The Rage(17)

Because of the way that I’ve had to live, I always save money, stowing it away for times just like this. I would have used it for my car, but I figured it wasn’t worth sinking money into only to have it die on me again. I would have worked more so I could get a new-ish car, at least.

I needed new clothes, anyway. I have no idea when I’ll be able to go home to get my stuff, or if anything there will still be in one piece. It’s possible that he’s already sold half of what I own.

In the parking lot of the mall, I remove all the tags and stuff everything I bought into two small bags. Throwing them into the back seat, I head back to the club.

The chain link fence opens for me and a man in a black leather vest waves me through. Pulling in, I see a lot of people standing by bikes, and others sitting around picnic tables. I watch as Rampage stalks his way through the crowd toward me. Pulling open the car door, he gives me a hard stare and looks me up and down, “Where the fuck did you go?”

“I woke up and needed to get some stuff for this weekend.”

Looking over my shoulder to the back seat, he nods and relaxes, “Next time, wake me up. I’ll take you.”

Picturing Rampage traipsing around a mall makes me laugh. His giant, leather clad body standing in line at Victoria’s Secret, holding an arm full of panties would be quite a sight. I might pay to see it. I can’t picture him lingering behind me at the Mac makeup counter, either.

“What the fuck you laughin’ ‘bout, babe?” Rampage grumbles. Leaning against the doorframe, he’s boxing me into the front seat, putting his hand on my thigh.

“Nothing.”

Holding out a hand to me, he helps me out of the Chevy, “Thank you.”

“Yeah, baby.”

Opening the back door, he grabs my bags. Holding them up, he says, “Both won’t fit on the bike.” I point to the smaller black one. Inside I packed enough for three days.

“I just need that one.”

Throwing an arm over my shoulder, he walks me toward his bike, “Imma go lock this shit in my room. Wait here,” After pressing his rough lips to my forehead, he wanders off. It catches me off guard when he does that. The gesture from him seems so wrong, but I think I actually swoon a little bit.

Lil comes running up, smiling from ear to ear, “Hey bitch! You excited?”

It’s so crazy to see her in this setting. Wearing some short shorts, a cropped t-shirt, and wild hair, she doesn’t look like the refined Lilly who works at the college. When we first met, I would have pictured her in an affluent setting. She was very sweet and very well spoken. At times she was even soft spoken.

Hanging out with her here, she’s a completely different person. She’s wilder, louder, and funnier. At first I felt so different from her. I’ve always been a bit of a hippie. I don’t do fancy shit. I’m all easy clothes, easy hair, and nonexistent makeup. I see now there’s not much of a difference between her and I, and I love her even more for that fact.

“Yes! I’ve never been to a rally.”

“Oh, girl. It’s gonna be so much fun. Bikes, crazy hot guys… you excited to go with Rampage?” she asks, leaning against the picnic table next to me.

“Yeah, I think so. I hope he’s not second guessing bringing me along. I’m afraid I’ll cramp his style.”

“I’m sure he is. Seriously, it’s because you’re hot as fuck and you’re not claimed. Rampage is not gonna want to share you.”

“Not sure I ever want to be claimed,” I tell her truthfully. The idea of being claimed sounds oppressive and suffocating, just like something I’ve been trying to run from for so many years now.

“It’s not a bad thing, babe. It means you’re taken, spoken for. He’s your man and you are his woman. It’s basically like being married without the ring, church, and certificate. Don’t get me wrong, some of the guys officially marry their old ladies, but it’s all the same in the clubs eyes.” Okay. Sounds like a girlfriend/boyfriend sort of thing to me.

“So I guess it’s safe to assume that Tank claimed you?” My question makes her laugh. “Yeah, something like that; Although, I claimed his ass, too.”

“I can see that. You two are all over each other, all the time. He’s always around you, always staring at you. You guys are starting to gross me out a little bit.”

“Really?” She gets this far away, dreamy smile, “Oh, well, you’ll get used to it the longer you’re around. It’s only because he’s crazy obsessive, but you know what? We’re finally getting to a really good place.”

I remember that time in her life, and I couldn’t be happier for her now.

“Is Ty coming?” My question gets me other dreamy smile. She loves that little boy like nothing I’ve ever seen before.

“No. My baby is staying with Mary for the weekend. This momma needs a break.”

Lil proceeds to give me the rundown of the what to-do’s, and what not to-do’s. A few minutes later, Rampage comes back outside with Tank and Stitch. They are talking to one another, but they are all staring straight at me. Once their conversation wraps up, they do their strange eye contact, chin lift, and grunt thing at each other, then split off in separate directions. Tank heads for Lil and Rampage heads for me.

The closer Rampage gets to me, the more relaxed he seems. His eyes are soft, and his face looks peaceful for once. Those lips of his are fighting not to smile, but I will make it my mission to get a full watt smile from him if it’s the last thing I do.

“You ready baby?”

“I think so.”

“You think so? You scared?”

“Not scared. Never scared, just unsure. I’ve never been to a rally.”



We ride for three hours, passing through farmland, small towns and mountains before finally reaching the ocean. As soon as we’re close, I can smell the salt and water; a smell I’ll always love. I just really want to dip my toes in the Pacific.

Passing through a town, I see nothing but bikers in every direction. They’re in parking lots, at stop signs, hotels, restaurants, pulled over on the side of the road… they’re everywhere. Bikes of every make, model, shape, size, and color can be seen in every direction. Their owners vary as much as their bikes do.

As we pass each person, I see them do that chin lift, head nod thing at the guys. They are all acknowledged in turn.

My arms are resting around Rampage’s waist, my hands on his stomach under his sweatshirt. At first I wasn’t sure I’d be able to sit on his bike for more than an hour, but the ride has been nice. Rampage takes all my weight, letting me rest against his back. He’s always touching my legs and hands making sure I’m comfortable, and it’s nice.

Thirty minutes later, we pull into a small little beach town. We ride down a long strip of road, dotted with restaurants, bars, shops, hotels, and people. There are no buildings higher than two stories, the storefronts all have brightly colored awnings and beautiful flowerpots line the streets. People are walking hand in hand, riding bikes, and pushing strollers down the sidewalks. Mixed into the setting are leather wearing, motorcycle riding people. It’s such a harsh contrast, yet somehow it works.

Veering off the road, the guys pull down a long dirt road lined with sand. A few minutes later, we pull into a big open lot where ten or so guys wait on their bikes. The lot holds a bunch of small beach cabins.

Coming to a stop, Rampage cuts the motor and looks over his shoulder at me, “We’re here.”

The cabins are small, with bright red doors and two small windows, one on each side of the door. Because the ocean is so close, the salt and sand have given them that perfect worn and rustic look. To top it off, there is a small front porch, adorned with a rickety wooden rocking chair, along with planter boxes, holding brightly colored flowers.

“This work for ya?” Rampage asks as he pushes the door to the cabin open.

“Of course it does. It’s perfect. It’s so cute.”

Tossing our bags onto the bed, he turns and gives me a disgusted look, “Cute?”

“Yes, cute. The inside is just as perfect as the outside. All the curtains even match the bedding.”

“Yeah, it’s all so fuckin’ adorable,” Rampage grumbles.

Ignoring his sour mood, I start pulling back the curtains, letting the sunlight in. We have a perfect view of the ocean, along with the sand dunes. Standing a few feet away from our window are two guys I’ve never seen before, talking to Lil, alone. They have the same vests as the guys do, so I’m assuming they are friends if Tank is letting them talk to her.

“Are those guys part of your club? They have the same vests as you −” before I can finish, Rampage lets out this enormously loud, deep laugh, something I’m surprised to hear coming from him. I stare at him in shock. Where the fuck did that come from, and is he laughing at me?

“What?” He is laughing at me.

“Not a fuckin’ vest, Lala.” It sure as hell looks like one to me.

“Jacket?”

Throwing his head back, he laughs again, “It’s called a cut, babe.”

“Cut?”

“Yep.”

“So what are the patches for on these cuts?”

Shaking his head he grumbles, “Jesus Christ. I guess I should tell ya before you say somethin’ that gets you fucked with.”