Perversion (Perversion Trilogy #1)(46)

The truck takes off, and I’m left lying on the side of some building. I hear the faint sounds of a buzzing street light. I look up and see nothing but darkness. Either the street light isn’t working, or I’m high from the paint fumes.

Or both.

Marco is a sociopath. A thug to his very core and not in the cool political way Tupac defined the word. Because I’m delirious, I hear the faint sounds of Tupac’s “Gangsta Party” playing in the distance. Or in my head. I hum along until the landscape around me grows from fuzzy to only sort of fuzzy, and I try to figure out where the hell I am.

I prop myself up slowly feeling the pain of my beating all over again as I try and do so. I look down and realize beside the paint, I’m almost naked.

My shirt is torn to shreds, and since I’m not wearing a bra, I’m fully exposed. There isn’t even enough fabric left to arrange any sort of cover. I spot graffiti on the wall above me, along with the winged symbol for The Immortal Kings.

Shit.

I begin to panic. I officially understand what Marco meant when he said ‘if I survive the night’ and he wasn’t referring to my wounds. I’m vulnerable out here.

The Immortals, along with everyone else in this town, know that someone left battered on their doorstep covered in yellow is fair game in their twisted gang rules. They can do whatever they want to me. Truce or no truce.

The only thing they can’t do is help.

I use the wall at my back as leverage to stand. A shooting pain up my spine tells me it’s a horrible idea. I fall back on my ass sending another stabbing pain down the back of my legs.

“Come on, EJ. Get your ass up,” I mutter angrily to myself. Another voice speaks to me, this one in my head, but’s is as real as if he’s whispering in my ear.

The voice is Grim’s.

You’re stronger than this. You’re stronger than him. He thinks he’s manipulative and cunning but you’re better. Marco has no idea who he’s fucking with. Now is your time to show him. Get up, Tricks. Come to me.

With his imaginary words fueling me, I manage to pull myself up to a somewhat upright position. I would jump and rejoice if I didn’t think I might break a vertebra in the process.

“Thank you,” I say to the voice in my head.

“Who you talking to little lady?” A voice asks.

I look over to find Damon, the leader of the Immortals, looking me up and down with an amused expression on his face.

“None of your fucking business,” I growl, glaring a laser-like warning at him so hard I’m surprised and disappointed I don’t decimate him where he stands.

“Oooohhh, she’s got bite,” he says, rubbing his hands together. “But you see, it is my business. You’re in Immortals territory. MY territory, which means YOU, yellow girl, are very much my business.”

“What’s going on?” Another male voice asks. A man stands next to Damon. Taking notice of me, his eyes widen with interest.

Damon bends over with his hands on his knees to meet my eyes. “It seems Marco has left us a gift,” he muses, scratching at his beard. “Although, this one is scrawnier than most of the others.”

“Not where it counts,” the other man chuckles. I glance up, and he’s staring at my breasts. My adrenaline kicks in, and I mentally count to three.

One.

Two.

I can’t even wait until three.

I’m bolting down the street barefooted with my breasts exposed while the two men give chase. I’m not fast, but I don’t think they’re trying too hard either. Sixth Street. I just passed Sixth Street. One more street and I’ll be in Bedlam territory.

Grim. Get to Grim.

If he wants to kill me, so be it. I’d rather be killed by Grim than by these fuckers.

My hair is tugged from behind, and I fall back onto the concrete with a force that knocks the wind from my lungs and sends a sharp bolt of pain through my spine.

“What in the hell do you two think you’re doing?” shouts a female voice.

“None of your fuckin’ business,” Damon shouts.

“Oh, no, you did not just say that to me. Boy, I’ll cut out your god damned tongue. Have some fucking respect for your mama for once. If not for me or her, then at least for yourself.”

“Ma…” he whines as if she’s just taken away a toy and sent him to time out.

“Go on, get. That skank Jocelyn is at your house. I ain’t dealing with her shit tonight, so go and set that right before I light her on fire and throw you on top for kindling.”

“Fuck, not Jocelyn again,” Damon mutters.

“Thought she was in rehab?” the other man asks.

“Must have escaped,” he replies. Their footsteps and voices fade as they retreat.

The woman leans over me, and I recognize her instantly as Margaret, The lady from the park. From the sit-down with Marco and Grim. She’s never been kind or unkind to me. Mostly, we just steer clear of one another and exchange polite smiles.

“Listen, Emma Jean, I want to help you. I really do. But I can’t interfere in the business of Los Muertos. I can tell from that ass-whooping that it wasn’t no cat fight between girlfriends, so I tell you what. I can’t touch you, but I’ll walk behind you in the shadows until you cross Seventh to make sure you make it there. Beyond my territory, it’s all up to you. You think you can walk?”