Rage
I hate Halloween parties.
What's the fucking point to dress like an idiot for one night? I mean, so many people do it 24/7, why the hell is today special?
Hollywood and Viking thrown a party at the club, it's the first time we do something like this. I rejected the idea many times in the past; I guess this year I just feel tired of talking to people and said yes without thinking about it too much.
The guys decorated the room, fake spider webs are hanging from the ceiling, some plastic crypts at the entrance, there are also tables and chairs so bitter people like me can sit and judge everybody.
The club bitches take the opportunity to be even more whorey than ever. They basically dress up like every low-pay female job, you know, secretary, nurse, maid…
Megan hovers around me like a peacock trying to seduce me. She wears a schoolgirl costume. She thinks pedophilia is sexy,great.
I'm not in the mood to fuck with her tonight, maybe I'll find someone else or I'll get drunk enough to sleep in this fucking chair until the next morning.
Megan ends up deciding to come to me and sit on my legs. Her pupils are dilated, she sniffs constantly thanks to the coke on her body; I don’t know where she gets it, because this club does not sell drugs, so she must be fucking some other loser. Her makeup is dripping down her cheeks.
“I would do anything to pass the exam, professor…”
Professor?!
Breath Rage, breath.
“Megan, get the fuck off me.”
She pouts like a child.
“Come on, Rage! Don't you want me to suck you off like last time? I know you like that...”
“Son!” shouts Buffalo. He’s the president of ‘Demons from Heaven,’ the only club with which we share territory. He decided that his costume would be a patch over his right eye, he didn’t have to put an effort on this, we all know he has a pirate's soul.
“Come on, I need to talk to you.”
I lift an eyebrow, smirking at Megan and pull her off my lap, “Some other time, darling.”
I get up and follow my friend.
“If that's not a bitch in heat, I don't know what it is.” He says as we walk to my office, rips off the plastic patch and throws it on the floor.
People called him Buffalo because he looks like a fucking Buffalo, that’s it. His chest is twice as big as mine, but it's half my height. His hair is long and curly; it has dreadlocks at the ends. His beard is gray and yellowish and reaches to his chest.
No one wants to stand in the way of his stampede.
“You're damn right, you know I need to hunt my prey, not have them rubbing against my leg like a horny dog.”
Buffalo chuckles as he sits across from me in my office.
“Did you really have something to say to me or that was an excuse to get the peacock off my back?” I ask as I pour two glasses of my old friend Jack.
“I really have something to discuss with you, son.”
I throw the glass on the desk and he catches it on the way over.
“I have a problem to solve and as you know, you still owe me that favor.”
I did know, damn it, in my world, that's how things got done around here.
“I'm listening.” I say as I pour the liquid down my throat, burning everything inside. I love that fucking feeling, it quiets my mind for a couple of seconds.
