The Rage(3)

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.

“Drinks, Red,” he orders her coldly. She bats her clumpy coated lashes at him and adds a pout to her red lined lips.

“Sure thing, baby,” and there she goes, sashaying her ass away just as she did when she walked over. If she puts any more sway into those hips, she may knock one out of place. She is definitely trying to work it, but it needs some work.

I stand awkwardly behind him, wondering what I should do, and more importantly, wondering why the hell I’m here in the first place. This is so not me. I should be at home, reading or studying, not hanging out in a sleazy biker clubhouse, but I wanted to do something out of my element and not so boring, so here I am, and here I’ll stay.

Looking over his shoulder, Rampage nods at me and then at the stool, “Put that pretty little ass of yours on the stool, Lala.”

The bartender comes back, sliding the shots to Rampage. She leans herself into the bar with a smile on her lips, boobs resting on the bar top while she shamelessly flirts, “You sure you don’t need me in your bed tonight, Daddy?” she purrs at him, running a long pink fingernail up and down his arm seductively. Daddy? Oh now, come on. That’s not sexy, that shit’s just gross.

“Nope,” he grunts and gives her a dismissive wave. She pouts, but doesn’t argue.

Pushing an amber liquid filled shot glass toward me, “Drink it,” he demands. I hesitate for a second, and he follows it with a rough, “Now, Lala!”

Shit. I plant my ass on the bar stool and toss back the shot. It burns its way down my throat and into my chest while I try not to choke to death. Rum is not my favorite thing to drink. Setting my empty glass down, it’s replaced immediately by another one.

“Another,” he says shortly. Well, if you insist. Before he can bark another order at me, I down it quickly.

The bartender watches me. Her disgust for me is written all of her overly painted up face. Her hands are on her hips and a sneer on her lips.

“Who’s the stuck up bitch?” The bartender asks Rampage, lifting her chin at me. I watch as he looks at her and his lip curls. I’m only just noticing how dark his eyes are, and they are screaming trouble.

“Now Red, Lala ain’t no stuck up bitch, are ya Lala? Nah, didn’t think so. She just has class, which is somethin’ you wouldn’t know anything about, would ya, Red?” Rampage slides the shot glasses toward her and snatches the bottle from her hands in an angry jerk. “Show some fuckin’ respect, bitch. It ain’t your place to talk about shit you know nothin’ about. Understood?” She stands there, glaring at him, “Now get the fuck outta here.” She turns on her heel, scooting off without another word.

I saw a moment of uncertainty in her eyes when he snapped at her, but she quickly replaced it with anger. She seemed a little scared of him, but it didn’t last long. She may not be scared, but he freaked me the hell out.

I sit silently and keep my eyes anywhere but on Rampage. A man quickly takes her place behind the bar and another man is right behind him, singing some ridiculous country song in a deep twang about a big green tractor, driving slow and faster, and plowing something…?

He walks behind the bar, scooping up various bottles as he goes. He sticks the bottles in his pockets, in his vest, and under his arms as he walks right up to us. Clearly, he’s a very thirsty man. He’s also a pretty big man, so I can see it probably takes a lot to quench his thirst. Jesus. Do they breed giant men here? He has a friendly, almost goofy smile on his face as he approaches, and he’s handsome, in a country backwoods boy kind of way.

“Who’s the beauty queen?” The man asks Rampage, but he keeps his eyes firmly planted on me. “Lala, but she ain’t here for you.”

The man just ignores him and smiles at me as he sets down the bottles and offers me his large, dirty hand. Placing my hand in his, he gives it a firm shake, “Names Tags, pretty lady, and you’re Lala, huh?”

Shrugging I say, “I guess I am today.”

Rampage throws back a swig of the bottle and gives me a sideways glance, “She sure the fuck is.”

“Well, pretty Lala. You need anything, you find me,” I offer him a smile and a nod in return.

Time goes by as Rampage and I sit at the bar. Tags keeps the conversations going and the drinks flowing. I like Tags. He’s friendly and really easy to talk to. Rampage, on the other hand, chats very little. His communication skills consists of short sentences, and his answers are even shorter. However, he does continue to pass his bottle of rum to me occasionally, and I take small drinks, pacing myself.

Just as I slide the bottle back to Rampage, I feel a wall of bodies come up behind us. They clearly do not know the definition of personal space because they are so close I can smell the booze, smoke, and sweat coming off their bodies. Instantly I feel a little overwhelmed and nervous. I’m completely uncomfortable with people I don’t know so close to me. I turn to see four giant, mean looking men push into me, crowding me into the bar. Okay, nervousness aside, I now know that they truly breed handsome giants here.

One leans himself against me as he reaches for the bottle in front of me. His leather vest rubs on my back and arm, feeling smooth and worn on my skin. I can feel the denim of his jeans on my lower back.

“Damn baby, you smell so fuckin’ good,” he groans in my ear as he blatantly rubs on me. Oh shit.