The Rage(46)

For six months I pulled every string, called in every favor ever owed to me, and paid thousands of dollars and did some really bad shit to try to find her. I never gave up. I searched every lead, no matter where or how far it took me. I’ve bribed and lied to so many people that I’ve lost count. I hunted people down to get information. Did everything I could to find her.

For six pathetic months, I spent every day and every night looking for her. I pushed everyone out of my life. My club, my brothers, my family, all to go find my heart. I finally got to a point where I decided that even if she didn’t want to come home with me, at least I would know she was alright. I would have been able to sleep, eat, and function again. Not live, but at least get by. All that shit would have been worth it to know that my heart and soul was still breathing, or resting peacefully.

The not knowing is the worst. I’m fucking scared for her. I fucking worry about her. I think about her constantly. I miss her like fucking crazy. Everything in our home is exactly the way she left it. I haven’t moved a goddamn thing, hoping that someday she will walk back through that front door and give me my world back. I don’t know when the right time to give up is, or if I even want to. My self-righteous, good for nothing ego kept me from seeing that it was love I felt for her all along, not some casual fling that would run its course. I really broke my baby’s world apart, and now I can never fix it for her.



“How the fuck ya feelin’ this mornin’, asshole?” Gin mumbles, planting his ass next to mine. How do I feel? I feel like hell. Even now, I fucking feel like death.

“Just peachy.”

“You’re a fuckin’ woman. Peachy?”

“Yeah, I’m feelin’ fuckin’ peachy. Got an issue with my word?” If he’s trying to get a rise out of me, he’s shit out of luck.

I’m not in the mood for this shit. I didn’t sleep again last night. I spent two hours trying to fuck Diamond into Lala. Guess what? That shit didn’t work. The bitch was still Diamond when I pulled out and chucked off the condom. If Lil hadn’t taught Red a lesson and got her ass out of here that day, I would be beating that bitch every day for starting this goddamn mess.

I spent the rest of the night wishing I was home so I could have Lala all around me. So yeah, I’m feeling fucking peachy.

“You know you got a phone call last night.” Stitch says, walking into the chapel. A phone call? Don’t remember anyone telling me about a phone call, but then again, I don’t remember a whole fuck of a lot from last night, either. Not remembering shit has become a regular thing. Lots of drugs and alcohol have become my addiction. They fill that void Lala left when she walked away.

“Yeah? On my burner?”

“Nah, the club phone.” My heart picks up speed. That motherfucking phone rings for three reasons – someone trying to sell ya something, some religious asshole trying to sell ya something, or the old ladies got something to say and they’re trying to sell ya something. To say that shit doesn’t get me fucking antsy would be a lie.

“Got a name?” I hope like fuck the name I’m dying to hear comes out of his mouth.

I’ve spent the year on pins and fucking needles. At first I was antsy and crazy every time someone called or even when a car pulled up to the gates. These past few months, that shit has dulled to an empty ache. I still think about her constantly. I still question and wonder every goddamn thing that happened, but I numb it the best way I know how – drugs, alcohol, and pussy.

“So who the fuck was it?” I ask him. He just shrugs and looks like he could give a fuck. “Some dude. Sounded all professional and shit.” No one I would give a fuck about then.

Brothers are sitting around the table talking and laughing. Church doesn’t have anything important today. It’s business as usual.

“Yo, wanna make a run over to Idaho with me?” Arms asks. Do I wanna make a run? Fuck yeah, I do. I’ll do any fucking thing to get me the fuck out of this club and away from everything Lala.

Not that on the road I won’t think about her, but at least I won’t be around the visible evidence of the best part of my sad fucking life. Her clothes won’t be in my closest. Her blanket won’t be on my bed when I get in it every night. The old ladies won’t be there bringing her up and giving me those sad fucking looks. I hate those fucking pity stares more than anything. Her Tahoe won’t be sitting out in front of the club. All the shit I can’t stand, but can’t bring myself to get rid of, won’t be there to taunt me. For a few short days, I can get a reprieve from her.

“Fuck yes.”

I pack a small bag and gas up my bike. I’m ready to get the fuck outta here and on the open road. I could give a fuck less where or why we’re going, just as long as I’m going. I need this shit. Fuck, do I need it.

As I walk toward the front door, I hear the clubs phone ringing. A second later, I hear Tags yell out, “Yo Rampage, phone.

“Who is it?” Pulling the phone away from his face, he says, “Some dude named Mike Stevenson.” Doesn’t ring a bell.

“Take a message. If he can’t leave one, then he can fuck off.”



Two days away was not long enough. Shit was just a taste of what I loved before I had Lala in my life. I forget how much I love the road. Lala came into my life and I couldn’t see past her. She didn’t hold me back, I just chose not to see past her. I found something I loved more than the road. It helped to get the fuck out of here, though. Got out of the club and got shit handled. It was a win/win.

Back at the club, shit is exactly the same. I’m without Lala and life goes on for me like I only imagined her.

“Rampage! Ya got another call.” Fucking Christ. It never ends.

“Who the fuck is it this time?”

I watch Tiny put the phone back to his ear and ask the question. He listens for a minute and pulls the phone away from his ear, “Some bitch says it’s time sensitive.”

Fuck it. Might as well answer it. Maybe they’ll stop calling once I do.

“Yeah?”

“Is this someone by the name of Rampage?” An older woman’s voice comes through the phone. It’s not a voice I recognize.

“Yep.”

“My name is Lisa McDonald. I’m a Patient Care Coordinator and Representative at East Houston Regional Medical Center.”

The fuck? A medical center? In Houston? I don’t know anyone down South.

“I’m representing a patient here at our center. The patient came to us in critical condition, and we are having a very difficult time identifying them. The patient was found with a number and a name that led me to you.”

The word patient echoes in my head every time she says it, playing on repeat. It sounds so goddamn ominous

“Okay.” Is all I can say. What the fuck else do I say? I can’t help this bitch.

“I was hoping you would know the patient. Do you have any idea who the patient may be?” she asks softly.

I don’t know why, but my whole fucking body goes rigid and starts to shake. There is no way it could be her, but I feel it. Please God, don’t let it be the person I know in my heart that it is.

“What does the patient look like?” I spit out.

“I cannot breach patient confidentiality.”

“So what? You want me to come all the way from Washington State to Houston to I.D. a person I may or may not know? You gotta give me more, lady. Is it a woman? Eye color, tattoos…Anything?”

“We are unable to open the patient’s eyes due to severe facial damage and swelling.” My stomach knots and rolls at the idea. My hands grow sweaty and I damn near drop the fucking phone. Fuck. “The patient is female and she has blond, almost gold color hair.”

I knew. I fucking knew it. My vision blurs after that. I drop the phone and throw up. Critical condition, severe facial damage and swelling, on my fucking angel’s face? Critical? Patient? I couldn’t hear anything after that.

Lil takes the phone and she doesn’t last much longer than I did. Tank takes over after that, getting directions and as much information as he could. Cali packed my bag and Peaches got us on a plane. I made it from Washington to Houston barely intact, but once I made it into that hospital, there would be no telling what the fuck state I would be in.



Tank and Lil speak with some bitch at the front desk. She shifts us to some other bitch, who then shifts us to some Visitor Supervisor bitch.

“As you are not family or related by marriage, it is usually against hospital policy to let you see a patient, but as this is a special case, we will make an exception.”

The bitch is only agreeing after Lil started balling and Tank threatened to burn the place to the ground.

“It is important that we I.D. this patient to make sure she is receiving the best care possible. Who would like to I.D. her?”

I felt like we were going to the morgue to identify her body, like the patient is already dead and they need a positive I.D. before we start making funeral arrangements. The thought makes me sick. I’m not sure if I can do this. Looking over at me, both Lil and Tank wait for me to speak up.

“I’ll do it if you don’t want to,” Lil offers. Fuck. I really want to let her, but I can’t. I have to see her.