Perversion (Perversion Trilogy #1)(9)

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.