"Goddamn, Lala." Instantly she stops what she's doing, tilts her head and looks at me. "Why do you call me that?"
"Call ya what?"
"Lala?" I don't even realize I say it anymore. It's just a natural fucking thing to say now.
"Lailah is fancy, baby. Don't get me wrong, you look fuckin' fancy, but baby, you're not. You're sweet ‘n relaxed. No drama. No stress. Easy to be around. Lala fits ya better."
"Okay." See? Easy.
Leaning into me, her tits press into my chest. That shit makes me so goddamn hard I have to take a few deep breaths. Her lips are inches from mine, and I really want to stick my dick in between those plump lips. Don't get me wrong, I want her to suck my dick, but for the life of me, I can't keep it out of her pussy. That's where I always stick it, but it'll happen soon. I grab her hand and bring it to my lips, taking a nice, big hit off that joint. She smiles and whispers, "Okay, boss."
****
Pulling back up to the club, I cut the engine, hop off and head in, straight for my room and Lala. I know she's in there. She doesn't wander. Opening the door, I find one flawless, long ass leg propped up on the edge of the bed. Her long golden hair is hanging around her shoulders and she's wearing nothing but a fucking pair of lace blue panties. That's it. Fuck. I love when she forgets to get dressed.
///
Those hands are rubbing lotion on her leg, and it's like a personal show. I can't help the groan that leaves my throat. She's a wet fucking dream. I've got to close my eyes because that shit is just too much to fucking handle. Once I open them back up, I notice the small bag on the floor by her feet, along with those red ‘fuck me' heels waiting for her.
"Lala, the fuck ya doin'?"
She doesn't even look up at me. "Getting ready for work," she says like I should fucking know. Work? As in strip club work? She better fucking hope she's got another job I'm unaware of, like working at Subway or some shit.
"You're shittin' me, right?" Tilting her head in my direction she looks at me funny.
"No. I've already taken off too much time and I have to work." No?
"You're not goin' back. You don't fuckin' strip no more." She fucking laughs. "Something funny?"
"I have to go. It's my job. I've got bills to pay."
"You need money? I got that shit. Gave your ass a car. Don't think I won't throw down for your other shit, too."
"You didn't give me a car," she corrects me. Has she lost her fucking mind? Where the fuck did my sweet and compliant little Lala go? I left a well fucked and happy bitch in my bed, not this … woman.
"I didn't?" I'm really feeling like I'm losing my shit here.
"No. I told you I'm paying you back."
"The fuck you are."
"Whatever, Rampage. Either way, I've gotta work." Bitch just shut me right the fuck down. Lucky for her I just don't roll over on shit. She wants me to fight her about it? I'm down.
"You're not goin'. You got shit ass judgment. Last time you left here alone, you got your ass kidnapped and beat the fuck up. You like when that motherfucker hits you?" Instantly I regret my words. I know that shit wasn't her fault.
"Fuck you," she spits at me.
Reaching a hand into her bag, she pulls out the car keys and tosses them at me. I take that shit back. She doesn't toss, she fuckin' chucks ‘em at me, nailing me in the chest.
"I'm not going to do this with you. I may get my ass beat when I try to stay in one place too long, but fuck you. I've been supporting and taking care of myself since I was fifteen years old, motherfucker. I may not be good at anything, but I can dance, and I'm damn good at it. It's kept me clothed and fed, even kept a roof over my head. I have never asked for, or have been given, anything. I take care of me. You want to hold that car and what happened against me, you do that. You take that fucking car and shove it up your superior fucking ass. We're done, and I'm out."
Lala
Damn it. He looks like I slapped him. I wont' put up with him judging me and what I've had to do to make it on my own. I'm not a slut, I'm not a whore. I dance to make money, not fuck men to make it. Standing by the door, he watches me slide on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt. He doesn't say anything, but he doesn't have to. His eyes give him away.
"Listen. I know you're trying to look out for me and keep me safe, and that means more to me then you'll ever know, but I've got a job to do. It's not great, but I have to take care of me." And that is the truth. It would be nice to rely on him, letting him sweep me up into his strange, but comfortable life − a life where money, bills, rules, and mean people don't matter, but that's just not a reality for me. I can't depend on that, no matter how great it sounds. I'm a thing to him, a possession ‘til he tires of me. I've known this for a while, and I've accepted it. In the end, I only have me and I accept that. I don't care if I hurt his pride, but my shit needs to be taken care of by me.
Grabbing my bag, I take a step toward the door but he blocks my path. Leaning into the doorframe, he stretches that thick arm out, covering my exit. Arching a brow, he dares me to try and leave. Too bad for him, I don't go down without a fight.
"You're stayin' the fuck here." Jesus Christ he's like a dog with a bone. He's not going to let it go.
"I'm leaving."
"How the fuck you gonna get there?" He dangles the keys between two fingers in front of me. Jackass. Reaching out, I slap the keys out of his hand and watch them fall to the ground by his feet. He growls at me, like I'm the most annoying thing on Earth.
"Still not goin', Lala."
///
Shrugging one shoulder, I tell him, "We'll see."
"What if your little friend is there?" He changes tactics. I'm not even sure what he hopes to accomplish by talking about Ryan, other than to upset me. I'm going one way or another. I have to. They have bouncers and I've talked to the boss about what happened with Ryan, with some things left out. He's doubling security for all us girls from now on. "I'll find a way. If Ryan is there, I'll deal with it."
"Deal with it? What, with your fuckin' face? Let him beat the shit out of you? Next time you might not be so fuckin' lucky. He might kill you next time." That stung, hitting a nerve as he screams it in my face, but I push it away. They were only words. He's trying to scare me into staying here.
"Maybe, but that's life, Rampage. I can't stop living it because of him. I stop, he wins."
"You're life ain't fuckin' worth winnin' shit over. You stay here and you lose. Big fuckin' deal. At least you're still breathin', babe."
"I'm going. I know you're trying to look out for me and I appreciate it, but I need to get to work. In the end … my life, my decisions."
"We'll fuckin' see," he throws my words right back at me. I won. Well kind of. I've still got to come up with a ride, which shouldn't be too hard, but I made it out the door.
I lied. It was harder than I thought. Rampage's brothers are a whole hell of a lot more loyal than I ever would have thought. He said, "Not one of you motherfuckers give her a ride outta this club," pointing right at my face when he said it.
No one gave me a ride. Hell, no one would even talk to me.
"You are such an asshole," I hiss at him. He's staring down at me with a smile, looking pleased with himself, like he's king shit or something.
Throwing those big heavy arms over his chest, he counters, "And you're still fuckin' breathin', so I'll live with bein' an asshole."
Staring him down, I hear it. I hear the rumble of pipes in the distance. Rampage looks at me and back to the door. He hears them too.
"You move and I swear to God, imma tie your fuckin' ass up."
"Try me." Smacking him in the stomach, I dart around him and a chair, hitting the door before he can grab my arm. Throwing it open, Tags looks at me with wide eyes, but smiles. Rampage's no ride order didn't reach Tags yet, and after he scared off the cab driver, Tags is my only hope of getting out of here. I know Rampage is coming for me, so I don't dilly-dally, "Need a ride, Tags. Please."
Reaching behind himself, he hands me a helmet, "Sure, babe. Where we goin'?"
"Heavens at Eighth."
****
He's growling at the women. He's crossing and uncrossing his arms, flexing his fists, then re-crossing his arms again as he sits stiffly in his chair. He glares at all the men, adjusting the gun in its holster constantly. Rampage is genuinely mad as fuck. It lasted ten minutes. Ten fuckin' minutes before he was chasing me down like a psychopath, showing up with six guys.