr. Fuzzy. I’m busy.”

I gasp. It can’t be…it…it is.

Tristan.





Twelve





My brain wants to hate the girl who broke into my room, but the barbaric, possessive attraction pulsing between us like a live-wire is gnawing at my rib cage and confusing the fuck out of my every thought. I know she feels it, too.

Her pupils are dilated, and it’s not just because she’s pissed off. Whatever this is, it’s probably some twisted reaction to her having the same unique eye color as Emma Jean. But I don’t have time to analyze it because there’s a bang on the door.

“You got someone in there?” Haze asks from the other side. “This can’t wait.”

I set Mr. Fuzzy down on the dresser and tug the girl up to a sitting position. I pull a bungee cord from my toolbox and use it to tether her wrists to the footboard of my bed.

“What are you going to do with me?” she asks. She looks directly into my eyes in a way that makes me want to blindfold her as well. She’s calmer now. The attitude gone. Mr. Fuzzy curls up on her lap and closes his eyes. I feel uncomfortable under the way she’s looking at me, like she’s seeing me for the first time.

“Whatever the fuck I want to do with you,” I grate. I tie a black bandana around her mouth to keep her silent while I go out to talk to Haze.

“What do you need?” I ask when I step from my room.

“Kinky shit going on in there?” he asks, trying to peek inside. I shut the door.

“Well, someone is tied to my bed,” I say without any trace of humor in my voice. “What is it?”

“The gang task force brought in Sandy a few minutes ago,” he states.

“Jesus Christ. Tell me he didn’t have anything decaying in the back of his van when that happened.”

“No, he was clean. The package had just been taken care of.”

“Thank god,” I say, blowing out a relieved breath.

“Also, we think we got a lead on the casino girls. One of the waitresses thinks she might know who the dark-haired girl is. Someone named Gabby. Don’t know for sure yet. It’s not much, but it’s a start. While the boys are trying to track her down, at least, you’ve got something more to tell the Chief during your meeting tonight.”

“Thanks, brother,” I say. “Send someone to get Sandy. Don’t know how long they’ll have him, but someone should be waiting for him when he gets out.”

“He won’t be in there as long as you were, that’s for sure. Once he starts yammering on about shit that has nothing to do with what they’re asking him, they’ll throw him out,” Haze laughs.

“No doubt,” I agree, remembering words spoken in the alley.

Gabby, is that you?

Then from five years ago.

My best friend Gabby Vega’s teacher says that putting them to sleep doesn’t really mean putting them to sleep.

I’m sure there are a lot of people named Gabby in this world. But do they all have friends with bright blue-green eyes? I picture the girl in my room and replace her long straight brown hair with wild blonde curls.

No. It can’t be…could it? In my room?

I’m not sure, but I’m suddenly in a hurry to find out.

“Find out who at the casino was working with them, and it better not be one of our boys. Anyone who breaks their oath of loyalty needs to be put down just like the last one,” I prattle off. “Loyalty above all else.”

“Loyalty above all else, brother,” he echoes, slapping my hand and pulling me for a one-shoulder bro-hug.

I step back inside my room and shut the door behind me.

The bungee cord is on the floor.

The window is wide open.

Mr. Fuzzy meows from the windowsill.

She’s gone, but the locket isn’t. It’s not on the floor anymore. It’s on my pillow, and it’s open. I snatch it up and drop it just as quickly after glancing at the picture inside.

The picture is of a younger version of me, smiling up at my mother.

There’s a hastily scribbled quote underneath it on top of a gun magazine. My heart is hammering in my chest as I read it silently.

“You can close your eyes to reality, but not to memories.” -Stanislaw Jerzy Leo





“Tricks.”





Thirteen





“We already have a spot figured out. It’s attached to the casino. Chief David would take a cut of course, but they aren’t regulated out there. Task force can’t take a single step on reservation lands. It would be safer. Smarter. It would be—”

“No,” Belly grates before I can finish laying out my plan.

We’re in the middle of an important family sit-down. I’m trying not to let thoughts of Tricks interfere with business, but I’m finding it hard to concentrate when the person I’ve been searching for over the last five years was in my room last night.

And then left.

Or, rather, escaped.

I can escape most knots.

“No,” Belly disagrees. “Absolutely. Fucking. Not. We aren’t pimps. We aren’t going to run a whorehouse just so you fuckers can get your dicks wet when you see fit.”

Marci adjusts the oxygen tubes around Belly’s nose. He waves her away, and she takes the seat next to him.

“Belly,” Sandy says, “With all due respect. As much as I love pussy, as much as we ALL love pussy, that’s not what this is about. We need something to supplement our earnings. We have to be careful about our shipments because, between Los Muertos jacking our shit and the task force keeping an eye on us, we have to be more careful than ever, which means we can’t move as much as we used to. It wouldn’t just be a whorehouse. Front of the house will have more of a sports bar/strip club feel.”