The Rage: Hell's Disciples MC 3(6)

By: Jaci J


Taking one last deep breath, I knock on the door. I tried for a firm, confident knock, but it comes out anything but confident. I’m feeling a little ashamed of it. Once I lower my hand, the door is ripped open and a loud voice announces, “Welcome to Hell.”

Well, hello Hell.

****

This guy is smoking hot. His deep voice sends a chill down my spine and a sadistic thrill through my body. It’s that type of voice that would whisper awful things to you right before killing you – dark, intimidating, and extremely erotic.

He’s one big ass man – six-five at the very least. It’s not just his height, his body is built like a fighters. I’m not small at five-seven, but he completely dwarfs me.

His face has a deep scar that cuts through his top and bottom lip, stopping at his chin. Looking higher, I see a gash that runs through his eyebrow, seeming to run in the same direction of the lower scar, but in no way does it take away from his looks. It’s a striking contrast of harsh and beautiful. His dark hair is cut short and neat, close to his head, just as his beard is full, but cut close to his face. He is sporting a cut on his cheekbone, so I assume that he is a figher.

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.

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