The Rage(18)

Pulling off his cut, he turns it in his hands and points to the top patch. “Top rocker, our club name.” Pointing to the middle patch, “Our colors, our club symbol.” Next he points to a little square, “MC, as in motorcycle club.”

“Oh? Is that what MC stands for in a motorcycle club?”

“Fuckin’ smart ass. Ya want me to finish or not?” he asks with a sigh.

I wave him on and he continues, pointing at the bottom one, “Bottom rocker, our chapter, where we’re from.” There are more on the front, but he doesn’t explain those. Walking up to him, I take the cut from his hands, turn it over and point to one particular patch and wait for his explanation.

“SGT AT ARMS. My position in the club,” he informs me.

“So what is the definition of your position in the club?” Rubbing the back of his neck he looks a little uncomfortable.

“Askin’ too many damn questions.”

“Well it seems that if it’s on your cut, identifying your position in the club, it’s important, right? It’s probably something I should know, don’t ya think?”

“I’m the muscle.” That’s no surprise.

Pointing at a small diamond shaped patch, he says, “one percent, because ninety-nine percent of bikers are different from us.”

On impulse, I slide my arms into the worn smooth leather, pulling it up over my shoulders to let it hang. It’s about six sizes too big for me.

“So? How do I look?”

For a few silent moments, he just stares at me, like he’s warring against whatever he’s thinking about. After what looks like a decision, he slowly starts to smile, “You look fuckin’ hot.”

“Yeah? It is sweet as hell, huh?” I tell him honestly. I don’t think I would like it nearly as much if it didn’t belong to him.

“Yeah, it’s sweet. No more questions, okay?”

“Wait! I’ve got one more.”

“Seriously?”

“Last one… I promise.”

“Alright. What is it, baby.”

“What’s your name?”

“Rampage.”

“You’re an asshole.”

A slow arrogant smile starts to tug at his lips. Chuckling softly, he says, “Ain’t gonna argue that shit.”

“Come on. Pretty, pretty please.”

I intend to beg and whine if that’s what it takes. I even go as far as batting my eyelashes and pouting. I want to know his name.

“Since ya added an extra pretty to your please…” he grumbles right before I hear it.

“Jameson.”





7


Biker Education


Rampage

I gave her a little biker education. Fuck. I couldn’t help myself. We usually don’t share our shit with outsiders, but I don’t want her to be lost in a fucking crowd of bikers, not knowing shit about us. I only gave her things that she should know, anyway. I kinda like that she’s interested enough to wanna know shit about club life.

I don’t know how to control myself around her. I hate when bitches pout, or bat their eyelashes at me. I fucking hate that shit, but when she did it, she had my mind all kinds of fucked up. When she asked me for my real name, I wanted her to know it. That shit felt like something personal I needed to share with her. No one ever bothers asking, but she did.

“Does everyone get one?” Fuck. This girl is just on it. I told her no more, but here she is, still at it. I’m a fucking sucker for her.

“Once they’re patched in, yeah.”

“So does Lil and Peaches, or any of the other girls have one?”

“Yes, but theirs are different.”

“How?”

“Bitc… women don’t get club cuts; they get property ones. Women are not members. Their man will give ‘em one if he wants to. Their patch means they’ve been claimed.”

I watch the curiosity just pour out of her. I can see the questions piling up in that beautiful head of hers. We’re going to be here all goddamn night at the rate she’s going.

“Enough biker lessons for today. Come on, babe. Let’s get out of here.”

“Okay, Jameson…” she sings with a huge, shit-eatin’ grin on her face. She’s trouble.

I lock up and head toward my bike. After I hop on, she crawls on behind me, leaning into me and wrapping her arms around me instinctively. I like that shit. I like it more than I want to. Unlike some of my brothers, I’ve had bitches on my bike before. I’m not opposed to it. I mean, how the hell am I supposed to get them around? Sure as shit not gonna drive my truck every time I’ve got a bitch with me.

Each bitch feels different on my bike, just like each bike you ride feels different. Some bitches cuddle to goddamn close, getting too touchy, and some shift around, making it difficult to stay upright. Some like to talk, while some barely hold on, but not Lala. Her body molds right into me, and she makes it effortless. I lean and she leans. She doesn’t talk unless I talk. She feels so goddamn good on the back on my bike it scares the fuck out of me. Shit shouldn’t be this goddamn easy.

Pulling into the parking lot at the bar, I back right in, next to Gin. It’s starting to get dark. They got a fire going and people are starting to show up.

“Lookin’ hot as fuck on the back of that bike, love,” Peaches says to Lala, giving her a big smile.

“Thanks babe,” Lala answers with a little laugh. Don’t think I’ve ever agreed with Peaches about anything, but I do now.





“Come on, Lala.” I help her ass off of the bike and away from Gin and Peaches. Those two can’t be around each other for 2 seconds before Peaches finds something to fight about. I want Lala to have fun, not listen to those two idiots go at it. They give me a goddamn headache.

Walking up to the bar, that backs up to the beach, I see clubs from all over the goddamn country here. People I haven’t seen in years. Lala walks right by my side, right where I like her. I watch motherfuckers stare at her, even feel their eyes on her. I know she’s being scouted. I know these motherfuckers are making plans. I fucking hate it.

“There’s my bitch!” Lil hollers, waving her over. Turning those eyes to me, I know she’s asking for my permission. See! Shit just fucking fits.

I watch Lil crook a finger at her while giving me the evil eye, “Lil’s callin’ for ya, babe.”

“I know. Is it cool if I go?” Too goddamn good.

“Baby, you can do whatever the fuck ya want. I’ll be here if ya need me.”

She smiles and walks toward Lil. I watch the guys stare at her as she passes, their eyes devouring her from head to toe, and I know they like what they see. Fuck, I like what they see. I watch them all stare at Sis, Lala, and Peaches, who just made her way to the table, because seriously, who the fuck wouldn’t stare at the three of them? Lala is one thing, but the three of them together is something beautiful to behold, not that I would tell them that shit.

I hate this feeling in my gut. Even if they’re only staring, they shouldn’t be. I want to tell all these assholes here that they are off limits, even Lala.

Gino throws a tattooed arm around my shoulders. I knew it would only be a matter of time, but fuck, that was fast. I hate this motherfucker.

“Hey man. Who the fuck’s that?”

“Who?” I ask, shoving his arm off, hoping to fuck he’s talking about Sis, Peaches, or some other bitch.

“That blonde bitch. Fuck. You see the ass on that girl?”

I have to remind myself that I have no claim on her. She’s not my old lady, or even my woman. She doesn’t have my property patch, but I can’t fucking stop myself, “Yeah. She’s here with me.”

“No shit? Since when do you bring bitches to shit like this? She ain’t your old lady, and she’ not rockin’ your patch.”

“How the fuck ya know my name ain’t tattooed on her ass?”

“I don’t, but I’m ‘bout to find out.”

I watch Gino make his way over to the girls. I feel like a fucking idiot. I have no claim and he knew that shit. I have to sit and watch that motherfucker as he throws an arm around Lala’s shoulders. I have to count to ten to keep myself from going over there and removing his arm from her shoulder, and his body. I know Gino isn’t going to fuck around with Sis or Peaches; he knows who they belong to, but Lala? She’s fair game.

“That shit bothers you, don’t it,” Gin says, because he’s sure as shit not asking me. “Nope.” I don’t want to give a fuck, but I do.

“You’re a shit ass liar, brother. All I know is if it was me, I’d be draggin’ that girl by her hair to my bed, ‘cause lookin’ that good ‘round here, no one claiming her? She’s gonna end up in someone’s bed by the end of the weekend. Might as well be yours,” he adds looking over at Lala.

“You drag Peaches by the hair?” I counter.

“Fuck yeah. If I have to, there ain’t shit I wouldn’t do to get my bitch in bed.” Why am I not surprised? She seems like the hair pulling, biting, rough fucking type of woman.

I have nothing to say to that, so I sit back and drink my beer, watching Lala. I watch as a revolving door of assholes surround her, wanting to get a piece of what she’s got. They’re circling around, waiting to take that girl away from me. I’m just waiting for her to follow some fucker out the door so I can blow his brains out.