The Rage: Hell's Disciples MC 3(6)

"Fine. My favorite color is Black. Favorite food is steak. Don't have  any favorite movie, and yes, I like ice cream. Is that all?"

She leans in closer and smiles. She is just all sweet and innocence. That shit is so goddamn potent it damn near blinds me.

"Lala what the fuck are you doin'?" I say in a low, seductive way as I  stare into her eyes. She loses her smile and I realize she has no clue,  no fucking idea what she's leading herself into.

"Yeah Lala, I don't mind ice cream at all."





Lala

Looking away from Rampage after his question, I take in the people  around us, all of who seem to openly gawk at us, especially the club's  gash girls. I can't tell if it's because he seems so mean and  intimidating, or if they are just jealous.

"Rampage?"

"What now, Lala?" He grumbles. He's leaning back against the couch, an  arm thrown over the back¸ holding a drink in one hand, and a joint in  the other. He looks bored.

"Why is everyone staring at us?" He just shrugs his shoulder.

I have no clue what possessed me to sit with Rampage in the first place.  When I walked in, leaving Lil outside, he was sitting alone on the same  couch I left him on. I watched as people walked by him, giving him a  wide berth and avoiding his eyes. I don't know why I figured I should be  the person to keep him company, but I did. I didn't want him sitting  alone. My constant need to make everyone feel better or included might  be the reason, but it feels like a lot more than that. He pulls me to  him whether I want to admit it or not.

He doesn't talk a whole lot to anyone. Hell, he doesn't talk to me much  either, but he doesn't ignore me. Something about Rampage makes me  curious, a little scared, but curious nonetheless.

"Don't know, babe. I know I don't care. Do you care? Do I look like a someone who gives a fuck what these assholes think of me?"

"No."

"That's right, babe. I don't give a flyin' fuck."

Well that settles it. It seems we both have the same attitude when it  comes to whether we care what other people think of us. I think I'm  starting to see what pulls me to him.

I sit with Rampage for a while, watching people. I watch the gash throw  themselves at any man that gives them an ounce of acknowledgement.  They're desperation is sick, but it really makes me sad to see. I see  glimpses of my mom in each woman here. For her, and for these girls,  it's the love for the party, the thrill of the chase, and most  importantly, the validation from men through sex. Once the party is  over, the chased has been caught, and the sex has been played out, they  are left with the hurt and sadness in being replaced immediately by the  next conquest. It's a vicious cycle that I've steered clear of my entire  life.

I watch the guys drinking, playing pool, and see the bonds they all  share. Although there is a serious pecking order, they all seem to show  each other some form of respect. Whether it be a non-member giving a  member his seat, or people they call ‘prospects' serving drinks,  cleaning up, and doing various other duties, there is a level of respect  in everything each person does in this club. They have their own world  of rules here, but I can see the basics at work.                       
       
           


///
       

"You good, Lala?" Rampage asks, breaking me from my thoughts.

"Yep. I'm good." A few guys walk inside and they all look over at us.  Some give respectful head nods, while the others just stare.

"Got shit to do," He grumbles, grabbing and squeezing my upper thigh.

"Okay. Thanks Rampage, ya know, for keeping me company," It was nice  just to sit with someone. He may not have spoken to me much, but his  company was appreciated.

"Not sure how good a company I was, but sure, Lala."

"I just appreciate you hanging with me for a bit."

Giving me a quick nod, he heaves himself up from the couch. Giving a  chin lift toward the guys, he calls, "Got shit to discuss …  now,  motherfuckers." They all come his way. Not one of them says a word as  they follow him to the bar.

"See ya around, Rampage."

Looking over his shoulder at me, he nods once and points, "I'll be back soon, so save my seat."

I watch him and the guys take their seats around the bar. I turn back  around to do more people watching when a man, I think they called him  Blue or something, sits down next to me and throws his arm over my  shoulders. The heavy smell of booze and smoke are overwhelming to my  nose.

"Whatcha' ‘doin' all by yas lonesome, baby doll?" He slurs sloppily at  me. His hand cups my shoulder and squeezes. I try to scoot away, but no  such luck, he keeps me close.

"Just sittin' here people watching."

"Yous looked ‘a wittle lonely." Far from it, actually. I try again to  scoot away, but this time he jerks me closer to him, his hand tightening  on my shoulder, "Yous stayin' right ‘ere." I'm not gonna get away from  him without making a scene, so I'm stuck.

Running a dirty finger down my arm, he leans into me, his face inches  from mine, "Hab a wittle fun wit me tanight," His lips brush against my  cheek when he speaks and I gag from the smell of his stale breath. I'm  trying stop the next one from coming, but It's almost impossible.

"I don't think so." I tell him. What I'd like to say is ‘get the hell away from me', but I'm trying not to upset anyone here.

His finger trails down my arm to my hand that's in my lap. I go to  remove his hand away from me when I hear Rampage shout violently through  the clubhouse, "BLUE!"

Peeking over my shoulder, Rampage's eyes meet mine and he looks pissed. His face is contorted into a rage filled fury.

Suddenly it's silent. He slams his hands on the bar top, rattling the  glasses, "Remove your fucking hand before I do that shit for you," he  warns.

Instantly Blue moves away from me, jumping off the couch and walks toward the other side of the room.

Turning my eyes back to Rampage, he points at me and says, "Lala,  c'mere." For a moment I hesitate, embarrassed at being called out and  becoming the center of attention.

"Get the fuck up ‘n c'mere," he yells at me this time. Where his voice  sounds mean, his eyes soften and lose that dark edge as he looks at me,  so I get up. Making my way toward him, I stop a few cautious feet away.  He stands up and closes the distance between us.

"You okay?" I just nod. Landing hard eyes on Blue he growls, "Me ‘n you  got shit to discuss." Looking back at me, he tells me sternly, "Stay at  the bar." Not going to argue that.

Sliding onto the stool next to me a few minutes later, he doesn't even  look at me. He doesn't seem happy, but he doesn't seem quite as pissed,  either. Handing me a shot, I notice his knuckles are red and swollen,  but I don't ask. I'm guessing he and Blue had that discussion. Forcing a  shot into my hand, he doesn't say anything, but then again, he doesn't  have to. He knows I'm going to take the shot. I'd like to steer clear of  upsetting him.

A member, Gin, walks up next to Rampage and hands him something, "For  your troubles, brother," and chuckles as he and another guy walk away,  leaving us alone.

"Up on the bar, Lala." Rampage orders. For a second I wonder if I heard him right. "What?"

"Get up on the goddamn bar," he slaps his big hand on the bar top. I  stare at him like he's crazy. What the fuck does he want me up on the  bar for?

When I continue to sit there, he gets up from his stool, turns and  barges his way in between my thighs without a word. Putting his hands  around my waist, he lifts me without question and places me on the bar  top.

"Lie down." I don't know why I do it. I'm nervous, but extremely curious, so I just do as he says.                       
       
           


///
       

"What are you doing?"

"Need somethin' to calm my ass down, baby. I need my hands on you to help me do that."

For a moment there's nothing, then his hands are at my waist touching  me, slowly moving my shirt up so my stomach is bare. I want to fidget,  but I don't. He moves the shirt up slowly, keeping his hands on me,  making my body feel alive. I watch him as he does all this, like he is  paying very close attention to what he's doing, pushing it up just above  the underside of my breasts. Once my shirt is where he wants it, he  slowly moves his hands down and begins to trace the hem of my jeans with  his finger. Then just as suddenly, he takes both hands and forces my  jeans down as low as they will go without unbuttoning them. I'm in the  middle of a clubhouse, full of bikers, lying on a bar table with who  knows how many people watching as he yanks my pants halfway down my  thighs, the top part of my ass coming out the top. It is the sexiest  thing I have ever had done to me. His touch sends goose bumps over the  exposed skin of my bare stomach and pelvic region. My reaction is to  cover myself up, but he reaches up to still me, saying one word that  makes me freeze, "Don't."