Raouls 18Th Birthday Ch 04 1

Note: There's some violence in this one... nothing really savage, but perhaps gruesome enough to justify warning sensitive readers. Some characters die.

Also, in this particular story, there are almost no sexy bits. If you really only want the sex, you could just skip ahead to the Raoul's First Murder stories.

—————————————

Raoul stays at the sorority another half hour, not wanting to run off too quickly after an experience like that. But eventually, kissing and hugging all the girls goodbye, he promises to come to their Chinese New Years' party.

"Bring condoms," some whisper.

"Of course I will," he promises.

His cousin Yvonne decides he's too drunk, so she'll drive him home.

"What did you do down there?" she demands almost as soon as the car begins moving. Outside, her sorority sisters are still waving goodbye. "Some girls came up saying everyone was getting naked."

Her aggressive tone masks her nervousness. Raoul's acquaintances, even his family, do not often question him about his actions.

And they have good reason not to.

"That's true."

"What did you do?"

"Ask your friends. They'll tell you anything they want you to know."

"What about

you

? What do

you

want me to know?"

Before answering, he looks over at her. They both know that this is a warning. He lets the silence grow uncomfortable while she looks straight ahead at the road, pretending not to know he's looking at her.

"You should know that I had a good time."

"That's all?"

"Yup." He turns to look at the road. "Thanks for inviting me."

"That's fine," she bluffs. "I don't care." But a minute later she hits him, whining pathetically and changing to Mandarin. "Come on! Tell me! I'm your 'older sister!'"

"Nope."

She sighs. He's incorrigible. Since his parents died, which was almost six years ago, no one has been able to tell him anything. "You think you're the boss of yourself," his aunt, Yvonne's mother, once scolded him. "Huh," he replied, sarcastically, as if puzzled. "Just because I pay most of the bills." His aunt told him that he was still a child, and she still had to follow her rules.

"What's your enforcement mechanism?" he'd challenged. He waited while her mom and the girls had a discussion in Cantonese about what this meant, silent as they howled with disgust at his disrespect. "How can you talk to your aunt like that?" they'd spat at him. "Well? What do you have to say for yourself? What if your parents could hear you talk like that?"

He didn't blink. But at the peak of their outrage, he just said, "If it's too much for you to endure, I'll miss having you live in my home."

One by one, over the next two days, everyone except her mom apologized to him, desperate to be back in his good graces. Finally her mom confronted him in his room. None of the girls knows what happened, but she came out half an hour later and announced that Raoul was the man of the house now.

And that was that.

So Yvonne knows she's not going to win this argument.

"Well," she shrugs, in English again, "I'm glad you had a good time, at least."

"A great time."

"Good. Next time I won't have to beg you to come see us."

"Nope."

"Tell me about the club. What's happening again?"

"You remember Emma? White girl, black hair? Cheerleader at County. Maybe your year, maybe a year older."

"Yeah, I remember. Year ahead of me. She dropped out senior year."

"She showed up at the party today."

"Really? Who invited her?"

"I don't know."

"Huh. She was always kind of weird."

Raoul nods, so Yvonne goes on.

"Like, she wanted attention too much, especially from boys. She was desperate for friends. She tried to seem confident so hard, you could tell she was actually really insecure."

"She's a stripper now."

"Huh. I'm not surprised. She had a terrible reputation. I heard she had two abortions

before

she dropped out."

"She gave me a fake ID today."

"A fake ID?"

"For my birthday."

"What kind of fake ID?"

"A Wyoming driver's license in the name of Raoul Badoss. Born in 1965."

"And she invited you to go see her strip?"

"Yup."

"And so you're going?"

"Of course."

"With the fake ID?"

Instead of answering, he looks at her again. She's skinny and tall, barely a third as big as Raoul.

She looks straight ahead, unable to meet his gaze.

"And there'll be a motorcycle gang there?" she asks, her voice tight with fear.

"Did I tell you that?"

"Mom called. She heard Sam and Reza talking about it. She doesn't want me to let you go."

He snorts.

This is funny in several ways: no one, especially not Yvonne, is going to stop Raoul from doing what he wants to do. But his poor Auntie Wei will lose sleep until he comes home safe and sound. What is he going to do with her?

"Raoul?"

"Yeah?"

"Please don't go."

"Why?"

"I'm scared."

"You serious?"

"Yeah."

"I'll be okay," he smirks.

"Please, Raoul."

"Yvonne." His tone is flat and deep and dangerous.

"Please, Raoul. A motorcycle gang? With a fake ID? You could get in real trouble. You could get hurt. Arrested. Who knows?"

"That's why it's interesting."

"If something happens to you, what happens to the rest of us?"

"Is that what this is about? You'll all be alright."

"No, but..." She takes a deep breath to calm herself down. "I only meant that if you won't think about your safety you should think about us. Please, Raoul."

"Yvonne, if you whine like that again, you'll make me angry."

She nods, blinking back tears, and they ignore each other the rest of the way home.

Half his mind is pondering what a motorcycle-gang strip-club experience will be; the other half is trying to remember which of Yvonne's "Kappy" sisters he'd promised to fuck at their Chinese New Year's party in a few weeks.

Then he realizes: it doesn't matter. He'll fuck just about any of them who want to fuck him.

When they arrive, right as she stops the car, she turns to him ferociously.

"You don't care about any of us, do you? You don't care how much any of us worry about you or anything!"

She jerks the keys out of the ignition and throws them at him. Reacting reflexively, he manages to catch them before they fly into the bushes.

After watching her run into the house, slamming the front door behind her, he puts the roof up with deliberate slowness and goes into his room through the side door.

Fortunately no one is in his room. He changes into some normal clothes — white t-shirt, blue jeans, a chain to connect his wallet to his belt, a leather jacket, and riding boots.

Then he goes into the living room. A few of the M-girls are gathered around Yvonne. They've been crying, but as soon as he appears, they stop.

"You ladies okay?" he asks. His tone suggests that they'd better be.

"We're okay, Raoul," Grannie Rosa affirms. "You go have fun, but be careful."

"Thank you, Grannie," Raoul says. He walks over to kiss her forehead as everyone holds still.

None of them are really afraid he'll hurt them. He's never done that intentionally.

He might, for example, put a foot through the television. He's been known to tear apart sofa cushions, throw chairs through windows, destroy tables with his fist.

But he won't hurt them.

"You be a good boy," she tells him.

Grannie Rosa has more faith in Raoul than other members of his family. She remembers when he was seven years old and beat a thirteen-year-old boy senseless with an iron pipe. That boy was bigger than Raoul, but now no one is bigger than he is. If nothing else, at least she's sure he can take care of himself.

But she also doesn't see his temper or his violence as a threat. Like Raoul, her father and brothers were all amateur boxers. She grew up in a home full of boys punching each other as hard as they could, whether playing or in anger, but never laying a finger on her. She knows a boy like Raoul needs to go out and have his fun. Get some of those rough edges knocked off. He'll be okay. The girls, who've grown up in a family of only Raoul among so many girls, have not learned to be comfortable with the wild ways of boys.

Perhaps most of all, she understands that Raoul's anger connects to his grief. He has so much to grieve, and he doesn't know how to do it any other way than to fight. Someday, she believes, he'll fight it all out, and realize he's actually a good man, like his father and grandfathers.

After kissing Grannie Rosa, he sees Emma waiting in a corner, clearly as afraid of his sisters and cousins as they are of him. Summoning her with a wink and his chin, he walks out the front door without saying goodbye to anyone.

Sam and Reza, sprinting, manage to get out right behind him, and then jump in front of him in the yard.

"You okay?" Sam asks, standing in the yard, blocking his path, but far enough away from the house that they can talk without being overheard through the windows.

"Yvonne says she made you angry," Reza explains.

Raoul just looks at them. Looking back, he sees Emma waiting at the door, apparently unsure whether she should come on out.

He gestures for her to join them.

Since he didn't answer, his twins just hug him, knowing better than to talk; he holds one in each arm.

Seeing that Emma also looks frightened, he smiles to reassure her, as if everything is a big joke, then looks away to take more deep breaths.

"We're sorry, Raoul," Sam says.

He snorts. "You didn't do anything."

"Yeah," Reza says, "but we're sorry you're upset."

"I'm fine," Raoul assures them. "You should go help Yvonne and the others. They need to calm down. But I'm fine." Then, knowing that people in the house will be trying to hear what's being said, he says loudly, for everyone's benefit, "In fact, you know what would do me some good? A six-pack of beer and a lap dance."

Hearing that, of course, lights Emma up like a firefly, but he feels his twins stiffen and cool.

"Okay," Sam ventures, stepping away from his hug, "but please be careful."

"Everyone's worried about you," Reza adds.

"Worried about what?"

Sam switches to Mandarin to exclude Emma. "Raoul, we don't care that you're going to that kind of place."

"We don't care what you do with your 'little brother,'" Reza says, also in Mandarin.

"It's the gangsters," Sam explains.

"We really don't want anything to happen to you." Reza looks up at him.

He kisses his twins on their foreheads. They are better at talking to him than the others. They never use the whining tone that sets him off, and he feels more assured of their sympathy regardless of what happens.

"Thank you, girls," he says, switching the conversation back to English. "I promise to be good."

"Be good?" Sam cries. "Have you not listened to us?"

"Be as 'bad' as you want," Reza snarls. "As bad as you

can

. We don't care."

"Really, we don't," Sam confirms. She goes back to Mandarin so that she can use a word that means "to fuck a lot of whores." "Fuck every whore there." Back in English: "We don't care. You fuck everyone anyway."

"Everyone

and their mother

," Reza laughs. "And we don't care. But be

safe

."

"Has Scarlett been calling then?"

"Yes, and her mom. We told them you're not going to be home tonight. Neither of them are happy."

He laughs, shaking his head.

"Please be safe, Raoul." They come back for another hug.

"I will," he says, squeezing them. "Don't worry."

Then he asks Emma, "What time do you think I'll be home?" He checks his watch. "It's half past now."

She shrugs. "It's at least a half hour away. So maybe four. Or five." After a pause, she goes on, "Or six or seven. It's up to you."

"Okay," he tells his sisters. "You don't start worrying until at least nine then."

"Have fun with your little bird!" they wave as he gets on his bike and Emma climbs on behind him.

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Raoul knows the way, generally, to Compton, but he doesn't know where they're going.

"So how do we get there?" he asks as soon as they're out of his driveway.

"I'll show you," she shouts. "Just keep going."

He can feel that she's no stranger to the back of a bike. She snuggles up close to him, resting her face on the back of his jacket, and reaches her hands around his waist.

Every time they hit a little bump, it seems, her hands move just a tiny bit closer to his crotch, and right after they merge onto the 405, perhaps feeling that the highway is private, she just puts both hands right there and goes to work.

He adjusts himself so he'll have room to grow inside his jeans, and she caresses it during the entire trip. Just a nice, tender massage on the 405 and then on the 105.

When he exits the 105, she even steers him with it.

"This way," she says, pulling him just a bit toward the exit. "Wilmington."

"Thank you for coming to the club," she coos at the next stoplight, while the engine is quiet.

She demonstrates her gratitude with attention to his cock.

"My pleasure," he says, contrasting this to his last stoplight conversation. "Thank you for inviting me."

"Your sisters

really

didn't want you to come, did they?"

"Nope."

"They were all really mad at me."

"Don't worry about them. There's nothing they can do." Though he hasn't cum, her caresses have taken his edge off.

"It's not as bad as they think."

"I wouldn't care if it were. I'm having a good time with you already."

"You're so sweet. Do you have small bills?"

"Um, no, actually."

"Let's stop at a gas station to get change then. They'll jip you if you change money at the club."

"Okay, good idea."

"Don't tell them I told you."

"It's between us."

"They won't believe I'm bringing Boss Badoss!" she gloats as the light turns green.

—————————————

After visiting two gas stations, he's changed about half of his birthday money into singles and fives when they pull into the Easy Riders parking lot. There's about twenty bikes in the lot and maybe five cars.

"Park around back," she instructs him, so he follows her directions around the building. She gets off and unlocks a rolling fence so that he can put his bike in what is apparently the staff parking area. When she locks the fence behind him, he momentarily wonders whether this is a special privilege or a trap, but he shakes it off, thinking that the girls' worries have gotten to him.

Then he notices that the fences are topped by razor wire.

"We'll go in through the girls' room," she explains. "You're special, so they won't mind. And from now on, I'm Raven."

She pauses just before opening the door. "Don't forget. Raven."

"Raven," he repeats.

She presses the buzzer and looks up, waving toward a camera over the door.

A moment later, the lock clicks.

"Hello, girls!" she calls as she opens the door to the girls' dressing room. "Boss is here!"

"Boss!" a large woman, reclined in a chair with her feet on a makeup table, looks him up and down, slapping his butt with a rolled-up magazine. "The boys'll be glad to see you. Get on out there."

As he follows "Raven" through the dressing room, several women greet him the way women usually do when they see him for the first time:

Their jaws drop, they look up and up and up, as if their necks need time to adjust to the angle, then their eyes brazenly run back down his body, trying to take the measure of his shoulders and chest and arms, then his butt and crotch and thighs, and back up again, this time with undisguised deference and desire.

Some of them venture to whisper about or even to him:

"Jesus, he's huge!"

"Cute too!"

"How tall are you?" As if a number would help them understand.

"Damn! Honey, let me dance for you. I'll make you happy."

"Look at that ass!" someone behind him whispers incredulously. "I could squeeze that thing all night long."

And so on. The normal stuff, but with the added bravado of women seizing

their

chance to objectify a

man

for a change.

"Raven" leads him through an unlocked door with a big red "THIS DOOR MUST REMAIN LOCKED AT ALL TIMES" sign. He can already hear the music blasting. "It's the eye of the tiger, it's the thrill of the fight!"

When she opens the door, the music hits him and his eyes need a few seconds to adjust to the darkness.

"Hey boys," Raven tells two men, one on each side of the door. "This is Boss."

"Boss!"

They get up to greet him. They're huge — one is only a few inches shorter than Raoul, and the other is only average height but three times as stout as most men — and apparently their job is to guard the door to the girls' changing room and the stairs to the stage.

Each of them clasps his right hand and pulls him in for a bro hug.

"Nice to meet you, man. I'm Darrell."

"Nice to meet you, Darrell. I'm Raoul."

"Can we call you Boss?"

"If you want," he shrugs.

"Call me James," the other says.

"Good to meet you, James."

"Where's Maynard?" Raven asks them.

"In his office, I guess."

Maynard's office is apparently way on the other side of the bar, so she leads Raoul across the room.

As he follows her, he looks around. There are two stages, and on one of them a topless woman in something of a tiger costume is dancing. She's a heavy girl, with very respectable breasts and hips. About eight guys are sitting right in front of that stage, and when she crawls in front of them, they push cash into her costume.

Further away from the stage there are about twenty more guys also watching.

"Not a bad crowd for a holiday," Raven comments, although the place seems mostly empty to Raoul.

Perhaps affected a little by his family's worries, Raoul tries to size up the men in the audience without staring.

It's a working-class place: the most well-dressed guys are in blue jeans and button-up shirts. With long hair and beards, most look like they rode the bikes in. A few might be Mexican — it's dark and there is a lot of cigarette smoke in the air, so it's hard to tell — but most are clearly white. There are two more bouncers at the front door. In one corner a girl is performing a lap dance for a big fat biker.

When they reach the other side of the bar Raven knocks on the door. Raoul looks back at the stage and sees the dancer "motorboating" one of the guys.

"What?" The voice behind the door sounds irritated.

"It's Raven. I've got Boss. Like I told you."

"Boss!"

A moment later a huge white guy — almost as tall as Raoul, and perhaps even half as strong, but carrying a whole lot more fat — opens the doors. He's a biker's biker, with a black t-shirt, tattooed arms, and cowboy boots. His long hair and beard are somewhere between gray and brown.

"Hey, my man, come on in! How the fuck are ya?"

The office has a desk with a television on it — he's apparently just muted

The Donna Reed Show

— set against a wall. Behind the desk is a large swivel chair and a file cabinet, and in front of it is a sofa piled with papers. At the end of the room is another chair, pushed against another file cabinet.

On the wall behind the desk is the flag of the Khan Nation, a grinning skull with crossing scimitars surrounded by the words "courage," "duty," "loyalty," and "honor" on a black background.

Noting that the skull wears a bandana of the Confederate battle flag, Raoul begins to wonder if he should've researched the Khans a bit before showing up.

"I'm alright," Raoul says. "How about you?"

"Smooth as shit, son, can't complain."

After shaking Raoul's hand, the guy picks up the papers from the sofa and adds them to a pile on top of the file cabinet behind the desk.

"Make yourself comfortable. You prefer Boss or Raoul?"