The Rage

by Jaci J.

  Tilting his head, he says, “Just relax. Arms around me ‘n hold on.” Grabbing my hands in his, he pulls them around his waist, letting them rest low on his thighs. Giving my hand a little squeeze, he lets them go and grabs onto the handlebars.

  “Lean when I lean. Move with me ‘n the bike, baby.”

  I can’t keep this stupid ass grin off of my face. I’m taking my first ever motorcycle ride, but I’m even more excited about the man who is taking me on it. I keep my body pressed tight against his as he takes off, and as we ride, he occasionally reaches back to touch my leg, or squeezes my hands for reassurance.

  I can see why people love this. The longer we ride, the lighter I feel. I get a sudden urge to just beg Rampage to keep going, taking me away from all the stress and pain in my life, even though I know running will never change my circumstances, at least not for long, so I just enjoy this for as long as I can.

  We ride for a while until Rampage starts to slow down. He turns and pulls into a small parking lot with a shack of a restaurant, parks the bike, and shuts off the engine.

  “Hands on my shoulders, push up ‘n off.”

  I do as he says. I make it off as well as I made it on, which means I made it on my feet, not on my ass, and that’s all that matters.

  “You like it.” He states. It’s not a question. I just nod because it’s impossible to speak with this stupid ass smile on my face. Reaching out, he runs his thumb over my lower lip, tracing my smile.

  “That is one of the best fucking smiles I have ever seen, babe,” his eyes darken and he licks his lips. My body reacts instantly. I stick my tongue out, licking his thumb and watch as his eyes flare with something scary and exciting.

  Pulling his hand away, he shakes his head and quietly says, “Let’s go in before I do somethin’ you’ll regret.”

  ****

  We’re seated in a booth where the seats are ripped to shreds. Our table has a phone book under the leg, just to keep it steady. The God-awful, puke green Formica table is flaking and chipping, while the walls have old smoke stains. The dust and soot are so thick, you could write your name on them. The bar is scuffed and scarred, and all the stools are mismatched. The waitress looks just as old as the weathered wood siding, but she’s friendly.

  As soon as our asses hit the seats, we have coffee poured and sitting in front of us. With a raspy chuckle, the waitress welcomes us with, “Mornin’. Welcome to the Red Rooster.”

  The place is falling apart from the inside out, but good God, they have the best breakfast I have ever eaten. Huge, fluffy pancakes, and the best biscuits and gravy I have ever tasted. I will definitely be eating here again, no matter how far I have to drive to get here.

  Rampage is sitting across from me, eating a burger for breakfast. I watched as he began to pick the thing apart the second it was set in front of him.

  “Why didn’t you just order it plain?” I ask him.

  Lifting an eyebrow he says, “Bob don’t cook for picky fucks like me.” Taking off the pickles, tomatoes, onions and lettuce, he sets them on the edge of my plate.

  “What do ya want me to do with them?”

  “Don’t care. Just don’t want that shit near my food.” Fine I’ll eat them.

  “You don’t like fresh veggies?”

  “Fuck no. Nasty shit.” His burger is now nothing but two half pounds of greasy meat, a quarter pound of bacon, and at least four slices of gooey processed cheese sitting in between two buns. It’s a heart attack on a plate.

  Picking up the tomato, I take a bite. It’s ripe and juicy. Rampage visibly cringes when it touches my lips.

  “These are so good,” I observe around an exaggerated “Mmm…”

  He actually screws his face up in disgust, “I’ll take your word for it.”

  “You don’t eat any veggies? Fruits? Anything that is actually good for you?”

  “Potatoes count?” What a man thing to say. It is considered a veggie, but it’s a starchy carb, so it’s obviously not the healthiest vegetable he can eat.

  “Sure, I guess so.”

  “Then yeah, I eat potatoes, but other than that, it’s not going in my mouth.” He waves a disgusted hand at my plate.

  “Well I’ll eat them. I love veggies.”.

  We eat in silence, catching glimpses of each other here and there. I know that he’s staring at me, like he’s trying to figure me out. I can’t complain. It’s probably the same way I’m looking at him. One thing that I can say is that even with the staring, I feel completely at ease with this man.

  “So, you from ‘round here?”

  “Originally. I was born here, but I’ve lived everywhere. How about you?”

  Taking a drink of his beer, during breakfast I might add, he sits back and looks thoughtful for a second, “All my goddamn life.”

  “You got family here?” I knew that question was coming. Shaking my head, I look down, trying desperately to avoid this.

  “No Mom or Dad? Brothers and Sisters?” He pushes and again, but I just shake my head. I don’t have anything to say on the subject, so I try to take the heat off of me.

  “Do you have family?”

  “Yep. The club’s my family.” That doesn’t exactly answer my question. Just like I’ve been doing, he’s avoiding the question.

  “No Mom or Dad? Brothers and Sisters?” I counter back.

  “Nope.”

  I know that’s all I’m getting and I think I’ve made my point. If he doesn’t push, I won’t push.

  “How long you been livin’ back here?” He asks, changing the topic.

  “Just about two years. We moved away when I was 7.”

  “You plan of stayin’ ‘round after school?” he asks around a bite of his clogged artery on bread.

  Shrugging, I take a bite of my hash browns and gravy, and suddenly the question’s forgotten.

  “Mmm… so good,” I mumble around my delicious bite. Rampage chuckles softly, his lips turned up in a small smile.

  I don’t answer this question because I just don’t know. I don’t even know what tomorrow holds for me. I’m just going day to day, praying to get through school and getting rid of Ryan.

  When I look up at him, he’s staring at me so intently that I know what he’s about to ask me next.

  “You gonna tell me ‘bout what happened to the Chevy? Why you were at my place at one in the mornin’?”

  5

  Black & Blue

  Rampage

  It drives me fucking crazy when she doesn’t look me in the eyes. When I ask you a question, you look at me. I expect people to look at me when I speak to them, but her eyes are everywhere except on mine, and it pisses me off. She can’t just show up all bloody, sleeping outside our club with a busted out window and not explain that shit. I went with the easy questions first, just to ease her into the harder ones, even though she blew me off on those, too. I’m done pussyfootin’ around the subject.

  “Lala,” I push her for more. I mean fuck, something is going on and I want to know.

  “Someone threw a rock through the window,” she mutters stupidly. Fuck. I almost laugh at that. No one threw shit through that window.

  I know she’s fucking lying to me and I wanna know why. She can’t honestly think I’m stupid enough to believe her.

  “What about your bloodied face?”

  I watch as her beautiful face falls, changing to something sad and heartbreaking. Something shifts, and somehow I know I’ve pushed too far. I don’t want to be the reason for that look. Shit.

  “It ain’t my business. Forget I asked.”

  Damn, I backpedal real motherfucking quick, trying to erase the sadness on that beautiful, but damaged face. I know it’s not my business if she doesn’t want it to be, but somehow I feel like it is, or at least it should be. I want everything about this girl to be my goddamn business, no matter how fucking crazy it sounds. This girl could make me lose myself with my obsession over her. I know it, but would never admit it. She is gonna make
me straightjacket, strong meds, crazy and obsessive. I can’t let this shit with her overwhelm me like it has been, so I really need to stay my lane, and I guess be whatever she needs me to be to her.

  “What are ya goin’ to school for? How much longer you got?”

  And with the change of subject, she visibly relaxes by leaning back into her seat and sighing. Twisting a long piece of hair around her finger, she bites that plump lip and just like that, I’m fucking hard. Today is going to be long and painful. All her sweet ass innocence gets to me.

  “I’m majoring in business with a minor in marketing, but school’s over for a few months. Once it starts back up, I’ve only got a year until I graduate.” These girls and their goddamn schooling, it blows my mind. First Lil, and now Lala. Smart bitches. They’re too smart for their own damn good. “Yeah?”

  And off she goes. I watch her talk animatedly about her classes and shit. She’s so fucking happy and excited right now that I let her go. I listen to all the shit she tells me, soaking it all up, actually listening to every word. It’s strange to be interested in anything other than my club, but I find myself wanting to know everything about Lala. I want to absorb every goddamn word that spills from that pretty mouth. Yes, like I said… obsessed.

  ****

  It’s been another long week filled with all fucking things Lala, but no actual Lala. I found her clothes in my bathroom and stuffed them in a pillowcase and put it next to my bed. I used a toothbrush that I knew had been in her mouth. I’ve been forced to sleep in a bed that smells like her, making my hard-on a constant thing.

  I tried fucking Red, but that bitch couldn’t do shit to cure my need to fuck Lala. It’s a sad day when a bar bitch can’t get you off the way you need it, and Red ain’t the best lay, but she is freaky, so that’s saying something. Lala is the only one that can fix this shit for me, so it looks like I’m waiting on her.

  I haven’t seen her since we left that restaurant, but she’s always on my mind. She’s constantly up there screwing with my head ‘n shit. When we got back to the club, she hopped in her Chevy, but not before giving me a fucking hug and kiss. That girl threw herself around me and pulled me into her body, kissed my cheek and said in my ear, “Thank you for everything.” I just stood there like a fucking dumbass and watched her leave. One minute I feel like my shit is fine, but then she touches me and I’m right back to feeling like a horny teenager with a very unhealthy crush. She throws me off balance, and that shit is something I don’t know how to handle.

  Toward the end of the week, she called Lil. I know because Lil was on the phone with her when I walked into the office to ask her a question. Lala must have heard me because Lil interrupted me to say, “Lailah wants me to tell you hi for her.” Even something as small as that causes me to think about her obsessively. I’m a fucking joke when it comes to this shit. Not a single fucking clue what I’m doing.

  ****

  It’s Friday night and we’re having a big blow out. We brought on a couple nomads, two guys Tank knew from his old club, and they’re getting patched in tonight. Spike and Rico are back in the fold, and tonight’s their ‘Welcome back to club life’ party.

  I spent the afternoon over at Gin’s place replacing the damn garage door ‘cause some kid’s decided to use it for shooting practice with their BB guns. Gin is my brother and he’s a good fucking guy, but working with him fucking sucks. He’s so goddamn easily distracted it isn’t funny. One minute he’s helping you hold up the garage door, the next he’s fucking with his bike. What should have taken three hours took five. I’m tired, bored, and ready to relax by the time we’re done.

  The club is filling up nicely when we get back from Gin’s. Bitches are all over the damn place, missing articles of clothes, tits and asses are bouncing all over the place. Our new brothers brought some new pussy with them.

  Jesus Christ, I hope they’re enough to distract me from Lala tonight. A motherfucker can only hope ‘cause this ache I’ve got goin’ is only gettin’ worse. The longer I sleep in sheets that smell like her, the worse the buildup gets. My body if feigning for her like a fucking junky.

  I’m cold, wet, and dirty, so I hit the shower first before I join the party, but walking into my room, I hear someone in the bathroom. The fuck? Asshole’s thinkin’ it’s cool to use my room for a fuck pad when I’m not here are gonna get the shit beat out of ‘em.

  Throwing open the bathroom door, I have my fist pulled back, “The fuck you doin’…” is as far as I get. I can’t fucking believe my eyes. Lala is standing in my bathroom, wet and completely naked.

  “Rampage! You scared the shit out of me.” She screams.

  I don’t… I can’t answer her. I’m staring and it’s not because she’s naked. Her eyes catch mine, quickly realizing what I’m seeing, and she covers herself with a towel.

  “What the fuck happened, Lala?” I almost don’t want to know. Her back and side are covered in black bruises. Some look old, but a lot of them look fresh. It looks bad, and for someone who has given their fair share of beatings, it makes me fucking sick to see a woman beaten so badly. I would be shocked if nothing was broken.

  Fuck.

  “Oh, it’s nothing,” she says with a smile, trying to give me the brush off. Wrapping the towel tighter around herself, she tries to walk past me, but she’s not getting out of this easy this time. Snatching that towel away, I watch something terrifying happen.

  Lala just closes her eyes and steals herself for what? I don’t know. She doesn’t fight or argue with me, she just shies back and waits. What the fuck does she think I’m about to do to her? Jesus Christ. What the hell is being done to her?

  I’m in way over my head here. I’ve no fucking clue how to approach this shit, so I walk out of the room and into the hall, “Lilly!” I need some backup for this shit. “Goddamn Sis, get the fuck in here!”

  In runs Lil, with Tank and Peaches on her heels. Shoving me and Tank away, they slam the door shut in our faces.

  ****

  “Leave her be, Rampage,” Lil says as she and Peaches steps out into the hallway. I’ve been standing out here with Tank, looking like a dumbass for the last ten minutes now, and that’s all she has to say? I don’t fucking think so.

  “Fuck that shit, Lil. Girl shows up here in my room, bruised the fuck up. Don’t tell me to ‘leave her be.’”

  Lil pulls the door closed behind her and leans against it, blocking me from getting to Lala. She’s smart. She knows I won’t put my hands on her to move her out of the way.

  “What happened?” Peaches asks, looking like she might cry. Oh hell. if these girls start crying, I’m leaving. I cannot handle that shit.

  “What the fuck happened to her, baby?” Tank pushes Lil. Yeah, good question. I’d like to know that shit too.

  “She won’t tell me anything. It’s obvious that someone did this to her, she just won’t say who or why.”

  Well no shit, Sherlock. Those bruises didn’t just magically appear. They look more like a dozen fists or kicks if you ask me. I should know. Some soon to be dead fucking asshole put their hands on her, and I won’t let that shit slide.

  “Lil, move and let me in there.”

  Putting her hand on my chest she says, “You go in there, don’t be pushy or scare her. Don’t make her feel bad for not telling us anything. If she needs our help, she will have to come to us. We can’t force her to do it.” Nodding I wait for her to move, and with one last look, she says, “Be sweet. Be nice, Rampage. She needs that right now. ” Please God, no crying. I can’t do tears.

  I hold my breath and walk into the room expecting to find Lala a sobbing mess, or something just as fucking scary, but no. She’s in the bathroom doing her hair, smiling and shit. I just don’t get this girl.

  I lean myself against the door and watch her sweep that long, wet hair over her shoulder. The same hair that I’ve been dying to grab on to and bury my hands in. For a single moment I’m lost in all the shit I want to do to her – Picturin
g all that shit in excruciating detail.

  “Sorry about using your room without asking,” she says, pulling me out of my daydream, “Lil was in hers and I really needed a shower. She said it’d be okay, but if this ever happens again, I promise that I’ll ask you first.”

  I could care less about her being in here. In fact, I prefer it. If any bitch is going to be in here without me, it’ll be her, and I won’t have her showering in anyone else’s room, either. Fuck that shit.

  Clearing my throat, “It’s cool, Lala.” Turning to look at me over her shoulder, she stiffens a little from pain, but smiles anyway.

  “Thank you.”

  I’ve gotta say something. I’m not the one to hold shit in, but I’ll give it to her one time, then I’ll let it rest. This shit goes against everything I have ingrained in me, but for her, I’ll do it.

  “Listen, Lala. Imma say this shit once, ‘n you’re gonna listen. It’s up to you to do what ya want with it. You got me?” Nodding her head, she leans back against the sink and gives me her full attention. “I know how ya got them bruises,” she goes to stop me, but I give her a look that shuts her up. I’m trying really hard to not lose my shit, but I’ll hold that shit down for her… for now, “I’ve given enough beat-downs in my life to know that someone is using you as a goddamn punching bag. I’m not gonna ask who because I know you aren’t gonna tell me shit, but when you wanna tell me, I’ll listen, ‘n then I’ll do somethin’ about it.” She offers me a nod and keeps listening. “I want ya to know you’re safe ‘round here. I don’t wanna see you flinch or shy away from me. I will not put a hand on you unless you want me to, and I will kill any brother here if they try. You need somethin’ from me, you gotta tell me. We clear?”

  It’s all up to her now. Whether she accepts my help or not, she’ll know it’s there.

  ****

  It’s been a few hours since I found Lala naked and bruised in my bathroom. She’s acting like nothing is wrong – all smiles for everyone around her – but I see the physical pain she’s in. She’s obviously been through this before, ‘cause she knows how to hide it from everyone around her. She doesn’t give shit away.