The Rage: Hell's Disciples MC 3(7)By: Jaci J
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.