Lala
Looking away from Rampage after his question, I take in the people around us, all of who seem to openly gawk at us, especially the club’s gash girls. I can’t tell if it’s because he seems so mean and intimidating, or if they are just jealous.
“Rampage?”
“What now, Lala?” He grumbles. He’s leaning back against the couch, an arm thrown over the back¸ holding a drink in one hand, and a joint in the other. He looks bored.
“Why is everyone staring at us?” He just shrugs his shoulder.
I have no clue what possessed me to sit with Rampage in the first place. When I walked in, leaving Lil outside, he was sitting alone on the same couch I left him on. I watched as people walked by him, giving him a wide berth and avoiding his eyes. I don’t know why I figured I should be the person to keep him company, but I did. I didn’t want him sitting alone. My constant need to make everyone feel better or included might be the reason, but it feels like a lot more than that. He pulls me to him whether I want to admit it or not.
He doesn’t talk a whole lot to anyone. Hell, he doesn’t talk to me much either, but he doesn’t ignore me. Something about Rampage makes me curious, a little scared, but curious nonetheless.
“Don’t know, babe. I know I don’t care. Do you care? Do I look like a someone who gives a fuck what these assholes think of me?”
“No.”
“That’s right, babe. I don’t give a flyin’ fuck.”
Well that settles it. It seems we both have the same attitude when it comes to whether we care what other people think of us. I think I’m starting to see what pulls me to him.
I sit with Rampage for a while, watching people. I watch the gash throw themselves at any man that gives them an ounce of acknowledgement. They’re desperation is sick, but it really makes me sad to see. I see glimpses of my mom in each woman here. For her, and for these girls, it’s the love for the party, the thrill of the chase, and most importantly, the validation from men through sex. Once the party is over, the chased has been caught, and the sex has been played out, they are left with the hurt and sadness in being replaced immediately by the next conquest. It’s a vicious cycle that I’ve steered clear of my entire life.
I watch the guys drinking, playing pool, and see the bonds they all share. Although there is a serious pecking order, they all seem to show each other some form of respect. Whether it be a non-member giving a member his seat, or people they call ‘prospects’ serving drinks, cleaning up, and doing various other duties, there is a level of respect in everything each person does in this club. They have their own world of rules here, but I can see the basics at work.
“You good, Lala?” Rampage asks, breaking me from my thoughts.
“Yep. I’m good.” A few guys walk inside and they all look over at us. Some give respectful head nods, while the others just stare.
“Got shit to do,” He grumbles, grabbing and squeezing my upper thigh.
“Okay. Thanks Rampage, ya know, for keeping me company,” It was nice just to sit with someone. He may not have spoken to me much, but his company was appreciated.
“Not sure how good a company I was, but sure, Lala.”
“I just appreciate you hanging with me for a bit.”
Giving me a quick nod, he heaves himself up from the couch. Giving a chin lift toward the guys, he calls, “Got shit to discuss… now, motherfuckers.” They all come his way. Not one of them says a word as they follow him to the bar.
“See ya around, Rampage.”
Looking over his shoulder at me, he nods once and points, “I’ll be back soon, so save my seat.”
I watch him and the guys take their seats around the bar. I turn back around to do more people watching when a man, I think they called him Blue or something, sits down next to me and throws his arm over my shoulders. The heavy smell of booze and smoke are overwhelming to my nose.
“Whatcha’ ‘doin’ all by yas lonesome, baby doll?” He slurs sloppily at me. His hand cups my shoulder and squeezes. I try to scoot away, but no such luck, he keeps me close.
“Just sittin’ here people watching.”
“Yous looked ‘a wittle lonely.” Far from it, actually. I try again to scoot away, but this time he jerks me closer to him, his hand tightening on my shoulder, “Yous stayin’ right ‘ere.” I’m not gonna get away from him without making a scene, so I’m stuck.
Running a dirty finger down my arm, he leans into me, his face inches from mine, “Hab a wittle fun wit me tanight,” His lips brush against my cheek when he speaks and I gag from the smell of his stale breath. I’m trying stop the next one from coming, but It’s almost impossible.
“I don’t think so.” I tell him. What I’d like to say is ‘get the hell away from me’, but I’m trying not to upset anyone here.
His finger trails down my arm to my hand that’s in my lap. I go to remove his hand away from me when I hear Rampage shout violently through the clubhouse, “BLUE!”
Peeking over my shoulder, Rampage’s eyes meet mine and he looks pissed. His face is contorted into a rage filled fury.
Suddenly it’s silent. He slams his hands on the bar top, rattling the glasses, “Remove your fucking hand before I do that shit for you,” he warns.
Instantly Blue moves away from me, jumping off the couch and walks toward the other side of the room.
Turning my eyes back to Rampage, he points at me and says, “Lala, c’mere.” For a moment I hesitate, embarrassed at being called out and becoming the center of attention.
“Get the fuck up ‘n c’mere,” he yells at me this time. Where his voice sounds mean, his eyes soften and lose that dark edge as he looks at me, so I get up. Making my way toward him, I stop a few cautious feet away. He stands up and closes the distance between us.
“You okay?” I just nod. Landing hard eyes on Blue he growls, “Me ‘n you got shit to discuss.” Looking back at me, he tells me sternly, “Stay at the bar.” Not going to argue that.
Sliding onto the stool next to me a few minutes later, he doesn’t even look at me. He doesn’t seem happy, but he doesn’t seem quite as pissed, either. Handing me a shot, I notice his knuckles are red and swollen, but I don’t ask. I’m guessing he and Blue had that discussion. Forcing a shot into my hand, he doesn’t say anything, but then again, he doesn’t have to. He knows I’m going to take the shot. I’d like to steer clear of upsetting him.
A member, Gin, walks up next to Rampage and hands him something, “For your troubles, brother,” and chuckles as he and another guy walk away, leaving us alone.
“Up on the bar, Lala.” Rampage orders. For a second I wonder if I heard him right. “What?”
“Get up on the goddamn bar,” he slaps his big hand on the bar top. I stare at him like he’s crazy. What the fuck does he want me up on the bar for?
When I continue to sit there, he gets up from his stool, turns and barges his way in between my thighs without a word. Putting his hands around my waist, he lifts me without question and places me on the bar top.
“Lie down.” I don’t know why I do it. I’m nervous, but extremely curious, so I just do as he says.
“What are you doing?”
“Need somethin’ to calm my ass down, baby. I need my hands on you to help me do that.”
For a moment there’s nothing, then his hands are at my waist touching me, slowly moving my shirt up so my stomach is bare. I want to fidget, but I don’t. He moves the shirt up slowly, keeping his hands on me, making my body feel alive. I watch him as he does all this, like he is paying very close attention to what he’s doing, pushing it up just above the underside of my breasts. Once my shirt is where he wants it, he slowly moves his hands down and begins to trace the hem of my jeans with his finger. Then just as suddenly, he takes both hands and forces my jeans down as low as they will go without unbuttoning them. I’m in the middle of a clubhouse, full of bikers, lying on a bar table with who knows how many people watching as he yanks my pants halfway down my thighs, the top part of my ass coming out the top. It is the sexiest thing I have ever had done to me. His touch sends goose bumps over the exposed skin of my bare stomach and pelvic region. My reaction is to cover myself up, but he reaches up to still me, saying one word that makes me freeze, “Don’t.”
I put my hands back by my sides, even though my mind is telling me that I shouldn’t be letting him do whatever it is he’s doing. I don’t even know him! That shitty little voice in my head keeps shouting ‘skank’, but my body is humming to a tune of its own.
I don’t move. I don’t protest. My curiosity has gotten the better of me.
“I need you to stay still.” My mind races and my body begins to hum at his words. I want him to keep touching me.
I feel something lightly touch the skin of my stomach, then I feel the same touch two more times. It makes me jumpy. I have no clue what he’s doing to me.
Leaning over me, Rampage puts one rough hand directly below by boobs, and the other down around the curve of my thigh, fingers so long they reach my ass cheek. Leaning down, his face disappears below me boobs, out of view. A chill hits me as soon as his face touches the skin of my stomach. A rush of heat, a need comes over my entire body, wanting more of what he can offer me.
I hear a deep inhale as he glides his face along my skin, and another, and another. With each motion, I feel his tongue glide along the same path as his face. I’m shaking from the intense reaction my body is having to him until I’m brought back to reality. He stands up, throws his head back and inhales deeply, with one finger pressed to the side of his nose. I watch those rude eyes roll and the corner of his lip twist into sick satisfaction. He just snorted three lines of coke off my stomach. He slowly brings his eyes to me and growls, “Fuck, Lala.”