by D. M. Burns
“See you soon, Lena.” Trace smiles and those dimples are a trait that I’d like our future kids to have. He gives me a wink goodbye and I think I sigh. Damn, that man is fine.
“Mr. Archer, I trust you can find your way out of the building this time, yeah?” Ramp says with an unaffected calm tone.
Ramp looks down at his watch exuding complete control over his classic business mogul façade. Seriously, Trace gives Ramp a run for his money in the fashionable suit sex department.
“I’ll do my best, Mr. Carter.” Trace chuckles and gives him a chin lift then looks back to me. “I hope to see your lovely face again and soon.” I bob my head like a bimbo blonde as he steps into the elevator. Jesus Christ.
When I turn around, Rampage is eyeballing me like I’ve orchestrated a bonfire in the middle of Aces grand foyer. I shrug my shoulders and wave my plans at him.
“You ready to go over these plans?” I ask. He’s statue still while penetrating that gunmetal glare dead ahead, at me. “Don’t judge me, Ramp.”
“This coming from the lady that referred to me as an undiscovered yeti over Vag-Ville, that’s rich. But judging you is beneath me, Lena.” It was only the damn truth. He’s such an asshole.
“I may have to retract that yeti statement seeing how you’re acting more like a sensitive vagina,” I mumble.
Maybe that last comment was pushing it. I might need to calm the F down with my mouth because Ramp is my boss but Jesus. This guy brings the evil out in me.
Staring over his towering frame, I catch a glimpse of all the pictures I spent countless hours on last week picking out and hanging to perfection. There all dangling in a heaping horror of swaying hell. It appears as if a tornado twirled through here. Some are barely perched on the wall.
Shoulder checking him out of my way, he steps aside, and I move forward gasping. What the ever-loving actual fuck? It’s highly likely that my eyes may pop from their sockets. Is it possible to feel a massive artery-clogging up from undue stress? I’m asking for a friend. Notably, that southside slut that has yet to get her needs satisfied.
“Son-of-a…” I whisper out in dismay.
Whirling back around, I find a smirking Rampage as he digs his guilt-ridden hands into his perfectly pressed pant pockets while staring down at his thousand-dollar kicks.
“Are you kidding me right now?” I growl. The butane blue flames are shooting from my eyes as I contemplate shanking this an asshole with the pencil that’s still behind my ear.
“It’s rumored that there are ghosts here. You know, like Ghostbuster’s style. What was that little deranged green goblin sidekick’s name? I think it was Slimer, maybe? He’s an angry little bastard too.” He shrugs his shoulder and snickers as he walks past me. This motherfuc…
Without a give-a-shit or hand control, I launch my rolled-up plans at his ass successfully hitting him in the back of the head. My plans bounce off his asshole dome and rebound off the wall smacking one of the many off-balanced expensive paintings.
Ramp pauses mid-stride and does a one-eighty slowly. His jaw is ticking out a countdown and it looks like he’s ready to steamroll me over. I prop my hands on my hips in an I dare you to make a move stance with angry attitude suffocating the distance between us. I roll my head feeling the knots of stress collecting at the base of my neck. It feels like one huge giant rubber band ball of anxiety. This is only day one and it’s evident this was a bad mistake, for him-for me.
“Miss. Carter, did you just throw your plans at me?” He growls.
“Of course not, Mr. Carter. I’m a professional.” I cluck my tongue. “That Ghostbuster goblin sidekick snatched those right out of my hands and slapped you upside your chrome cranium.” I shrug my shoulders. “Like you said, he’s an angry little bastard,” I smirk.
Ramp swipes my plans off the tile floor and continues to his office grumbling unintelligible phrases under his breath. I follow close behind while chanting out in my head that there’s an endgame here.
I feel it in my bones though. This shit is never going to work. After this meet and greet confirmation of design, I need to try and steer clear of him. If not, I’m sure to toss him out of his skyrise office window, landing my ass with murder charges. I’m pretty sure the cops won’t believe that Slimer is to blame for sending Rampage soaring to a pavement facial.
chapter 7 – lena
age 13 - monroe middle School
Hurrying through the woods, I take to the trails to get home. My house is not even five minutes away from middle school on foot. Since I missed the bus, I don’t see what it’d hurt to simply hike the distance.
Walking in the middle of the train tracks always gives me a slight thrill. I guess the thought of pending danger hypes up a slight buzz in my young body. I skip from wood plank to plank, playing over a little game inside my own head where I lose if I were to miss the wood strip and step onto the gravel in between.
“Len… Wait up.”
Peering over my shoulder, I see Rampage coming up on me fast. I let out a huff, literally stop in my tracks, and shuffle around. Crossing my arms over my chest, I pop my hip out and let my foot bounce on the wood plank in a pissy rhythm.
Rampage hurt my feelings a few months back and I’ve refused to talk to him ever since. Even though it was his birthday last week and I really wanted to tell him happy birthday, I held onto my anger. Well, technically it was Renegade’s birthday too, but he doesn’t count. The way I see it is if we’re only friends when it benefits you then you can benefit yourself, alone for eternity.
Only when Ramp’s standing in front of me does my bad girl façade lose its fuel. He’s a really beautiful boy. Shit, handsome… A really handsome boy. Plus, the sun is shining exactly right in those dang silver bullets of his showcasing those tiny specks of powder blue. It’s distracting much like his cologne.
“What Rampage?” I try for my angry voice, but it comes out more like a cat’s meow and a little breathy.
“Cool bookbag.” He says when he catches up to me then pulls on the strap and smiles.
“Thanks. My dad gave it to me for my birthday.”
“Yeah about that… Happy late birthday, Len.”
That catches me off guard because I’m not even sure how he knew it was my birthday, to begin with. It’s three days after his to be exact. My parents took me out to eat then we went shopping at the mall. Of course, when we got home my grandparents and close family members were waiting for me with cake and presents.
I found a beautifully yellow gift-wrapped present on my bed after the party. Once I dismantled the paper and tossed it aside, I opened the small box to find a unique, dainty diamond and yellow jeweled hair clip with matching earrings and necklace. It was gorgeous. Between that and my special bookbag dad had personalized with my name along with little red Robbins stitched on the front, (because that’s his nickname for me), I honestly can’t decide which one is my most favorite gift.
No one claimed credit for buying the jewelry, but if I had to guess it’d be my daddy. He’s known for his special surprise gift-giving ways. He’s thoughtful like that. My mom warned me to take care of the jewelry as she thinks I’m too young to have such expensive gifts. I tucked it away in my jewelry box because I secretly love it.
“Just call me Lena, yeah?” My attempt at my snarky voice is delivered much better this go around and Rampage looks off to the side. He knows how he treated me in front of his brother and friends was a crappy thing to pull. He also knows it scored deep. Even to the point that I lost some tears over it but whatever. “I gotta go. Happy late birthday to you too.”
When I turn around to march off, I stop abruptly. I wiggle the straps of my new bookbag from my arms then unzip the front pouch that has my name stitch on it in red. I really love my recent birthday bookbag. Pulling out the gift-wrapped sparkling silver box, I wonder if he’ll even like it. Clutching it in my hand, I try unsuccessfully to fluff the smashed bow and finally give up.
My dad took me into town a f
ew months back and when I saw it, I knew Rampage would really like it. I bought this gift for him with the allowance that I had saved up for three months. Looking down at the box in my hand, I grimace over the slight rip in the paper. I really spent a great deal of time wrapping it for him only to stuff it in my bookbag, ruining my efforts.
“I got this for you before… Well, before you decided to, uhmm, stop talking to me.” I hold the shiny box out to him, and he stares at it a moment before taking it. “Sorry, the paper ripped in my bookbag. Anyway, happy late birthday Slade. I mean Rampage.”
“I like it better when you call me, Slade.” He gives me that side smirk. I don’t say anything to that. I don’t trust it or him for that matter. “You bought me something?” He asks and I nod my head in answer. “You didn’t have to get me anything, Len.” I tilt my head at him and quirk my eyebrow. “Sorry, I mean, Lena.” He chuckles.
“I just wanted you to know that… Well, you were… Uhm, special to me. Even if I’m not special to you anymore.” He looks down at the ground then off to the side avoiding my words.
Slinging my bookbag back over my shoulder, I hook my arms through the straps and continue trekking my way home. With each step, I think about how I really wanted to see his face when he opened that present. Even though my ears strain to hear anything the only sound noticeable is his footsteps digging into the gravel but strangely enough, they’re not retreating, no.
I turn back around and Ramp’s right behind me with his head bowed peeling the paper away on the box like a ninety-year-old grandpa. Why do old people do that? Do they use it to regift a gift in gift wrap paper? I don’t understand. That entire thought process seems insane but logical thinking for the regifting of a gift, sorta.
He doesn’t notice that I’ve spun back around and walks right into me causing him to drop the box. I stumble back but catch my footing last minute. These tracks make for bad foot placement even in the best of times. Ramp and I both, bend down at the same time to pick up the box and our foreheads collide sending me straight on my ass, Indian style seat plank placement.
“Holy hell, Ramp. What are you doing?” I say through the inside of the peepholes from my hand covered forehead while swatting at him with my free one.
“Shit, Len… I didn’t mean too. It was an accident, sorry.” Ramp says.
He sits down beside me and pulls my hand away from my face. Ramp’s eyes are inspecting the red knot that I’m sure is forming in the middle of my forehead at an ungodly rate. The angry throbbing tells me so. I’m too distracted with my head to address the fact that he just called me Len again. Sometimes you must let the small shit go in order to deal with bigger bumps in life, literally.
“No, I mean why are you still following me?” I flop my hands down on my knees while my watering eyes and growing knot stare back at him, cyclops effect.
“I’m not letting you walk home alone. Are you crazy?” He looks at me like I’ve lost my mind for even asking.
“Rampage, you said that you didn’t even like me a few months ago. So, why even bother?” I toss my hand out in frustration at his rubber band manways, pick a side asshole.
“Lena, I didn’t mean it. I just wanted the guys to shut up.” He stares at me and waits for a response. If I were a smart girl, I’d punch him in the face and be done with it, but he’s got a really pretty-I mean handsome face.
“I don’t care who it is, my friends, or my family. I’d never treat you like that, Rampage.” I whisper. “If you’re embarrassed to be seen talking to me then leave me alone.”
“I’m not embarrassed, and I really don’t like it when you call me Rampage.” His jaw ticks. That action alone makes him look much older than he is. He brushes some hair from my face that got caught up in my eyelashes from the head-on collision. “I’m sorry. If you give me a one-time pass, I promise to never treat you like that again, yeah?” He asks.
I look down at my hands because I want to believe him. After all, he’s my first and only kiss. Ramp reaches out and tugs at my hand pulling my attention back to him. I find those gray eyes taking me in.
“I swear it, pretty girl.” He says.
“Just know that if you hurt my feelings again, I’m gonna hurt you back.” He smirks while nodding at my dramatics. He fails to realize just how much I really mean what I’ve said. That Irish girl that lives inside of me is a spiteful little chick.
“Alright, that’s fair.” He says.
Ramp looks back down at his box and takes the opportunity presented to him to cautiously continue his papa peeling paper ways. This delicate crap is unnerving.
“Just rip into it lika normal person.” I shrug my shoulders. He smirks like a kid with a sacred prize that he wants no other to touch or see. It makes me giggle.
My words must’ve opened the flood gates because he tears into the paper and removes the top of the box. He retrieves the tissue paper covered square and unfolds it slowly. Mental note, moving forward, this guy will only get presents in gift bags on special occasions. At the rate, he’s moving it’ll be Christmas time before he uncovers this present.
When he uncovers the gold money clip that has his real name, Slade, engraved professionally on it, he slowly strokes his thumb across the letters while eyeballing the craftmanship.
My dad said it was beautiful because it is. I even overheard him telling my mom he wanted one for his birthday too. I plan to make that happen for my daddy, but his birthday is thankfully four months away. It’ll give me time to save up again. He also said that it was an odd gift to get a boy that was still in middle school, but he doesn’t know how much Rampage loves money either.
“I saw it and thought you’d probably like it, but I had your real name already engraved on it before you… Well, before I knew better.” I shrug my shoulders.
“It’s really cool. The best present I got. Thanks, Len.” He says. I believe him because his eyes keep looking between the delicate money clip and me. That makes me happy that I was able to get him something he really likes. “We need to move. I can feel the vibration of the train coming.”
Just as he says that the train lets out a loud but far off warning horn. I look over his shoulder and see it coming our way off in the distance. He stands while pulling me to my feet with him and we clear the tracks. When I try to pull my hand free, he tightens his hold a little more then turns to me fully.
“I wanna kiss you again, Len. Is that okay?” He steps into me and my heart picks up speed. Much like the roaring train coming up from behind me, my heart is thundering out in a chug-a-lug pattern. Rumbling out at the speed of light, vibrating my entire being.
“Okay,” I say but I’m fairly sure he doesn’t hear me, and I nod my head.
I don’t have time to think about much more because Slade leans forward and grips the side of my neck kissing me softly swiping his tongue across my lips. Is that what a French kiss is? Sorta, odd in concept. My hair flows out, fanning around our faces from the force of the trains speed rolling by.
When the train sounds again, something I’m completely oblivious to altogether, Rampage moves away and my eyes flutter open. That kiss was so much better than the first one, strange but familiar all the same. I look over to see the train's caboose trailing away and my eyes return to Rampage.
He gives me that half smirk and those familiar pop-rock sensations are exploding in the pit of my stomach again. My mad spell is long gone like yesterday, and my smile breaks out across my face.
“We better go, or your dad will be patrolling the streets.” He pockets the money clip and interlaces his fingers with mine then leads us toward my house.
“Slade, uhm, do you know my dad?” I ask.
“Nah, not really.” He smiles at me then tugs at my hand playfully.
We both step up onto the steel train tracks side-by-side, gripping each other’s hands and trying to balance the task of tight walking it without letting each other fall.
chapter 8- rampage
Two steps through the ent
rance, I find myself staring into Aces Down’s diamond and ice-themed ballroom. I’ll admit that I’m impressed with the results. I was sure that this would be a fucking tacky display of girly ballroom bullshit. But this extravagant scene in front of me exceeds anything the club has hosted since opening. Perhaps, I should give Len the credit she’s rightfully due. It’d be the right thing to do. Yeah, I should but I’m not.
When I caught Len in here earlier today going over the details with the event planner, Destiny, I was worried. But Len waived me off stating that she could handle it. Mumbling something under her breath about how I could take my yeti ass somewhere else.
The last part was not meant for me to hear but my super-sonic ears didn’t miss that shit. I stifled my laughter and left her be. I’ve fucked with her enough. And I didn’t think it’d be wise to provoke that ball removal bullshit any more than I already had.
That suited me just fine because Destiny has been a little on the stalkerish side ever since my bigfoot dick went sightseeing downtown in Vag-Ville a few months back. I’ve no future plans on revisiting so, I quickly got my ass out of their way.
What can I say? That guy downstairs in my business briefs enjoys exploring and never turns down a sex-seeking thrill shot in an uncharted vagina. I’m ever the one-time adventurer never to return. Lena and her god damn yeti dick innuendos are now stuck in my head.
Scanning my eyes over the sleek white satin covered tables, to the ice white mirrored tiles under the clicks of my expensive kicks, back up to the sporadically frosted expansive windows, halting on the ice bolder that looks like it was chiseled out of Antarctic, and placed perfectly in the middle of the grand ballroom, I’m fucking inspired.
The massive cathedral ceiling has thousands of tiny individual dazzling diamonds dangling high in the sky above my head. It looks like tiny crystals floating in the air, free form. The whispered sounds that it causes is comparable to delicate miniature wind chimes bumping politely into each other.