by D. M. Burns
RAMPAGE
Ruthless Tendencies Series
D.M. Burns
Copyright @ 2020 by D.M. Burns
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written consent of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
Resemblance to actual persons, things, living or dead, locale, or events is entirely coincidental.
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
About this book
Dedication
Epigraph
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Epilogue
D.M Burns Note
Acknowledgements
Connect with D.M. Burns
Preview of the WallStreet God
Lena Avery Carter
I knew I was in deep when those two words rolled off his perfect lips… Two words. TWO DAMN WORDS! PRETTY GIRL. Pretty simple, huh? Perhaps too simple. That was all it took for me to fall into his literal rabbit hole of evil all those years ago. The more he pushed the more I pulled. Only to find myself falling deeper. Three events changed everything…
That Rabbit Hole.
That Kiss.
That Summer It Ended.
Now, almost a decade later, I’m staring at his billion-dollar attire and God-given playboy face. He’s out to bury me deep again but the irony of this situation is I have the same objective. His fashionable and financial Godlike talents be damned. A few things needed to be regarded with this guy though. Slade Kyle Carter is callously calm, calculated cruelty, and composed chaos. And I’m in deep shit.
Rampage Slade Kyle Carter
The Capo of Chaos, Kingpin Carter, or Capone Carter… That’s what they call me. My legendary restraint and control are firmly in check, ALWAYS. I wear calm, cool, and collective like one of my brand name designer suits, fucking brilliantly and expertly. I’m the triple C effect of controlled Chaos until right now.
With Her Here.
Sitting Across From Me.
Sharing The Same Air.
This meet and greet was derived out of the burrows of hell. But between a bottle of Cognac, a plane ride, and a brief car adventure; she’s managed to seep back into my underground world at Aces Down. Lena Avery Carter was doomed from the moment she took a seat across from me. Luck will do nothing to save her now and neither will I.
This book is dedicated to those that take the good and or the bad and still continue on without missing a stride. Even in the worse of situations, you manage to step up and make disaster look flawlessly fashionable. Thriving through adversity is a beauty all its own.
Pay close attention to every detail. Everything is not always as it seems…
RAMPAGE:
A PERIOD OF VIOLENT AND UNCONTROLLABLE BEHAVIOR, TYPICALLY INVOLVING A LARGE GROUP OF PEOPLE.
CHAPTER 1 – LENA
age 12 - monroe middle School
I’m going to be in so much trouble. Shit… Even though I can’t really see them, I can hear all my other friends running back in from recess leaving me behind. Ughhhh, no matter how hard I try my foot won’t come loose.
“Shit. Shit. Double shittttt.” I chant out in a panicked rant.
Automatically my head bobs around checking to make sure Mrs. Berger’s supersonic ears are nowhere near. This is what I get for wandering off when the teacher warned us all to stay within the playground area. But I wanted to see where the Carter crew were cutting a path too back here.
Plus, there are wild blackberry bushes that I pick from all the time. I can’t help it. I have a weakness for strawberries, blackberries, or blueberries. I have to be careful about that though. Last week, I had little black seeds caught in between my teeth after free time was over and Jackson Davis made fun of me. He’s a complete dick.
If they could venture off into the woods, why couldn’t I? They’re in the eighth grade and I’m only in the sixth so they probably didn’t want me tagging along. So, I lagged behind to sneak a peek. They’re probably going to the train tracks. Or maybe Renegade took Isabella Anders out there to make out with her again. That’s what Isabella told everybody he did last week. She’s supposed to be his girlfriend which is fine by me as long as it’s not Rampage her lips are stuck to.
Only I got my foot stuck in this damn rabbit hole and foiled my plans to play the peeping princess part out. Curious to see where Rampage was going, I wasn’t paying attention and tripped. Now, I’m stuck until someone comes along. What if they never find me and I starve out here? My mom will be pissed for sure because I told her I cleaned my room this morning, but I soooo didn’t. I’m screwed. I need to think positive vibes. Someone will find me, I’m sure of it.
Why does everyone call the Carter twins Rampage and Renegade anyway? I’m so confused by that. That’s not even their real names. Where did that come from? Was their mom on a warpath once she squeezed out more than one human while giving birth? I know I’d feel a certain type of way about that myself. I’ve seen the U-Tube videos on giving birth. No thanks, hard limit.
All my friends say that Rampage and Renegade look and act just alike because their twins but no. Everyone is so very wrong and clearly not paying attention like me. They’re both very pretty, no that’s not right. They’re handsome. (My mom told me that boys don’t like to be called pretty, ever.)
Those two guys are different in a lot of ways. Rampage is always dressed to a tee and smells way better than the other boys. When he’s around, his cologne tickles my nose and I can smell it for hours after he’s long gone. Come to think about it Renegade never smells like Rampage and they’re brothers. Even Principle Lowe told him he like his cologne the other day. None of the other guys at school wear that stuff.
Renegade’s hair is longer than Ramp’s too. I mean it looks alright on him and all, but he’s not Rampage. Renegade plays a lot of sports, mainly football. He talks a lot with endless energy and seems nice enough. I’ve seen him hold the door open for the teacher when her hands are full. And one time, he took up for a scrawny boy in PE who was getting pushed around. The other boys didn’t bother to help out, but Renegade did. That was the right thing to do. He’s the do-gooder kind but cool.
While Rampage is the quieter one; he always seems to be keeping an unending tally on things. What those things are, I’m not even sure. All I know is that Ramp’s nice to me. When he catches me staring, he smiles back and one time he even winked. Since he’s nice to me, it only makes sense that I keep an eye out over him, right? It doesn’t hurt to make sure he doesn’t get into trouble. Because everyone knows the Carter
boys can find trouble without trying. They always do.
Most of the time those two get into fights with the other boys. But last week Rampage and Renegade got into a fistfight with each other. It really scared the shit out of me. Rampage busted Renegade’s lip. Renegade followed up with a right hook to Rampage’s eye that led to them both flailing around on the ground in a tangle of flying fists. It was horrible. I didn’t want anyone hitting Rampage, not even his own brother.
Latching both hands around my kneecap, I desperately tug upwards with every ounce of strength my bony body has and still nothing. Losing my footing, I tip backward and fall onto the ground with a butt thump to the red Georgia dirt producing a cloud of rusty dust.
Dropping my face into the palms of my hands, I feel the threatening tears start to burn the back of my eyelids. I silently pray the tears away. Spending my entire recess yanking at my foot has pissed the Irish girl in me off. Plus, my foot is numb and tingling. When I get really mad, I cry and cuss. My momma says that I come by my potty mouth honestly. The Irish temper is a living curse that thrives in me.
“Damn. Damn. Damn.” I feel the tears bubbling over the rims of my eyes when I hear the snapping of brush at my backside. Please don’t let it be a grizzly bear or worst, a grizzly yeti. It’s possible.
I turn around to see Rampage standing over me with a sideways smirk on his face. His dark whiskey brown hair is cut neatly over his ears with the top slicked back with gel. It reminds me of my dad’s hairdo every morning when he leaves for work. Except Rampage is so pretty; I mean handsome. But I can see a slight hint of a bruise under his eye and that makes me sad all over again. Why do brothers fight each other? It makes no sense.
“What’s the matter, pretty girl?” He asks. Oh, wow. He thinks I’m pretty.
He kneels next to me and drapes his arm over my shoulder like I’m his long-lost BFF. God, he smells so damn good. I angrily swipe at my tears as Ramp bends over and pokes around in the rabbit hole that has swallowed my foot whole.
“My foot’s stuck.” I sniffle out. “When I get mad, I sometimes cry and cuss. I can’t help it.” I feel the need to explain out of embarrassment. I watch him as he digs around then he looks back at me and smiles wide. It makes me smile back too. He dusts his hands off to get rid of the leftover dirt.
“It’s okay to cry and cuss sometimes, Len.” He shrugs his shoulders on a light chuckle. “How long you been sitting here by yourself?” He asks.
“For a while.” I don’t want to tell him I’ve been here ever since he took off with his brother. “Where’s Renegade?”
“He already went back into class. Why are ya asking? Do you like Renegade or something?” His face scrunches up and his smile disappears.
“I don’t not like him. Uhm, he’s not you though.” I whisper and he brings that smile back. He’s so pretty, no - handsome.
“Were you following us again, Len?”
“No.” It’s not a total lie. I was only following him, not Renegade. “Why were ya’ll fighting the other day?”
“He said he liked you. It pissed me off so, I punched him in the mouth.” His face crinkles up again as he talks. I wished Rampage liked me. I shrug my shoulders in confusion. It’s always nice to be liked, I guess. I don’t understand though. Why would that make Rampage mad? Does that mean he likes me? I really hope so.
“Uhm. Does your eye hurt?” I ask.
“Nah. It’s alright.” He smiles.
“I don’t want anyone to hate me. So, I guess it’s okay if Renegade likes me.”
“No. It’s not okay for Renegade to like you, Len. Besides, nobody hates you anyway.” He shakes his head.
“You know my name is Lena, right?” I tilt my head to the side and watch as his gray eyes with tiny light powder blue dots twinkle back at me. I’ve never seen anything quite like his eyes.
“Yeah. Well, my real name is Slade.” He says.
“Do you want me to call you Slade?” I ask. He thinks it over before answering me.
“You can if you want to. You want me to call you Lena?” He asks.
I shrug my shoulders because I kinda like that he’s the only one that calls me Len. It sorta makes me feel special that he gave me my very own nickname.
“You can call me Len if you want to. I don’t mind.” I say. “Why do people call you Rampage?” I’ve always wanted to know.
“My mom said it was because I’m the settled and calm one but when I set my mind to something, I’ll destroy anything in my way.” He smirks then says, “Try to pull your foot out now.” He says.
“It won’t work, Slade.” I like how his name flows off the tips of my lips. It’s way better than Rampage or at least I think so.
I shake my head from side to side. He smiles using only one side of his mouth. Which is almost as beautiful as when he really smiles and shows his straight white teeth. He reaches out brushing the stray tear off my cheek. I hold my breath when I feel those funny fireworks in the pit of my tummy explode. Why does that happen every time he gets near me?
“Do me a favor and try it one more time, pretty girl.” He says.
Placing my hands under my leg, I give it a good tug and my foot comes out with ease but shoeless. That’s what he was doing, untying my shoe. He reaches into the hole yanking my shoe out and shakes the dirt from it.
“Now, I think I deserve a kiss for rescuing you.” He says.
My eyes go wide and my mouth parts in shock. Without permission, Slade leans in and kisses me softly on the lips. My heart rate speeds up sending my stomach into a hamster wheel mode. I feel my entire body blotching out in a red polka dot coat. My face is burning hot and I’m sure it matches the tint of my fiery red hair. Slade pulls back and I touch my fingers to my tingling lips while staring wide-eyed at him.
“Why did you do that?” I whisper out between my fingertips.
“Because I saw you first.” He winks at me and then holds my shoe out helping me put it back on. The entire thing reminds me of Cinderella. “Now, no matter what, you’ll always remember me because I’m the one who kissed you first before any other boy.” I nod my head because it’s true. He’s my very first kiss. A really-really nice, non-sloppy kiss like I’ve seen on TV. He has soft, thick lips and I wished he’d kiss me again.
“Have you been eating blackberries?” He asks while rolling his lips together. I just smile and nod. “Ya know, one day you’ll be my girlfriend too.” He says.
“My daddy said I couldn’t have a boyfriend until I was in college,” I say.
“We’ll see about that.” When he laughs, it causes me to giggle too.
Rampage stands up and offers me his hand. Without hesitation, I slip mine into place thinking that my entire body feels like my prickling and sleepy foot does. But it has nothing to do with the rabbit hole and everything to do with the voodoo aftermath of a Rampage known as Slade Carter.
CHAPTER 2 - RAMPAGE
My teeth are clenched up so tightly that lockjaw is a valid concern at this point. I’m glaring at Brogan Creed from across his Boardroom Boss war-table in Manhattan, New York. With a murderous massacre movie flashing out on the big screen in my mind. My knee is bouncing double time under this monstrous plank of expensive wood and my blood pressure is topping out at unhealthy levels. I can feel my heart attack risk factors multiplying by the second.
Going into a partnership with Brogan seemed like a no-brainer, until today. I hold seventy-five percentage ownership titles in Aces Down. At this point, cutting him a check for the remainder and walking out is an idea that I’m partial too. That’s my fucking baby. Just like The House of Creed is his.
Telling him to fuck off is on the tip of my tongue, but I’m not an unprofessional asshole. I’m known for legendary restraint and control. I wear calm-cool-collective like one of my brand name designer suits, fucking brilliantly and expertly. The triple C effect of controlled Chaos. So, this turmoil brewing inside of me is unfamiliar and puts me on edge.
Give me five more minutes th
ough, circumstances can change. You do not take a shit on my rug without blowback. This display out of Brogan today was the equivalent of him doing just that. In the middle of Aces Down with his bird finger flying high, fucker.
Contrary to popular opinion, my job normally holds zero stress for me. Heading up the financials for Club Chaos and Aces Down comes as natural as breathing. I’m the god damn Rain Man where numbers come into play. It’s just a gift that I was blessed with. Much like the size and euphoric orgasmic talents of my dick, plentiful.
You’d think an underground gambling ring in plain sight would be trickery, right? Not for me. I’m like a god damn fit, fashionable, and fuckable Tony Soprano sans the receding hairline. I’ve been in this hustle since high school, familiar territory. Toss a little money here, a little over there, and people turn a blind eye to my operation. It’s the shady nature of the beast. Afterall, Aces Down is classified as an exclusive club for members only. It makes our fine establishment appear legal when it’s labeled as such. It’s anything but that.
Here lately my biggest issue is dealing with these fucking New York meet and greets, but today trumps it all. I’m far past fucking pissed off. The only thing that I ask of Brogan was to oversee hiring someone for Aces Down interior design work, temporarily. Something that he’s been pushing hard for over the past couple of months. My fucks are not given for this shit. In my opinion, the casino is sleek, and this revamp is an unnecessary waste of money anyway.
My eyes shift down to the pen in front of me and I contemplate stabbing the motherfucker with it, John Wick style. In the heart. Serval times. Does he even have one? Fuck.
Swinging my eyes over to the she-devil herself, I see Diablo’s daughter has morphed into a redheaded Greek Goddess. The version manifested in my head from years ago does not compare to the real-life creature here today, in the flesh.
Speaking of flesh, Lena’s skin looks like it’s been kissed by the red flames of hell turning it into a nice bronze tint. Her white business suit is contoured to her curves. My eyes follow her outline from the floor up as she’s kicked back casually in her seated position. Those tan sex sticks are crossed at the knee and she’s unaware of her foot kicking out a blood-red six-inch stiletto.
