The Rage: Hell's Disciples MC 3(3)

While her face may be of that of an angel, her body is made from sin. It  begs to be fucked with all those round, soft curves. Big, beautiful  round tits and a sweet ass for days is all I can focus on. Jesus Christ.

The sweet little thing is wearing a pair of ripped up jeans, showing off  some serious skin, along with a tight ass black tee. It should be  illegal for a bitch to be so goddamn hot.

The most amazing thing about her is that she's plain in the best fucking  way. No makeup, no hair styling, just simple and beautiful. All fucking  natural.

"Lilly around?" The girl asks softly and I almost nut in my jeans. That  voice is soft, but confident; A voice any man would want to hear say his  name while he was fucking this angel. I've got to fight for my words.  Fight motherfucker, fight!                       
       
           


///
       

"Yep. She's gettin' fucked right now, so you can wait down here with  me," Her eyes widen a fraction but she nods slowly, letting my words  sink in. Yeah baby, I just said that.

"Oh shit, fresh pussy boys," King hollers, making a beeline for the girl  as soon as her beautiful ass is through the door. I'm still trying to  pull my shit together enough to walk. That motherfucker has some damn  pussy radar, that's for sure.

"Well, hello there, darlin'. What's a pretty little thing like you doin'  in a place like this?" He asks, giving her his sleazy ass smile.

Those pink lips crook up into a small, sweet smile of their own, "Not lookin' for you, darlin'," she counters with a wink.

"Ha!" I can't help it. I was not expecting to hear that shit come from  those sweet lips. Damn, this bitch just punk'd the fuck out of King. I  really like this one.

King's face is stone, not looking so happy to see her anymore. He hates mouthy bitches.

"Get the fuck outta here, King. This," I start to say bitch, but that  just doesn't seem right. I don't know her name so I go for the safe  route, "Girl, ain't here for none of us."

I guess I should ask , "Name?"

Throwing that long ass hair over her shoulder, she says, "Lailah."





Lailah

Stepping out of my car, I slowly take in the huge steel building in  front of me. It sits out in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by miles  of thick forest, with other buildings dotting the long, gravel driveway.  Lilly gave me directions and this is where my GPS has lead me.

Halfway here I wondered if the thing had a glitch, but it's the only  place I've seen in the last thirty minutes, so I'm guessing I've made it  to the right place. I thought of turning around and heading back home  several times, but I really don't want to be there. I would much rather  take my chances with the building armored in chain link fences and  barbed wire.

I pull up as a man in a leather jacket waves me in. Now my nerves are  starting to get the better of me. The lot in front of the building is  lined with motorcycles of all varieties; no one bike is the same. The  building looks more like a shop, really. Steel and metal mixed with wood  and concrete.

Pulling down my mirror, I check my face and I look terrified. Jesus,  pull it together girl. Fuck it. Throwing open my door, I pull up my big  girl panties and get out of my car. It's now or never.

I walk up to the only door, assuming it's the right one because I can  hear music and voices coming from inside. Looking back over my shoulder,  the man by the gate keeps his eyes on the long dirt driveway. I turn  back around and face the door. Shaking my arms out, I roll my neck  around my shoulders and give myself the mental pep talk of a lifetime,  ‘You can do this. They're bikers with smart-ass mouths, and so are you.  You can totally do this.'

Taking one last deep breath, I knock on the door. I tried for a firm,  confident knock, but it comes out anything but confident. I'm feeling a  little ashamed of it. Once I lower my hand, the door is ripped open and a  loud voice announces, "Welcome to Hell."

Well, hello Hell.

****

This guy is smoking hot. His deep voice sends a chill down my spine and a  sadistic thrill through my body. It's that type of voice that would  whisper awful things to you right before killing you  –  dark,  intimidating, and extremely erotic.

He's one big ass man  –  six-five at the very least. It's not just his  height, his body is built like a fighters. I'm not small at five-seven,  but he completely dwarfs me.

His face has a deep scar that cuts through his top and bottom lip,  stopping at his chin. Looking higher, I see a gash that runs through his  eyebrow, seeming to run in the same direction of the lower scar, but in  no way does it take away from his looks. It's a striking contrast of  harsh and beautiful. His dark hair is cut short and neat, close to his  head, just as his beard is full, but cut close to his face. He is  sporting a cut on his cheekbone, so I assume that he is a figher.

I don't know how long I take to notice all these things about him, but I  finally come out of my daydream and see him looking at me like he's  never seen someone like me before.

I want to shift uncomfortably from his scrutinizing stare, but I don't. I  stand my ground. There is nothing about this man that looks nice,  sweet, or friendly. He's a scary package in denim, leather, and muscle;  someone I would avoid at all costs outside of this place, yet I don't  feel any of these things. I find myself liking the idea of being as  close to him as possible.
                       
       
           


///
       


"Lilly around?"

Pushing off the doorframe he shakes his head, "Yep. She's getting'  fucked, so you can wait down here with me," He says as he turns away  from me and heads for the bar.

"Oh shit, fresh pussy boys," someone yells. I turn to see some cocky  asshole making his way toward me. "Well, hello there, darlin'. What's a  pretty thing like you doin' in a place like this?

I refuse to let this shithead call me fresh pussy, so I simply smile and  say, "Not lookin' for you, darlin', and throw in a nice little wink.  He's obviously not too happy with my answer, seeing as he stops dead in  his tracks and looks at me like he wants to rip my head off.

"Get the fuck outta here, King. This girl ain't here for none of us,"  Gigantor tells him. He turns to me with a sexy ass smile, "Name?"

"Lailah."

For a moment he freezes, complete shock taking over his features, but it  disappears just a quickly. He stares at me for a few moments before  saying, "I think I'll call you Lala."

Wait, what? "No, it's "LAI-LAH.""

"Nah, I like Lala better." I'm not about to argue my name with this  giant of a man. He can call me whatever the fuck he wants to.

"And your name is … "

"Rampage."

I'm not the least bit surprised. He looks like he could go on one at any moment.

Rampage's eyes slowly run the length of my body from head to toe,  lingering on my boobs, not even trying to hide it. I suddenly wish that I  wore something less revealing, like a mumu.

"Come on, Lala. Let's get us a drink," He growls, breaking through my thoughts.

I start to follow him and take in the place. The room is huge and  industrial, just like the outside. Mismatched furniture is set up in the  large living area to one side of the room, facing some ridiculously  large TV's. That obviously wasn't enough entertainment for these guys,  so they put in stripper poles in two areas of the room, along with floor  to ceiling mirrors.

In the middle are tables and chairs, and another corner houses pool  tables and dartboards. There are stairs at one end of the room, and a  large bar lined with old barstools and bikers at the other. Everything  seems functional  –  if you wanna live in a frat house.

There are women dressed in tight clothes with their nipples sticking out  of the top of their very low, tight tops. Men in leather and tattoos  are drinking, talking and laughing as the song, The Joker, fills the  room. God this is a good song. I want to sing along but bite my tongue.  No one wants to hear that.

The stale smell of Tabaco and the sweet fragrance of weed waft through  the air. I notice that people are starting to notice me, quieting their  conversations as I walk by. Conversations stop and eyes asses me. I feel  out of place and way out of my element here. Rampage doesn't seem to  notice the stares, or if he does, he doesn't care.

He walks up to a man on a bar stool and slaps his hand on his shoulder, "Get the fuck up, prospect."

The small man jumps right up and smiles obligingly at me, "Ma'am," he  mutters before ducking out of the room. Rampage takes a seat and without  a word, he waves a woman over to him that has way too much boobs for  such a small tank top. If the bitch jumped, she'd have two black eyes. I  am not even joking.