by D. M. Burns
So, maybe Rebel’s level of cuckoo will stable off now and not land him on that TV show, The First 48. Criminal masterminds combined don’t have shit on the dome sitting between his bulky shoulders. It’s a mental mortuary of mayhem.
Proudly, I can assure you that I’ve never been mystified or caught up in a woman’s web to the point of no return. My focus is laser-sharp with dollar signs leading the way. I only remember feeling remotely compelled to cater to one girl, Lena. But she taught me real quick what an everlasting mistake that would be.
Rubbing at the tingling scar over my eye is a constant reminder of the permanent fuckery that comes with infusing a chick into your everyday life. After that life lesson, I shut that idea down and became the bastard that Len assumed me to be. To be fair, after her fatal fuckery from middle school past I was a bastard. I never got over what she did. Never forgot it. Never forgave it.
When dealing with people, I’ve come to one determination that has stuck with me throughout the years. That being, if you think badly of me then that’s normally a you-problem and that has nothing to do with me.
I’m a decent human being and try to treat everyone with mirrored respect received. So, you get exactly what you give. Either there is a miscommunication, or you did something foul to deserve the raw side of my personality. Nine times out of ten, I’ve found it’s the latter of the two.
Pissing Len off was one of those little perks in life that fired back every now and then though. Let me tell you something, the pure pleasure I got out of provoking and pushing Len’s buttons was unhealthy as fuck. It was also like air, basic needs for me. Something I couldn’t deny myself.
But all the evil tricks and torment I slung her way stopped the day that Rage got kicked out of our high school. We all transferred together to Creekside High and I focused on Club Chaos’ underground gambling circuit. And well… fucking randomly.
Passing by the newly hung paintings that line the main corridor leading to my lair, my trigger finger itches, and I can’t help myself. I reach out and tip every one of those god damn things knowing full well that Len will have a meltdown. I peer back at my handiwork and the sight looks like a tremor shook the structure. That shit actually has me chuckling.
After scanning my prints, the lock disengages, and I push through my office door. I leave it open so I can hear the fire breathing dragon erupt when she sees my definition of interior design. Helping out in any way that I can, that’s me.
I’m not even going to try and lie. Messing with her still produces the same results from back in the day. It stirs something deep within my professional cutthroat business boy briefs. Oh yeah, that’s right. It’s called an erection.
When I chunked Len’s plan designs on the tarmac back in New York I just knew she was going to use those cat claws to rip my god damn balls off. Hell, I was waiting for it. Contrary to what she had conjured up in her pretty little head about my prior night’s activities, it didn’t quite play out like I’m sure she imagined. And believe me, she wonders about my extracurricular activities. Len was always a curious one.
When I left The House of Creed, I went straight back to Brogan’s ritzy ass hotel, Creedance Towers. Collecting prime real estate and investment properties is that white-eyed fucker’s other love in life, besides himself. He reserves the primary levels for business clients that fly in for mogul bullshit meetings. I was perfectly placed in the luxury presidential penthouse.
Once I hit the leather cushioned set of Creed’s company limo, I went ham on that imported cognac. Killed the brown brew and all I remember after that was the elevator ride up to my suite. Apparently, I managed to get two steps in the foyer and that was it. I passed the fuck out.
Face first.
On the tile.
My ceramic cognac coma was real.
The only thing that caught me sideways in all of that was the fact that I woke up naked as the day I was born. How the fuck that all came about is still a mystery, whatever. Point is, I’m just glad I scrounged up the will to get showered and dressed to head back to Georgia.
That epic hangover was brutally thumping out in the confines of my mind when I stepped off the elevator into the Creedance lobby the next morning. And when I turned the corner, striking waves of strawberry silk captured my sight and manhandled my attention. My eyes traced down the path of flowing strands that led to a generous shapely ass attached to long, toned, and tanned fuck-me waist huggers.
Unfortunately, they belonged to my new salaried employee. That incidentally was not hired to perform sexual favors. I knew it was going to be a long miserable flight. Three little words can describe how my billion-dollar business boy felt on the inside…
Fuck.
Brogan.
Creed.
Most of the plane ride back to the peach state was spent with my shade covered eyes latch onto Len’s legs. The remainder was spent nodding in and out of cognac-coma unconsciousness. The fuck was I thinking drinking that cognac? Lena effectively ignored my existence altogether, not that I blame her. The hungover and hateful bastard in me was topped out.
She spent the car ride to her apartment talking Lou’s head off though. True to her form, Len never meets a stranger. Even if you try to avoid conversation, that woman will rope it out of you.
Honestly, I wasn’t fishing for a confrontation when I dropped her off. I thought nothing out of the ordinary when I reached out to her before she exited the Escalade to head into her apartment building. Hell, I had no prior intent to give her the business bullshit speech that fell from my mouth and crammed up the atmosphere.
Actually, I was simply going to remind her what time I’d be arriving at the office this morning. Maybe toss out one of those phony invitations to call me if she were to need anything. You know what I’m talking about, right? The offers you pass out to only those that you know will never cash it in, yeah-that.
But when Lena successfully landed an untouched slap with her butane ice blues. Then she spat that poison from between those luscious lips. My inside business boy grabbed hold of his tie loosening the knot on a primal growl.
I wanted to toss her across my lap and bind her hands behind her back. Following that up with an explicit explanation in great detail about how my fucks were not given about her variety of corporate Las Vegas pricks throughout the years.
Instead, Len’s feisty firecracker attitude burned through my veins igniting that business bastard’s attention inside of me. He was shaving off stacks of the greenbacks in an attempt at bidding for her. The way Mr. Carter vibrated off her tongue had my dick twitching.
When she went on to provide insight about her expert talents with ball removal, that business bastard withdrew a pair of handcuffs letting them dangle from his index finger, offering. He was encouraging me to show her exactly who the god damn boss was, kinky motherfucker and all.
Time to pull my head out of my ass or in this case secure my dick behind the zipper. Having Lena around has been messing with my head, both of them. Feeling as though I’ve time-warped back into high school. It’s a time-wasting task that I can’t afford. I have two days’ worth of business to get caught up on and believe me, in my world that’s a fuck load of work.
The desk phone cuts through the silence of my office and I twist around in my lush leather chair hitting the speaker command.
“Carter.” I say.
My eyes and attention are firmly ingulfed bouncing between my dual computer screens. Scrolling through my stock market stats with a pleasing smirk playing on my face as they skyrocket.
“Sorry to bother you sir, but your presence is needed on the floor.” Resson says. Outside of me, Resson Jiles is the closest thing that I have to a pit boss. He’s the only one that I trust to turn the ranks over to in my absence.
“Who is it, RJ?” I ask. He blows out a frustrated sigh.
“Mr. Lawson is wanting another advance.” He says. For Christ sakes it’s four-thirty in the damn morning.
“I take it he’s alread
y capped out, yeah?” I ask.
“Actually, he’s 20k over but yes, sir.” RJ says. If my calculations are correct, which they always are, Leverate Lawson is into the house now 200k deep.
“Please escort him to the blackout room. I’ll be right down.” I say.
“You got it.” Cutting the call, I push out of my chair and prepare for the Chaos to ensue.
Winding my way out of the elevator, I take the routine route to the blackout room for a one on one. As soon as I push through the door, I see Leverate lounged back in one of the many cushy red leather chairs that circle around a massive blackwood glossed over table. His wrinkled shirt and pants appear as if he’s slept the last week in them. His entire appearance looks like shit.
“Mr. Lawson, I hear you’re requesting the house to extend yet another advance to you.” I quirk my brows at him as I pull the chair out beside him and fold in.
“Hell Rampage, I’m good for it.” He says.
Leverate runs his shaky grease stained hands through his hair giving me a shit impression that he’s anything but a stable member of society. His gambling addiction is real, and the unsteady vibe is heightened by the way his knee is bouncing against the floor. The dark circles under his eyes are profound as is the crinkles lining his forehead and the corners of his eyes. I highly doubt they were created from laughing, stress struggles.
“How are you going to repay the house the 200k that you already owe?” I steeple my hands together and level with him.
“Come on. I’ve always come through.” He throws his arms out in a jerky show of panic.
He’s in a bad frame of mind and unlike the majority of our wealthy members this man is a blue collard worker who should be nearing retirement. He has an unsuspecting wife and three kids in college. His mechanic salary will never be able to satisfy his debt. I make it my business to be in the know of those that owe the house. Normally, I let the adults make their own betting mistakes at my tables, but this guy and I go way back.
“Mr. Lawson, I know it was you that covered those repairs on my mom’s car all those years ago. It was Christmas time and she wasn’t able to swing the costs. So, you completed the labor for free without telling her. That way she was able to afford the parts. You knew my parents were overwhelmed with four boys, so you extended your generosity.” I say.
“I never told anyone about that but my shop owner. How’d you know?” He scrubs his hand over his weary face. I shrug my shoulders and smirk at this good Samaritan who did my parents a solid. He’s a good man with a bad problem. I ignore his inquiry and keep it moving.
“I’m going to help you the way you helped my mother out but this comes with conditions, yeah?” I quirk my eyebrows at him. This is a onetime offer and not something I’m known to ever do but I have a soft spot for this old-timer.
“Okay, sure.” He says.
“When you leave this room, you never comeback to Aces Down again and your debt to the house is cleared. If you step foot inside any other casino, I’ll know.” I lean back in my chair and place my ankle over my knee. “Take care of your wife and kids. No more gambling, Mr. Lawson.”
“Jesus, Rampage. That’s… Wow. I don’t know what to say.” He lets out a long haggard breath of air.
The worry on his face falls away like a sack of bricks. This guy was desperately trying to climb out of the hole but only digging himself deeper inside the confines. If he comes back, then that’ll be a different story, but I feel compelled to give him a break. The same way he helped my parents out that saves Christmas for me, my brothers, and Rage. Not every good deed goes unnoticed.
“There’s nothing to say. You take care, yeah?” I say.
“All of you boys are good kids. Every last one of you.” He whispers as he looks off to the side. I think the man’s going to cry. Shit.
“Some would disagree with you.” I smirk.
“Yeah, well those folks didn’t watch each of you grow up, son.” He says with a smile.
I stand and he follows suit extending his hand out. I take his offered hand and give it a shake then push my chair under. I move my ass back to my office.
chapter 6 – Lena
When I came through the side entrance, I saw Ramp exiting out of the elevator. My feet propelled me forward in his direction. What can I say? My curiosity wins out. Following him isn’t a spying technique in the least. This is just one of those times where intrigue takes over and there’s nothing that I can do but go with it.
As I stand here looking through the mirrored glass window at Rampage, I brush the tears aside. Watching and listening to him release the house’s hold on the man across from him, melts my heart into a river that’s leaking out into my soul.
Working in some of the largest gambling environments brings forth greed followed by evil of the worst kind. I made it my business to steer clear, but Rampage has always been a subject I’ve wanted to master. Of course, here I am.
For two seconds, I’m reminded of the guy that I gravitated to when I was younger. Before all his dick bag bullshit got in the way. Rampage used to be the most sensitive and caring boy. But it’s like he grew out of everything that made him so incredibly special to me. Something happened between middle school and high school that altered his trajectory. That’s when he turned into Satan with a flair for a stylish suit.
That sobering thought has me swiping at my eyes angrily and pulling the door open. Storming out into the hallway, I stumble right into the chest of said fashionably suited up Satan. Ahhhh shit… Way to go Lena.
“Jesus… I’m sorry.” I whisper out while holding my hands against his chest. I brush the nonexistent wrinkles out and then smile wide.
Chancing a look into the steely armor of his nickelback eyes, I find a fair amount of aggravation staring back at me. I was snooping into his business that had not one damn thing to do with the job description that I was hired for. By Brogan. Not Rampage. And he’s rightfully pissed. His jaw is ticking out a warning signal that plainly conveys, I’ve crossed the line.
I attempt to turn on my heel and scurry out of there but no. I’m busted. He knows I was eavesdropping on him. Slade grabs me by the waist and backs me up until my ass hits the door I just exited. He reaches behind me and twists the knob, flinging the door wide open, continuing until he’s stalked just inside the room then uses the heel of his shoe to push it shut behind him. Without missing a beat, he walks me backward using the brick wall that is his chest. Oh hell, this is not good.
“Ramp, I was just…” I mumble.
Stumbling over my words isn’t helping me at all. I’m cut off when he places a single finger over my lips successfully shushing me into silence. My ass hits the far wall of the room and I melt into the sheetrock which promptly brings my body to a halt, but Ramp misses that cue altogether. He takes two more steps fusing himself to me. Jesus Christ. He smells like aftershave and spicy sin, everything him.
“Ssssshhh. Now’s the time to listen, Lena.” His molten gray eyes bouncing between mine. They truly look like two storms brewing in a circular shape, swirling around with anger and a bit of mischief. “I know exactly what you were doing. The first lesson for you to learn is that it’d be wise to keep those prying eyes to yourself here. What you just witnessed never happens, quite the contrary.”
“What? You’re pissed that your secrets out. That I know you have a heart under all these layers of Italian woven perfection and prick padding.” I flick the lapel of his jacket and slice him like a Samori with my ice-cold eyes “This just in, I knew that about you already, Rampage. Way before now. What you just did was good, and it makes me proud of who you are. Honored that I know that side of you.” I toss my hand out and roll my eyes.
“You’re not listening, pretty girl.” He tsk me. Why does hearing that nickname rolling off his lips still make me want to melt? “That little trailer snapshot of the atypical inner workings here is not the problem. Hell, I encourage you to hang onto that PG version. Grip it into a vice-like panoramic view and se
t it on replay because that’s the highlight of happy vibes that normally never play out in Aces Down.”
Ramp’s eyes peer over to the side of my shoulder. He reaches out taking a lock of my hair between his thumb and forefinger stroking the soft strands lightly like its precious silk edges on a baby’s blanket. It’s almost as if he’s transfixed in the act. What the hell?
“You don’t know the first thing about me anymore, Len.” Yeah, well that makes two of us big boy. He smirks and drops the hold he has on my hair. “Let’s keep it like that, yeah. You stick to what you do best. Like hanging pictures, picking out matching carpet, and whatever other bullshit that comes along with your job description.” His stormy gaze merges back with mine.
“Matching carpet? Wow, really? You’re an asshole, Rampage. What have I ever done to you?”
My face is a splotchy coat of anger and I feel the need to stomp my damn six-inch heel into the tile floor to add emphasis behind my resentment. But that’d only amuse him more and have me looking like I’m that twelve-year-old gullible girl all over again.
“Is that a fucking joke?” He throws back in an aggravated tone. I’m completely confused, and my brows knit together.
“No. It’s not a joke. What the hell is wrong with you?” I grate out.
“You… That’s what’s wrong with me. You, being here in my personal space. In my business. In my god damn club. I never wanted you here.” He spits out.
“Screw you, Slade.” I hiss out.
I push on his chest, but his rock-solid frame doesn’t move an inch. Except for his groin area. That’s growing by the second. Holy shit. His dick is fully erect and rolling out a welcome mat for my VA-JJ. It’s an imposing impression against my southside girl that has her whimpering out for more, anything. Fine time for her to find a voice and exert it, shut-up slut.
She’s curious to figure out what all the hypes about behind his zipper. Are their magic dick tricks? With a wand and box? I mean, other than his wiener wand and my vag booth. Does he pull a bunny rabbit out of a hat or in this case a jackrabbit? Is there anything else other than sexual innuendos that exist in my head right now? I bet his southside head is wickedly dirty too. God damnit…