âThis trilogy is EPIC! If you loved TM Frazier’s King series, you MUST read the Perversion trilogy!”
– Meghan March, New York Times Bestselling Author
POSSESSION, part two of the dark and gritty Perversion Trilogy from USA Today bestselling author T.M. Frazier is available NOW!
The story of Grim and Emma Jean continues.
War is on the horizon.
We’ve come so far.
We’ll have to fight for what we have.
Or die trying.
POSSESSION IS BOOK TWO IN THE PERVERSION TRILOGY
BOOK THREE: PERMISSION
BOOK ONE: PERVERSION
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My Review:
Holy cow! TM Frazier seriously keeps you on edge with this one. Life for Grim and Emma Jean just keeps getting even more complicated. After the way Perversion ended, I was afraid of what we’d see going into Possession. While I am glad things turned out the way it did, that whole situation just added more drama than I could have expected. Emma Jean goes through so much, yet she has a will that just won’t quit. She pushed through so much mental and physical pain and still had it in her to fight for what she cared about most. Grim had quite a few interesting situations but he held it together as much as he possibly could considering what was going on, doing what he could to take care of Bedlam and doing whatever he could for Emma Jean. There just wasnât a dull moment to this story. I loved the few flashbacks that TM Frazier included. And again she left us with a cliffy that has me itching for the next installment.
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Start the trilogy today with PERVERSION
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Excerpt:
Bethany nods to the box, again pressing her finger to her lips. âWe will know more when youâre assigned a judge. Until then, we will just have to wait,â she says loudly. She points with her eyes to the item in my hand, then leaves.
The object Iâm holding is a rock with a piece of paper attached to it by a rubber band. I pull the paper free and flip it over. Itâs a note.
Stay by the glass, motherfucker! Whatever you do, donât turn around. PS-You look nice today. Prison blue suits you.
The one-piece scratchy uniform Iâm wearing is bright orange. What the fuck is all this about?
I peer out from my cell. Thereâs no one in the room now. Not even the janitor. The security camera high in the corner across from my cell, the one thatâs usually pointed directly at me, is now facing down toward the floor.
Whatever you do, donât turn around. Okay, so I wonât turn around completely, but curiosity leads me to risk a glance over my shoulder. Itâs just a wall. An empty blank wall. BOOM. BOOOOOM!
An empty blank wall…that just exploded.
The sound resonates through my eardrums. I duck and cover my head with my hands as pieces of cement rain down into the cell. Dust coats my hair and the back of my neck. After a few beats, I stand, waving away the plumes of the aftermath.
Through the debris, I can just barely make out headlights. Itâs a truck with a battering bar attached to the hood.
âAll aboard! This train is leaving the motherfucking station. Literally!â shouts a voice. I canât see who it is through the windshield which is shrouded in what remains of my cell. I donât have time to ask any questions of the mystery voice.
Thereâs no time to question anything.
The passenger door flies open. Two officers appear behind me. One fumbles with the cell keys while the other shouts at him to move faster.
It wonât be fast enough.
I leap into the truck and slam the door. The tires spin in place for a few seconds until they finally grip the concrete. My head hits the headliner as we reverse over the broken bricks until weâre clear of them and are able to make forward motion. It isnât until weâre through the field and on the road when I finally get a good look of my getaway driver.
âPreppy?â I ask. âWhat the fuck are you doing here?â
Preppy may not be part of any official organization, but he runs a tight ship over in Loganâs Beach. Belly and I have worked with him and his friend King a few times in the past. I havenât seen Preppy since before he was thought to be dead only to later be rescued from an underground cave where he was held captive for the better part of a year.
âGrim? Fuck, I thought I was rescuing Bear. Get the fuck out,â he teases. âJust kidding. If Bear was locked up I wouldnât help him escape. That fucker could use some âme timeâ to contemplate his grumpy nature.â
He holds the wheel with one hand and straightens his signature bowtie with the other. His white dress shirt is rolled up to his elbows revealing arms heavily covered with both tattoos and angry jagged scars.
He lights a joint and tugs on the wheel, making a sharp turn off the road into a dark heavily wooded area. When weâve made it in far enough to be fully camouflaged by trees and brush, Preppy kills the engine.
He passes me the joint, and I take a much-needed hit, holding the smoke for as long as I can before slowly exhaling.
âThanks, man. How the fuck did you get sucked into this?â
Preppy types out a text on his phone, then sets it back in the console. âBethany. I owed her a favor. She got my boy, Bo, out of some trouble recently.â
âIsnât your kid like ten now?â I ask. âWhat kind of trouble can a ten-year-old get into that needs Bethanyâs kind of help?â
âHeâs eight,â Preppy corrects. âAnd my boy catches the kind of trouble most kids his age donât know is out there to catch. My girls are easier. Twin toddlers. Miley and Taylor. The three of them, along with their mama, are the loves of my fucked-up life. Boâs a good kid. Heâs justâŚwell, his brain arrow doesnât exactly shoot straight. Its target is usually moreâŚâ
Preppy shapes his hand like an arrow aimed at the windshield, then changes the aim to me.
âHuman.â He drops his hand. âAnd the incident in question wasnât that bad. It may or may not have had something to do with the unfortunate disappearance of a certainâŚâ
He waves the rest of his sentence away like thereâs a gnat flying around his head.
âLetâs just say heâs grounded. VERY grounded. For life. Or like a week. Minimum a few days. Or a day. Maybe, an hour or two. Poor kid. Maybe, Iâll just take him to the movies.â He sighs. âYouâll see. Wait until youâve got some sex trophies of your own. Youâll understand.â
Kids. Iâve never thought of myself with a kid before. I picture Tricks holding a baby in her arms. Our baby. Much to my surprise, I donât fucking hate it. Although, the thought isnât helpful to my current situation and only makes me more impatient and enraged.
One thing at a fucking time.
Sirens wail through the night. Preppy remains cool and calm like heâs driving a parade float down main street, and not at all like heâs running from the law with a fugitive.
Blue and red flashes light up the woods. After a few seconds, the vehicles pass, and both the lights and sirens fade off into the distance. âThatâs our bat signal. Letâs get you the fuck outta here so I can get home to the missus and eat her cookies.â Preppy pauses, probably realizing his odd choice of words. âI do actually mean cookies. Dre makes a mean batch of chocolate chip.â
I stare silently out at the passing trees.
âIâm going to eat her pussy, too. You know, after the other kind of cookies. Just so weâre clear.â
âThanks, man. Weâre clear. And if you ever need anything and Iâm not dead or serving time, Iâm there,â I assure him. I mean it. I owe him a debt. A huge one.
âHhhhmmm,â he considers, taking the joint I pass him. âHow do you feel about babysitting?â
I smile at his joke until I look over at Preppy only to see heâs not doing the same.
In fact, itâs the only time in my life Iâd ever seen him with a straight face.
âI uhâŚâ
He looks straight ahead through the scratched and broken windshield. Bits of concrete from our escape attempt cover the dashboard, and some of it is lodged into the glass. âNever mind. You can do me one favor, though.â
âAnything within my power. Itâs yours.â
âDonât tell King about this,â he says. It comes out as a sheepish high-pitched question.
âWhy? He wouldnât want to know that you broke me out?â
King was a friend of Bellyâs and a good ally to Bedlam. It wouldnât make sense that heâd be against helping me. Iâd do the same for any of them if the roles were reversed.
Preppy shakes his head. âOh no, he knows I broke you out. I just sent him a text to tell him itâs over. The grand escape is complete.â He steps on the gas. âBut he donât gotta know I used his truck to do it.â
About the Author
T.M. (Tracey Marie) Frazier never dreamed that a single person would ever read a word she wrote when she published her first book. Now, she is a five-time USA Today bestselling author and her books have been translated into numerous languages and published all around the world.
T.M. enjoys writing what she calls sexyâwrongside of the tracks romanceâ with morally corrupt anti-heroes and ballsy heroines.
Her books have been described as raw, dark and gritty. Basically, what that means, is while some authors are great at describing a flower as it blooms, T.M. is better at describing it in the final stages of decay.
She loves meeting her readers, but if you see her at an event please donât pinch her because she’s not ready to wake up from this amazing dream.
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