Perversion (Perversion Trilogy #1)

Belly was part of an MC, and one of the guys in it…whittled ponies?

He sighed like he was fond of whatever memory he’d been recalling. “Seen him kill quite a few men with that little blade. They never saw it coming, either.” Belly chuckled. He took the basket of rolls Digger passed him, putting three on his plate before passing it to me.

I took two warm rolls before passing the basket, slathering butter across the top like it was my fucking job.

I looked up to find Belly studying me mid-chew. I looked around the table to find the rest of them doing the same.

I used my words and attempted to take the attention off me. I pointed to my food and looked to Marci. “Thank you. It’s great...”

Marci smiled at the compliment then raised her own eyebrows when she sensed the ma’am part coming. It was going to be a hard habit to break. I may have been a delinquent, but I grew up in the South.

I was a polite delinquent.

Marci waved at her plate. “This ain’t nothing, wait until you try my meatloaf.” She then looked to Belly who was also smiling just as big, although I could sense it was for another reason entirely, because he was still staring at me.

I paused mid-chew, waiting for him to say whatever he was mulling over when he broke out into a deep laugh. “Fucking aye, boy. Well, at least we know you’re not squeamish,” Belly said with a…well, a belly laugh. “Most people would have at least hesitated at the mention of murder at the dinner table.”

I’m not most people.

“I think you’ll fit in fine, here.”

I shrugged and continued eating. When my plate was empty, Marci filled it up again and handed me another beer. She tended to us like she enjoyed it, not because it was dreaded job she had to endure. There was an authority about the way she worked. A power in the way she controlled the room by taking care of those around her.

“Got the new PlayStation yesterday, Grim. You want to help me kill a shitton of zombies after dinner?” Sandy asked.

I’d never played a video game in my entire life. PlayStation systems cost hundreds of dollars. I never had that kind of money. Shit, I’d never even known anyone with that kind of money.

I nodded and looked at Sandy. I mean REALLY looked at him. He wore a designer t-shirt with some dude’s face on it, and I don’t know fashion, but I recognized the logo enough to know that shirt must have cost a shitton. He had a round diamond earring in both ears, and they weren’t small either. Then, there was the silver biker’s ring with a black rose and shiny black stone in the center on the ring finger of his right hand.

I looked around the table and noticed that they all had the same ring. Even Marci, although hers was a thinner and more delicate version.

“He’s got the look,” Sandy said, pointing at me with his fork, his lip twisted up in a smug grin.

“He’s definitely got the look,” Haze chimed in, looking equally amused.

I gulped down another swallow of my beer.

“What look?” Digger asked, looking up from his phone for the first time since we sat down.

Belly smiled big. “Like he’s about to figure it all out.”





After dinner we all helped with the dishes. Then, Belly and Marci sat me down and handed me glass of whiskey. The good stuff, too. They tried to explain that they were a family.

One that I was now a part of.

Marci smiled softly and was about to place her hand on my knee when I pulled away instinctually. She didn’t look hurt and rebounded quickly, wrapping her hands around her glass instead. “You see, when Belly’s chapter of the MC got absorbed into another group, he decided that was his time to get out.”

“I wanted to start my own thing based on loyalty and respect. Everything the MC was supposed to be but never could be because of the leaders lacked guts. Sold us out to another fucking club. You don’t sell out your own fucking club. You don’t sell out your family,” Belly chimed in. He took a healthy gulp of whiskey.

In the background, I heard Sandy and Digger arguing over whatever game they were playing in the family room. Haze sat in a corner rocking chair, silently observing our conversation while smoking a joint.

“So, you see, this is the club I’ve always wanted.” Belly waved his arms around to the walls of the house. To Haze. To Marci. “The family I’ve always wanted. You live here. You work here. Use your natural born instincts. Talents. Protect your brothers. Protect your family. That’s all we ask.”

“How do I do that?” I asked.

“The same way you have been.” Belly pulled out a manila file from under one of his legs and opened it. As soon as he started reading, I knew it was my file from Child Services. “Tristan Paine. Anger and aggression issues. Problems with authority. Arson. Disruptive Behavior. Morbid curiosity. Lacks sympathy and empathy for others. Lashes out. Reckless. Deviant. Manipulative…”

He closed the file and tossed it onto the coffee table.

I stood up feeling restless. Angry. Those words written about me may have been true, but they were written by people who didn’t know me, who sent me from one shitty home after another, adding more and more diagnoses to my file along the way. As if those words would somehow help. As if they really knew anything about anything because they didn’t know shit about me.

“Sit the fuck down,” Belly ordered. He stared me in the eye and calmly repeated himself. “I said sit the fuck down.”

Marci pulled me down to the couch and held my hand as if she could stop me from running out the door. I guessed Emma Jean really did break something inside me because I didn’t immediately tug my hand away.

Belly leaned forward. “We’ve already read your file. The shit that’s in it? That’s not why we don’t want you here; that’s WHY you’re here. To the outside world it might look like a list of your problems, shit they want no part of, but to us?” He laughed and pointed to the file on the table. “Shit’s like the most beautiful fucking resume I’ve ever seen.”

I’m so fucking confused. I drained my glass of whiskey.

“It’s a good thing. I promise,” Marci assured me, giving my hand a squeeze.

Belly stood up, extending his hand to me. I shook it, and he held on firmly, as if trying to communicate all the reassurances he could through that handshake.

Sandy appeared in the doorway, crossing his arms over his chest and his feet at the ankles. He smiled wickedly, knowingly.

“Welcome to the family, Grim,” Sandy said.

Belly released my hand, spread his arms wide, and turned his palms upward in reverence.

“Welcome to Bedlam, son.”

Marci smiled. “Welcome home.”





Emma Jean Tricks, You can keep the picture as long as you promise to keep it safe and also to give it back to me someday. The new place is a lot different, but I think it’ll work for me. Magic? Like card tricks? That’s fitting considering you’re a trickster and conned me into taking Mr. Fuzzy while stealing my wallet. That’s what I’ll call you.

Tricks.

And what’s got you so sad you need my picture to make you smile?





-T





Tristan,

Thank you for writing me back! You know that foster kid life is never fun. But let’s make a deal. I won’t talk about the bad stuff if you don’t. There’s enough bad stuff, but writing to you isn’t.

Tricks? I’ve never liked nicknames. Probably because the only ones I’ve ever been called have to do with my curly hair. Like Curly Sue. Medusa. Little Orphan Annie. So unoriginal. Plus, I do like my hair…like every other day. And yes, I love magic. Always have.

I guess conning people into doing stuff is just a bigger trick with a bigger rush. I can do every card trick. I can escape most knots. Oh, and I love quotes. I tape them to the wall of my room. And I’ve never told anyone this, but I also love writing stories. Mostly, fairytale type stuff.

Tell me a secret of yours? Something you’ve never told anyone else.

-Tricks.

PS-I love the name Tricks.

“We all have magic inside us.” -J.K. Rowling