WWE Fan Fiction ❯ The Bad Guys Club ❯ Chapter 4

Author's Note: The first few chapters are PG-13ish, but I rated it for Mature Audiences because there's slash and smut later on. I don't own anyone or anything, just Rella. I'm a huge fan of The Bad Girls Club, so why write a WWE fanfic based on it? Feedback's appreciated. Don't read and/or post nasty comments if you can't handle it. Don't take this without permission as well.

 

 

In the middle of the night, Shawn and John went into the phone room to call Shawn's wife Rebecca back inn San Antonio. Shawn needed someone to talk about dealing with a bunch of mental patients. “Shawn?” a female voice on the other line responded.

 

“Baby?” said Shawn as he still moved around.

 

“Shawn, how much soda did you drink? You sound abnormally excited.”

 

“I went overboard tonight.” Shawn started to sob through his speech. “I'm sorry, honey. I can't take it anymore with these guys being so disrespectful. Then, I get splashed with milk and salmon.”

 

He handed the phone to John, who was sitting on the floor. “Hey, this is John Cena,” he politely spoke. “What is his reputation? He wants me to know.”

 

“Well,” responded Rebecca, “Shawn's known for drama and fighting. I don't buy anything that has caffeine in it because if I do and he takes it, he starts acting crazy. Especially, if someone doesn't know him like I do, and they talk trash.”

 

“And if he does drink three cans of Coke, and someone says something, he'll lash out because they don't understand what he's going through. No one can feel that pain but him, you know?”

 

“Yeah. Just watch out when he gets hyper because if someone gets that last word in, there's no doubt that he'll attack.”

 

John gave the phone back to Shawn, and Rebecca told him, “You need to learn to prepare yourself, because people are going to talk about you. That's part of it, Shawn, and you need to change and be strong by not going crazy. Prayer's the only way.”

 

“I feel like everyone's against me,” the Showstopper said between sobs.

 

“Geez, honey. Well, have you gotten along with any of the guys in the house?”

 

“No…I thought this was going to be a new chapter.”

 

The next morning, the Texan joined Triple H in the dressing room fixing his hair, and all Hunter could say was, “You need to stay out of trouble, especially with Jericho and the Street Urchins. They're cool guys, and I didn't piss them off, and they didn't piss me off. So, I want to be friends with them as much as I want to be friends with you, got it?”

 

“So?” scoffed Shawn.

 

“So nothing, Shawn. You need to control yourself. The only reason why Jericho, Edge, and Guerrero are making fun of you is because you drink a few cans of Coke, and then you start to run your mouth.”

 

Just then, Adam joined DX in the dressing room with a sick smile on his face as he said, “Hey, Shawn? MOOOO!!! Oh, wait. You'd probably lost that challenge, too. I rather not participate in it, however, especially with wannabe homeless junkies like you.”

 

He turned to Hunter speaking to Shawn, thinking that he was talking smack about him. “Are you talking to me?” he asked.

 

“No,” he responded.

 

“Are you talking to me?” Adam's face turned dead serious, as if he wanted to kill him.

 

Finally, Hunter had enough of it. “You know what? Don't come at me like that, because I didn't do shit to you. Okay? We may have had our differences, but that's in the past.”

 

“Yeah, that's all I'm asking—

 

“So, you run your mouth at me, we're going to have a war. Until then, I don't have a problem with you. We're all grown adults in this house, and you need to recognize that.”

 

“All right, Hunter, relax. No harm feelings, man.”

 

“It better fucking be, Adam. Because I'm real.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“For sure.”

 

Shawn scoffed at Adam as Hunter warned him to control himself. They didn't want a recap of last night's food fight. Adam couldn't heed less. He never realized, in his view, how nutty Shawn was when he drank a can of Coke or Red Bull. Whatever it could take to ground Shawn down, the Rated R Superstar was going to keep making fun of him 24-fucking-seven. “No matter how much you put hair crème, Shawn,” he said, “you're still a sloppy redneck.”

 

Shawn ignored him. Adam had a lot of bark but no bite. He was easy with judging and insulting people, but when it comes to fighting back, he A.W.O.L.S. Asshole. The Texan thought as he left.

 

“Ugly white trash!” Adam yelled back.

 

“ADAM, ARE YOU READY YET?!” Chris yelled from the stairs leading into the dressing room.

 

The first couple of weeks have been turbulent for all seven guys. They decided to go out and explore the shopping district. John, on the other hand, heard some music from down the street, so he ditched his group of six bad guys and followed the sound to a records store called “Rella”. The name was a pun of mozzarella, and it made the Chain Gang commander felt even guiltier since he had a pending court date to explain to the judge about the cheese theft.

 

Although he was told to live with the rest of the guys for four months because of the theft charge, John was naturally bad from head to toe. It didn't have to do with anyone else, or from winning the championship title. He lived his life on independence. He was a king expressing himself. “What's poppin' in there, yo?” he asked one of the guys who ironed the clothes in the store.

 

Suddenly, a woman who looked to be the next girl on the cover of any hip-hop magazine appeared out of nowhere. She had long, sleek brown hair, caramel skin, and juicy lips that made anyone's mouth water from a mile. “May I help you?” she asked the Doctor of Thuganomics.

 

“Yes, I wanna know what's going on in here,” he responded. “This your store?”

 

“Yes, it is.” The woman flipped her hair and licked her lips seductively. “I'm Rella, president and owner of this fine store and record company. We just started, as you can see.”

 

“Really?” John strolled around the store, gazing at all the clothes racked up. “You know, I'm an artist myself. I need to go back to where I started.”

 

“You got something?”

 

“Yeah, check it.” John began spitting his rhymes like any other king expressing himself. Rella smiled at the lyrics spread across her store. And to help her promote, she let the Massachusetts native pick out some outfits free.

 

Meanwhile, the rest of the Bad Guys checked out one of the T-Shirt shops when Chris noticed John missing from the group. “Hey, where's Cena?” he asked them.

 

“I don't know,” Hunter responded. “I thought he was with us when we went to Coldstone. He's gone?”

 

“Yeah, he's gone.”

 

“Well, I don't know, Chris.” Hunter and the rest of the guys left the shop and stood outside searching for John. “I didn't even notice he disappeared until now.”

 

Back at Rella's Records, John continued picking out some clothes when he came across a pair of denim shorts. “See, this is what I'm talking about right here,” he said as he showed them to Rella. “I work out a lot, and when I'm not, I can wear these to show `em off.”

 

Rella was a classy businesswoman, in John's view. She's probably had some connections with major hip-hop labels. She knew John was a handsome man, and he attracted attention. That's how it worked. Back at the T-Shirt shop, the rest of the Bad Guys waited an hour for the Doctor of Thuganomics to join them. Even Chris crossed the street and back searching for him. “JOHN!!” he yelled. “Where the hell is he?”

 

“I'm worried about him,” said Hunter.

“Well, maybe he met someone,” Adam suggested. “Or maybe he's doing something else.”

 

Then, out of nowhere, John came back in new threads as the guys breathed sighs of relief. They thought for a second their roommate wouldn't come back alive. “Where the hell have you been, Cena?!” yelled Randy.

 

“Yeah, I was worried about you!” exclaimed Chris as he and John joined the rest of the group down the street. “You disappeared on us and didn't say anything!”

 

“Hey, I bought that ice cream and rolled out.”

 

“Yeah, but you came with a group.”

 

“Look, don't nobody tell me what to do, and don't nobody question me. I'm my own person. I didn't even know I was going there with you guys in the first place. I ain't obligated in this house, anyway.”

 

“Still, you should've never disappeared. I thought you were right behind us.”

 

John smiled. “No, I'm in front of myself.”

 

But he could care less what the rest of the guys thought about him. It was all about him in the end, and he chose to stay in the house for himself. No one else. A couple of weeks later, Chris strolled across the hallway topless in black yoga pants sneezing and coughing. Apparently, his allergies were getting the best of him, and he was forced to buy more toilet paper because he had been using all the rolls to blow his nose. His loud nose blowing spooked John in his room. He was clad only in a towel as he peered over the shorthaired Canuck wiping away. “Morning, Chris,” he greeted him.

 

“Hey,” he responded in an allergy-ridden hoarse voice. “What are you doing up? Are you going out today?”

 

“Yeah, I'm going out, so I won't be home until later.”

 

Chris scratched his head. “Well, we're going to the gun range today. Adam and I get in free.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Yeah, they have this “Scorpios get in Free” thing today.”

 

“Oh, okay. I might tag along.”

 

“All right, don't worry about paying. We'll cover you and Chavo.”

 

“I'll try to make it back by 3:00.”

 

“3:00?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“All right, man. If you're not here by then, we're leaving without you.” Chris finally got the last world in before sneezing violently.

 

“You all right?” John grew concerned. “Looks like you got a nasty cold.”

 

“It's not. It's these fucking allergies. And it's not the weather.”

 

“Maybe, it's something in the house that could cause it. You've been sneezing and coughing since you got here. You should see someone about them.”

 

“Thanks, man. I will.”

 

Chris finally joined the two remaining Urchins as he grabbed the bottle of syrup. They noticed Randy and Triple H relaxing by the poolside, but Shawn hasn't managed to come down for this fabulous breakfast Chavo made. “I hope to God this doesn't go to waste,” said the Mexican Warrior as he placed the last waffle on the iron. “Why does Shawn Michaels have to sleep so long anyway?”

 

“Because he's a caffeine addict,” said Adam with his mouth full of bacon. “His body needs time to rest after a huge crash.”

 

But just as Shawn slowly got up to change, he heard the Urchins singing songs and making fun of him. “If you need a rush, you can go to Shawn!!” Chris sang out loud using the syrup bottle as the mike. “'Cause's he's got all the Coke, and he's a fucking joke!”

 

“Sing it, child!” Adam exclaimed in Street Urchin fashion as he air guitar-ed around the kitchen while Chavo laughed hysterically at the two Canadians acting crazy.

 

“Got the body of a Coke-head!” Chris started dancing before the Rated R Superstar joined in on the singing. “I'm in love with a Coke-head! He's guzzling and he's chugging, and kicking, and he's screaming! I'm in love with a Coke-head!”

 

“Stupid Canadians!” Triple H yelled from the pool. “Shut the fuck up!”

 

The Street Urchins all stared at each other. “You heard that, did you?” asked Adam.

 

“No,” Chris responded.

 

An hour later, John stopped by Rella's Records to discuss a deal with the woman herself. To make her get to know him on a professional background, he even showed her his portfolio. “Whoa, you are hot!” Rella exclaimed. “I see it.”

 

“I need something-something, you know?” John explained. “You think it's a game, it ain't. I need a good producer, good manager, and a stable studio that's my studio. If I want to get up at around say, 3-4am, I can go because I'm ready to express myself.”

 

Rella spaced out for a bit, then recovered and pulled out a contract. “Sign here,” she said, which made John's eyes shocked by her eagerness.

 

Meanwhile, back at the mansion, Shawn and Randy sat poolside overhearing the Street Urchins constantly making fun of them. It was getting to the point where the Heartbreak Kid was almost in tears. “I didn't bomb that car by accident just for them to piss me off,” he said. “We're not here to be bad, we're here to change. They can insult me all they want, but they need to understand why we're all stuck living here.”

 

“If you ask me, Shawn,” Randy articulated, “I just don't know where I stand with Chris Jericho. One minute he's nice to me, and the next thing, you know, I hear him and the Urchins talking trash. I don't know, I thought he was cool and all.”

 

“Oh, he is. Really.”

 

“He's cool and all, but I think that he's getting caught up with Adam and Chavo.”

 

“He is. He is.”

 

“I know Chris better that he's not like that. I think he wants to be in a clique. So why not get two guys to laugh at your jokes and do your dirty work at the same time?”

 

“Well, he might get too caught up with those two, but cliques aren't Chris's thing. You wanna talk about cliques, you look up Adam's history. You see, every time he wants to form a stable, the more power he can actually gain from them, and I don't know if you noticed it, Randy. He teamed up with you and it didn't work out, he was with the Brood in the beginning, then he teamed up with Christian, now La Familia. I have a feeling that this La Familia thing will break up eventually, and it's because of Adam being judgmental and selfish.”

 

They sighed as they heard Y2J laughing away in the kitchen. Back at Rella's, John and one of Rella's partner mixed music just for the Chain Gang soldier to perform his song on. John explained about the madness that went on in the house between the six roommates, including Adam's milk madness. A moment later, John went into the studio and spat his rhymes like butter on toast.

 

Back at the mansion poolside, the Street Urchins and Hunter relaxed as Chris grabbed Adam's cap and imitated John. “Yo, yo, yo!” he blurted. “I'm the Doctor of Thuganomics. I'm like Kanye-to-the mixed with Eminem, mixed with Vanilla Ice.”

 

Then Adam grabbed his cap back and joined in with a little, “Word to yo' mother!”

 

“Hey, did John go back to Colby?” asked the Cerebral Assassin. “Or what was it called again?”

 

“Rella's,” Chris said.

 

“Right, Rella's.”

 

“Is he going to get something out of that, anyway?” Adam asked sardonically.

 

Although John had released one album from a major label, the Rated R Superstar believed that he was a joke trying to achieve Grammy success. There was no way he could try again with it. Back at the studio, John finished his song and laughed it off. Finally he found the pursuit of happiness as he hung out with Rella's partner, and back at the mansion, the Urchins waited all day for him so they could all go to the gun range. Randy, of course, was reluctant to go. “Looks like he's taking his time,” said the Legend Killer.

 

“Don't back out on us, now,” said Chris.

 

“Well, I wanted to go with you guys if Cena was tagging along. I don't want this to be a 3-on-1 thing.”

 

Chris scoffed. “What are you talking about? I get along with almost everyone in this house.”

 

Suddenly, Triple H and Shawn stopped by the kitchen for a snack as Adam pointed to HBK and blurted to the Ayatollah of Rock N' Rolla, “I'm sure you are, Chris, but me, personally, I'm cool with everyone except for that stringy-haired piece of shit standing by the fridge. That's the only thing that I'm not cool with.”

 

“What time is it?” Chris yawned a breath of boredom.

 

“It's 3:30,” Chavo responded.

 

Chris's face turned a bright pink as he stormed out of the kitchen yelling, “I knew it! I fucking knew it! Cena wanted us to wait for him, but doesn't have the decency to call us and say that he was running late or not show up! Stupid Vanilla Ice wannabe jackass!”

 

While the Urchins and Randy left, Shawn went into the phone room to call his wife again. “Are you holding up fine, honey?” she asked him.

 

“Yeah,” he responded. “I'm sick of them already. They act like teenagers, constantly singing `I'm in love with a crackhead'. Then, one of them, Edge; He calls me harsh names and tells me that I resemble a homeless junkie, so that's why they didn't invite me to the gun range.”

 

Finally, the Urchins and Randy were at the gun range, and of course Adam and Chris paid Chavo's and Randy's way. The man at the counter smiled politely and asked them which targets they would like to practice on. “Hmmm….Which one of them resemble Shawn Michaels?” Chris responded sarcastically, causing the two Urchins to laugh hysterically.

 

The guy at the counter showed them a few 9mm pistols when Chris picked up one of them and accidentally pointed it at Randy, who leaped. “Don't do that,” the guy warned him. “You might kill someone.”

 

“Yeah, Jericho,” Chavo agreed jokingly. “You already tried to kill JBL.”

 

Back at the record store, John stared at the clock on the wall. It was 6pm, and felt a little guilty about promising the Urchins earlier about going to the gun range with them. He didn't care if they had any hostility towards him. He didn't mean to piss anyone off. I'm doing me, he thought. Shit, I would rather be here than there.

 

At the gun range, the Street Urchins and the Legend Killer practiced shooting their targets. Chris was laughing away as Randy went wild with his target. “Somebody's angry!” he yelled.

 

Finally, they collected their targets and smiled at their accomplishments. Adam was disappointed at his target as he rolled it up and shook his head. “What's wrong?” Chavo asked his future Step-uncle.

 

“He would've been dead,” he replied. “Shawn would've been dead!”

 

Chris laughed hysterically at that comment as he marveled over the bullet hole located in the center of his target's head. Randy was amazed by it. Therapy, in his view, didn't help the shorthaired blond Canadian at all. JBL and HBK were easy targets, and they sure made huge mistakes messing with him.

 

Back at the record store, Rella was constantly flirting with John, which was kind of of awkward for him. She climbed on top of him and attempted to take off his shirt when he backed out of it. “Yo, I ain't that type of person,” he said.

 

Rella grew upset, feeling disrespected at the fact that she wanted to seal the deal with the Chain Gang Commander by sleeping with him. Who did he think he was to come into her store for a record deal, sign the contract, and not fuck her? “Hey, you signed a deal here,” she articulated.

 

“Yeah, but it didn't involve sleeping with you.” John headed for the door. “I don't know how you handle your clients, but you need to check yourself. I know a real record deal, and before you decide to turn yours into an escort service. The deal's off. See ya!”

 

Upset, John went back to the mansion and discussed his day with The Game. Never again would he ever attempt to come back to music with someone who was skanky and snaky like Rella. “She was worse than any cheese I would attempt to steal,” he said as he and Hunter stepped into the living room. “I carry the key to heaven here. She cannot just step up to me and get what's here.”

 

“You sound like a Greek poem, Cena.” Hunter laughed.

 

By the patio, Hunter and John joined Shawn when Chris walked by and joined them. “Say it now or forever hold your piece, Jericho,” said Shawn, predicting another blatant joke from the Ayatollah of Rock N' Rolla's mouth.

 

“What?” he said innocently. “I'm here to enjoy the weather.”

 

“No, you're in it. Say what you have to say because I have had it with you three yelling `I'm in love with a cokehead, I'm in love with a cokehead.'”

 

Chris shook his head and gave him a puzzled look. “I don't remember saying it.”

 

“Yes, you did. You yelled it earlier today, and after a few weeks here in this house, you guys have been constantly making fun of Randy and me. It's not cool, and I was about to melt my life away today, but I thought, `Oh, you guys were going to the gun range.' I didn't wanna ruin y'all day. I wanted to go with y'all to the gun range, but you made it impossible for me to tag along. I'm a avid hunter, I would've taught you some, and we've would've had a blast.”

 

Suddenly, Chris felt extremely guilty of how his actions towards the Heartbreak Kid have grown. Shawn was right—The Street Urchins needed to realize that they couldn't get away treating people like that with verbal attacks, even though he wasn't responding to it. It got to him, and it got to him mentally and physically. They went back into the kitchen where Shawn continued to confront the shorthaired blond Canuck. “Think about it, Chris,” he said, “If I were to pull out some of your flaws and constantly step all over them like you guys are doing—

 

“Oh, I have plenty of flaws in my life,” agreed Chris. “I am beyond from fucking perfect.”

 

“Even though I feel you have some sort of animosity towards me, I feel that—

 

Chris grew shocked and felt even culpable. “Dude, I don't hate you! Honestly, the only reason why Adam, Chavo, and I kept picking at you is because of your ways. Actions speak so much louder than words, and you know it.”

 

“Then tell me! Just look me in the face like you're doing now and say what's on your damn mind instead of sneaking behind my back yelling, `I'm in love with a coke whore!'”

 

“Well, if it's that much of a huge problem with you, then I'll stop singing the fucking songs! It's that simple, really. Obviously, this is some real deep shit, and you're upset by it. At least you're man enough to confront me and say, `Jericho, you're pissing me off by singing the song'. I'll stop! This is the end of it.”

 

On that note, Chris can finally squash the tension between him and the Texan. He didn't want anything serious to happen to anyone in the house just because he was clowning around and acting crazy. He didn't want to be responsible, either, despite the fact that he was responsible for poisoning JBL as a way of getting revenge prior to living in the Bad Guys mansion. Chris learned the hard way as to why he had to live there for four months. The rest he would have to learn as well.

 

Moments later, Chris dragged Shawn to one of the rooms where he and Adam slept. He found the Rated R Superstar asleep in his bed, so he shook him awake and invited the Heartbreak Kid in for a discussion. “Adam, you and Shawn were friends,” he whispered to him. “He did something to piss me off as well.”

 

“Yeah, but he didn't go and throw pop at your face, Chris,” responded Adam in a half-asleep tone.

 

“I understand that, but—

 

“I don't accept that crap from no one, you know that!”

 

“I know—

 

“I knew I disrespected you, Edge,” Shawn said, almost breaking down into tears.

 

“You threw fucking coke at my face, Michaels!” Adam scolded him. “That's total disrespect. I want an apology.”

 

“Are you apologizing?” Chris asked the Heartbreak Kid.

 

“Yes!” Shawn cried.

 

“Don't apologize to me, apologize to him! Look him in the face and tell him you were wrong!”

 

Finally, Shawn turned to the other Canuck in the bed, and in tears he cried, “I'm sorry! I wasn't thinking that night! I drank too much pop and I was hyper.”

 

Chris gave him a hug and he turned to his fellow Urchin staring coldly at the wall. “Adam, please,” he pleaded forgiveness. “I'm sorry if I ever bossed you around or led you to add more fuel to the war that was burning between us.”

 

Ha, ha, Shawn, you broke down, Went the thoughts that floated in the longhaired Canuck's head. It's done. I didn't need to beat the holy hell out of you. I got what I wanted. So, I'll forgive you in the only way I know how…for now.

 

 

 

TO BE CONTINUED…