ALL THE RAGE (writer: T.M. Frazier)(9)

Well, maybe not the selfie.

Babysitting, on the other hand, was my least favorite job. It was something I’d avoided for the entirety of my junior high and high school careers no matter how many times my parents told me the Jefferson’s were looking for someone to watch their twins after school. Yet the second Smoke called, promising me his next two explosive jobs, I agreed like Golumn with a f*cking ring. Next thing I knew, I was high up in a tree, in ninety-degree heat, straddling a branch while waiting for my target (of my babysitting services) to make an appearance.

“You know how f*cking boring this is, right?” I whined into the phone.

“Sure do, that’s why I’m not f*cking doing it,” Smoke said, sounding amused.

“You suck.”

“Nah, that’s what the bitches are for.” There was a pause, and I heard a shuffling followed by the faint sound of a woman’s voice. “You sleep at all this week?” Smoke asked, changing the subject.

I sighed and adjusted my position on the branch, giving me a better view of the side of the house. I didn’t know why he always asked me that question. My answer was always the same. “I guess that depends on what you consider sleep.”

“Rage, zoning out for an hour or two sitting upright with your eyes open is not sleep,” Smoke scolded.

“Sorry to disappoint you then, Daddy, but no, I haven’t slept.”

In years.

“As much as I like to be called Daddy, I only like a woman calling me that when she’s underneath me and I’m holding her knees up while I shove my cock in her.” Smoke chuckled. “So unless you’ve changed your mind and given up your aversion to dick, then you best keep that shit to yourself.”

Smoke learned very quickly when we met that whatever he considered to be charms were completely lost on me, but he never stopped trying to get a rise out of me anyway. He didn’t understand that in order to be offended by something, you have to care about it first.

I didn’t.

However, it seemed to amuse the hell out of him, so good for him, or whatever.

“Uh-huh, sounds good,” I said, barely paying attention as a light inside the house switched on, bathing the windows in faded yellow. “What exactly am I doing here?” I asked again.

“Just keep an eye on the boy. If anyone who looks like his parents come to the house, you call me. You think he knows where they are, you tell me. It’s simple. I need you to watch everything and report back. Get as close as you can.”

I sat up on the branch and bit the side of my thumbnail. “You sure you don’t want me to just take him out? I’ve got to change the oil on my Vespa and—” Smoke cut me off before I had the chance to tell him about having to get back to watching the eBay auction where I was currently the high bidder on a six-inch serrated steel blade with Swarovski crystal handle. It looked just like the small tattoo on the nape of my neck and it had been on my wish list for months. Fuck if I was going to be outbid by SPONGE_BOB_DAD_6969.

“No. Don’t f*cking take him out. Not yet, anyway. Wait for my word,” Smoke sighed, sounding frustrated. “And I’ll change the oil on your f*cking * scooter after I’m sure this kid doesn’t know where the f*ck his shit-bag parents are. But you don’t do shit until you hear from me. Got it?” I heard the distinct sound of a lighter sparking, followed by a light blowing of smoke across the receiver.

“How long do I have to be here for?” I asked, conceding to Smoke and reluctantly accepting my babysitting fate. The auction ended on Sunday, and I knew I couldn’t do it from my phone, not with the reception in this town that had Smoke’s every third word cutting out.

“For however long it takes.”

I huffed. “You owe me for this.”

“I tell you what, Rage. You stop working for everyone and their uncle Albert and work exclusively for me, and I’ll stop throwing you these shit babysitting jobs,” Smoke offered.

I shook my head as if he were in front of me and not on the phone. It was an offer Smoke made often. Often enough for me to already know that it wasn’t really an offer. It was a test. Smoke was a biker but he didn’t belong to any club. “No can do. You know that.” It was our number one rule. Our only rule. No loyalties to anyone, no ties.

“I tell you what,” I started. I could practically hear Smoke’s smile through the phone. He knew exactly what was coming next. “I’ll agree to work exclusively for you…on the day you call the Bastards and get me patched in as an official member. I want a cut too. A pink one.”

“Fuck you, Rage,” Smoke said, without the slightest trace of anger in his voice. Sometimes I changed out which MC I wanted to be a member of and tell him I want to be Warrior, the other big MC in Southwest Florida, but the gist of my joke was always the same.

Smoke was not just my mentor he was a client and I agreed to always do his jobs first. I also agreed that if anyone ever hired me to kill him, I’d as least give him a few hours heads-up.

Well, maybe at least a few minutes.

Maybe.

“How ’bout this,” Smoke started. “You do good for me. Watch that kid and find out where his parents are holed up and I’ll let you take them out like the dogs they are, any way you want. Car explosion maybe?” Smoke paused and lowered his voice. “Would you like that, Princess?” He knew exactly what he was doing. He might not have been able to seduce me with his body, but he sure as shit knew how to seduce me with the promise of creating my art in the form of destruction. My heart sped up and I bit my lip. Closing my eyes tightly, I soaked in and reveled in the whole body shudder that consumed me with want.