MC Chronicles: The Diary of Bink Cummings: Vol 2: (Motorcycle Club Romance Novel) (13 page)

“Did you get laid though?” I smirk, raising a
quizzical brow, the naughty part of me thrilled to hear this story. It’s way
better than anything I’ve been subjected to in a long time. It makes me feel
like I’m finally home, and that feels great!

The sly grin that curls from the corners of his
twitching mouth says it all.

“You did! You dirty dog, you.”

“Yup, she’ll be here tonight too,” he smiles. It’s
obvious he is excited to see the girl again. Well, good for him.

I return his smile, making eye contact. “What’s her
name? I wanna meet her.”

He immediately pales, eyes widen, and his cheery
complexion washes over with horror. “Yo—you,” he stutters, swallowing hard,
Adams apple bobbing in his throat. “You want to meet her?” He runs a hand
through his messy hair.

I don’t understand his sudden mood change, so I shrug
nonchalantly and remain friendly. “Yes, why wouldn’t I? She sounds nice.”

My admission rinses some of the horror from his face,
and his color returns to normal. “You sure? She’ll be real nervous to meet you,
Bink. I mean, real nervous.”

“Why?” I ask, confused.

“Umm… because… you’re
Bink
.
You’re a legend ‘round here. Women, all women, old ladies, whores, all of ‘em,
they idolize you. They want to be you. And frankly, a bunch of ‘em are scared
as fuck of you.”

I snort a laugh, like it’s the most absurd thing I’ve
ever heard. “Why would they be afraid of me?” This is news to me…kinda cool
though.

“You kicked the shit out of a woman and nearly killed
her with your bare hands. Plus, all the brothers… well you know how they are
with you.”

I think I get his point. Inside I am jumping up and
down in triumph, yet on the outside I remain cool and impassive.

“Well, that’s nonsense.” I flip my hand as if pushing
the thought away, then use it to tuck a stray hair behind my ear. “I’m just
like the rest of the girls. But we need to head in. I really do have to pee.
Bring your girl by tonight. I wanna meet her.” I wink at him, smiling
sincerely.

“Okay, great, thanks, bye.” He’s frazzled, and I love
that.

Holding no real reputation in
Chicago, it’s nice to see the one here supersedes any expectations I ever had.

We exchange two finger waves, and
Marshall pulls the car forward. “Nice kid,” I comment, pointing to a parking
space in front of the clubhouse. The place is fairly busy, but not as much as I
assumed it would be for three in the afternoon the day before my bro’s
nuptials. Only fifteen or so bikes are lining the side of the clubhouse, along
with a couple cars and trucks.

Gunz shoves the front door of the clubhouse open as we
come to a stop and saunters to the car with purpose. Opening up my passenger
side door, he reaches inside, takes my hand, and pulls me to my feet, engulfing
me in a warm bear hug.

“Missed you too.” I hug him back with an amused
chuckle, pressing my nose to his chest and savoring the scent of this amazing
man.

“Don’t touch those.” Gunz grumbles over my shoulder to
Marshall. “I’ll get someone to bring ‘em in. You’re a guest here,” he explains
and kisses the top of my head. His hand is rubbing my back and keeping a tight
hold on my body, but he is careful enough to not squish Harley. See, I really
like that name for her. It’s perfect.

“Um… okay,” Marshall mutters, totally out of his
element. I made him wear jeans here, and he’s got his Chucks on too, along with
a black long sleeved t-shirt. Not quite the biker look, but better than he
planned to wear.

“Yo, Mick, get your ass out here and bring in these
fuckin’ bags!” Gunz gruffly yells.

The door of the clubhouse slams open.
“What the fuck?! Am I your little errand boy or somethin’, asshole?” he
grumbles. I smolder a laugh. I’ve missed this place.

I listen to the sound of his boots
crunching on the ground, as Mickey walks toward us. “Who da fuck is this?”

I can’t see, but I know he’s talking
about Marshall.

“I’m Marshall.”

I push away from Gunz’s bear hug, standing close
enough that he drapes his arm over my shoulder, keeping me wrapped in his love.
Tucking my arm around his lower back, I rest my head on the side of his chest,
my hip touching his thigh.

Marshall has his hand extended to shake Mickey’s, and
Mickey looks at the damn thing like it’s infected with some sort of incurable
disease. Then he turns enough to notice me standing here.

His eyes widen, “Oh shit, Bink? That you? What the
fuck?!” he jerks a nod toward my belly.

Gunz reaches across and rubs my bump
with his free hand. “I gots me a grandbaby on the way.” The pride in his voice
makes my heart swell with love and acceptance. God, I love this man. Turning my
head into his chest, I kiss his cut, nuzzling my nose into the leather with
affection. Gunz presses a quick kiss to my hair.

“Shit, does Prez know?”

My face drops, guilt flooding in. No, he doesn’t, and
that’s the problem.

“I’ll take that as a no,” Mickey snorts, amused.

“We’ll take care of it,” Gunz seizes control. “Now
carry those fucking bags into Bink’s room. It’s unlocked. And be a nice guy,
shake the boyfriend’s hand,” he inclines his head in Marshall’s direction.

Mickey turns his attention back to Marshall and
glowers. “This her man?” he thumb points to Marshall, who’s suddenly become
crestfallen with worry. His body is twitchy as he sways on his feet. I knew
this day was going to be difficult.

“Yes, that’s Marshall. Be
nice
,” I fiercely demand, highly emphasizing the niceness I
expect him to show.

Mickey meets his eyes and extends a firm hand, to
shake Marshall’s. They shake hands. Then Mickey adheres to Gunz’s orders,
retrieves our suitcases from the trunk, and lugs them inside with an undertone
of obscene murmured curses.

I hold in my laugh at his sullen attitude. It’s kind
of cute. Gotta love Mick.

“Where’s he at now?” I ask Gunz, knowing that he knows
who I am talking about.

“With his girlfriend, in town, picking out her dress
for tomorrow.”

I hold my breath and clench my fists, digging my nails
into my palm to center myself, and force my face to remain neutral. Fuck, this
shit hurts though. A dress for his girlfriend for the wedding tomorrow, and
here I was just going to wear a black wrap dress that I bought at Motherhood in
Chicago. Maybe I should have been smarter and bought myself something even
nicer. I know it’s not a competition, per say, but it is for me. I have to hold
up my end of the Bink pedestal that everybody seems to put me on, for whatever
stupid reason.

“What’s her name by the way?” Nobody has informed me
of this yet. I can’t figure out why; maybe they don’t even use it.

“Mary, her name is Marylou.”

Now why does that gut me even more?

I tug out from under Gunz’s hold. “I got to pee, and
we need to rest until tonight,” I explain, hoping that it comes across honest
and emotionless. I really need it to come out that way right now. Marylou’s
name is batting around in my head like Pong. I am on the verge of a serious
crying spell. Damn hormones. I mustn’t cry.

Gunz reaches into his cut, with his eyes assessing my
face. “Here,” he pulls out a sucker and hands it to me. My lip twitches and
finally cracks, bringing a smile to my face and lightening the heavy load on my
heart. How does he know just the right thing to make it all better?

Tearing off the wrapper, I tuck the
trash into my jeans pocket and lean in to kiss his cheek before I pop it into
my mouth, and turn on my heel to head into the clubhouse, waving to Marshall to
follow me.

My fingers are crossed that nobody
stops us as we make our way to my bedroom. I need a sliver of silence and a way
to gain my bearings back before the massive party. The bubbling emotions that
are boiling in my system can’t be a good sign. I’ve got a few hours to gain
control of them, or I’ll be spending half the night either pissed the fuck off
or bawling like a two year old, utterly inconsolable. The former being the
lesser of two evils.

“Marshall, this is Pixie,” I point to
the blue haired tattoo queen with a smile. She raises her hand in a shy hello.

“That is Jezebel,” I point to the lively curvaceous
big-breasted sassy ass. She is clad in fire engine red jeans and a black off
the shoulder top that says, “
It ain’t going
to eat itself
.” Poor bitch; her breasts have only gotten larger
thanks to her breast-feeding Gabe. I know the feeling; mine have grown a bit
since I got knocked up. Not that my boobs need to get any bigger, I’m already
one big tit
, like my mother always used to
say.

Jezebel strides toward him and wraps him into an
unrelenting hug. That’s just her way about things - a pushy pain in the behind.
Marshall awkwardly returns her hug, patting her back with the tips of his
fingers, like he can’t wait for her to let him go.

I run down the line of the rest of the ladies who are
standing in my bedroom here at the clubhouse. They came by a few hours after we
arrived to introduce themselves before the festivities jump off.

Debbie and Candy Cane shake Marshall’s hand. Dixie has
officially joined the sisterhood, so she’s also in tow, but standing to the
wayside like she doesn’t know if she belongs or not. I wave her forward, “This
is Dixie, the bride to be.” I tug her into a sisterly side hug. I’m glad she’s
going to be my sister-in-law; it beats some other bitch taking her spot.

“Hello, Dixie.” Her name rolls around in Marshall’s
mouth like a foreign object. I know it’s hard for him to adjust to using
different names. It’s a way of our world, and I’ve assured him that he is
welcome to call me Eva, even though nobody else will. Using someone’s road name
around here is a sign of respect. If you don’t show it, you might as well dig
your own grave. Although I don’t mind him calling me Eva, even if I hate the
name, only because my mother gave it to me.

“Hi,” she says, and casts her gaze to my face, then
down to my belly. “I didn’t know you were with child.”

I shrug indifferently, “Yeah, well, I am.”

“Does Big know?” she inquires.

Why does everyone keep asking that? If he knew,
everybody would know.

I firmly shake my head, refusing to allow the guilt to
swallow me whole and drown me in misery. Not this time.

Big Dick has a girlfriend, a potential old lady. I am with
Marshall now. Nobody knows the baby is Big’s.
I repeat on a
reel in my head. When we got back to my room a few hours ago, I paced until I
wore a permanent mark in the tile. Okay, so that’s a bit of an exaggeration. I
paced until I wore my ass out, and I laid down in my bed with Marshall to catch
a quick cat nap. It worked, I feel refreshed, but the dread that is floating
under the surface is still there. I know my arrival has been announced. I also know
from a text I received from Gunz that he has forbidden anyone from interrupting
me. Maybe it was a mistake to come.

Excessive biker hollering echoes in
the hall, and Marshall widens his eyes with uncertainty, staring at the closed
bedroom door.

“They’re already drinking in the
common room,” Debbie gently explains.

Thank you, Debbie! I already feel
like I have to hold his hand through this entire experience. He is the one who
wanted to attend the wedding and come a day early, not my problem. To me, it’s
the sounds of home. To him, it probably sounds like a bunch of feral lions on
the prowl. He wouldn’t be wrong there. However, I will not baby him. He’s a
grown ass man.

“When’s dinner?” I ask Dixie, whose
shoulder I still have my arm draped over.

Candy Cane glances down at her phone,
as she tugs it from her pocket. “My guess is the men are already scarfing it
down. It’s seven. The whores are already showing up.”

Marshall flinches at the word
whores
again. “Doesn’t that word sicken
you ladies?” he asks.

All of us glance at each other,
smirking, and Dixie is the one who breaks the seal, barking out a laugh. That
turns into a hysterical laughing fest. I double over holding my stomach, tears
streaming down my cheeks from laughing so hard. Dixie’s holding her chest,
projecting her amusement.

“God no, Marshall,” Jezebel is the
first to wind down her amusement, left to a giggle or two.

“I was a club whore,” Dixie singsongs
and clears her throat, swiping tears from her eyes. “Wooo, that was funny.
You’re a funny guy,” Dixie smacks Marshall on the shoulder, showing him
friendly affection. It’s a thing we do.

“Ummmm, okay,” he mutters, flashing
us a deer in headlights expression. This is really going to be a long night.

My stomach audibly grumbles.

“Sounds like the pregnant lady needs
to eat,” Debbie says.

I nod, rubbing my stomach. “I think
my daughter needs to eat, but I’ve got to change first. I’ll see y’all in a
bit.”