Perversion (Perversion Trilogy Book 1) by T.M. Frazier

Author:T.M. Frazier [Frazier, T.M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Frazier Publishing
Published: 2018-09-23T16:00:00+00:00

Fourteen

I overhear Tristan on the other side of the door. Whoever he’s talking to mentions Gabby’s name. It won’t be long until he finds out she’s Marco’s sister, and that I’m the enemy.

For the second time in my existence, I feel guilty. Not even the knowledge that I was finally able to give his picture back can ease the soul-crushing, stomach-twisting guilt made worse by the fact that I can still smell Grim. Feel him over me.

I shiver.

The connection between us suddenly makes sense when I realize who he is. All these years, he’s been right here in Lacking. I want to wrap my arms around him and tell him everything. But I can’t. If he remembers me at all, only two outcomes are possible. He’ll either try to protect me from Marco, and, by doing so, break the truce that’s allowed this town peace for the first time in years, causing a war, or he will kill me.

And, a war would start anyway.

Which is why I’ve come to a decision. It might be a stupid one, or I should say, another stupid one, but it’s the only option that won’t end with a whole town blood bath.

I know where I have to go, and what I have to do.

Splashes of graffiti cover the exterior of every building lining the main road through town. Lacking’s equivalent of archaic caveman drawings, all competing to be noticed.

Most are signs from different gangs, marking their territories. A Bedlam bleeding black rose. A yellow bandana tied around the face of a sugar-skull for Los Muertos. A tattered pair of angel wings representing the Immortals MC.

Between the signs, there’s a lot of So and So wuz here’s and the word redrum appears repeatedly. As if murder spelled backwards somehow makes it more threatening.

You won’t find an art museum in Lacking, but you will find art created by some ridiculously talented, if not misguided, artists. A depiction of Jesus hanging from the cross. A cartoonish big breasted woman with tiny plastic toy soldiers hanging from her nipples. A gun in a man’s open mouth with a white flag that reads BOOM sticking out of the back of his head.

And then, there are the hundreds of lifelike murals of fallen gang members, usually with RIP written on it somewhere along with a date of birth and date of death.

Every drop of spray paint in this town holds some sort of meaning. A message.

A warning.

I tear my eyes from the paint on the walls and concentrate on the task at hand. The graffiti warnings all around me act as the wind at my back, propelling me forward, faster and faster, until I’m practically running toward the bus station.

The money for two one-way tickets out of Lacking crunch in my pocket with each step. It sounds like freedom.

I come to a stop as the bus station appears at the end of the road and take a deep breath. Escaping Lacking is risky, but so is staying. With each passing day, it only gets more dangerous, as does Marco.

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