MC Chronicles: The Diary of Bink Cummings: Vol 2: (Motorcycle Club Romance Novel) (14 page)

I wave to them, heading to the
bathroom. Marshall is quick on my tail, shutting the door behind me and
slamming his back against door. I didn’t realize, but he’s actually sweating
and panting to catch his breath.

“You okay?” I ask, walking over to
the sink and pulling out my makeup.

“That was
intense
.”

I swallow the ball of laughter wanting
to bubble to the surface. He thinks that was bad. Ha! That was the easy part. I
don’t tell him that. I just nod, applying my makeup. Red lipstick, eyeliner,
volumizing mascara, blush—the whole gambit. I can’t walk into the common room
where my family will be without looking like a knockout. They haven’t seen me
since the end of September, and half of them it’s been even longer. Stripping
out of my clothes, I let Marshall calm his nerves that are just going to get
worse as the night progresses. Shuffling through my luggage on the floor, I dig
to the bottom of the bag and find what I am looking for. My secret weapon, so
to speak. A pair of tight leather maternity leggings, and a white, low cut,
scoop neck tank that fits over my body like a second skin. It’s sexy in every
sense of the word and pairs nicely with my black studded flats. I am going to
look
hot
.

Dressing in my new outfit, I give
myself a once over in the mirror. Looks good. Combing my fingers through my
hair to flatten out any strays, and I’m ready to rock ‘n roll. I turn to face
Marshall, and his eyes are closed, head tilted back, resting on the door.

“You ready?” I lazily point to the
doorknob. “You can stay in the room. I can go at it alone.” It doesn’t sound
like a bad idea to me.

Running his hands down the sides of
his shirt and pants, Marshall takes a deep breath and straightens his back.
“Let’s get this over with,” he opens the door, sweeping his hand for me to lead
the way.

By the door, I slip on my flats, and
out we go into the hallway. I lock my room to be on the safe side and tuck the
key into my lacy bra.

It’s loud as fuck out here. Music is
blasting from the common room, and there’s already a half-naked straggler
giggling as her boob’s bounce, hands clasped in a biker’s as he escorts her
with a grunt down the hallway to an open bedroom. Big has two rooms he clears
out and stocks with condoms and lube on major party days like this. It gives
the guys and women some privacy when things get a little hot. If not, it could
turn into a group orgy, and then Marshall would for sure have a coronary.

“You ready?” I start walking toward
the common room and kitchen, more people line the halls, and Marshall is so
close to me he’s bumping my backside.

“Hey Bink,” a brother I don’t recognize briefly two
finger waves, leaning against the hall wall engrossed in some conversation with
a topless whore, his finger tweaking her nipple. She doesn’t even seem fazed by
it.

I nod at him in acknowledgment and turn to the side to
pass a couple making out by the common room door.

“Hey, you fuckers, get a damn room and out of Bink’s
way,” Blimp orders, walking through the door and shoving the hot and heavy
couple to the side, leaving me plenty of room to pass without bumping my belly.

“Thanks, Blimp,” I raise to my tippy toes and peck him
on the cheek in thanks. He smiles behind that scraggly, pot scented beard, and
I smile right back.

“Missed ya, pretty lady,” he glances down, taking a
hit from his blunt. “Looks like we got a new biker in the making,” he says,
patting the top of my belly. Some women might be offended when a person openly
touches your stomach without permission, and I probably would be pissed if it
wasn’t someone I’ve known most of my life.

Blimp blows his smoke to the side to keep it from
hitting my face, and then looks at his blunt and back at me. “Fuck, okay, I’m
gonna go put this out,” he raises the fatty into the air. Kissing my cheek, he
shuffles around me and up the hallway to snuff his blunt out.

“Who was that? And was he smoking marijuana?” Marshall
yells in my ear because of the volume in here. His chest is against my back,
chin on my shoulder. Bumping my butt into his crotch, I nod and turn my head to
the side to reply, “That was Blimp, one of the brothers. And yes, he was
smoking pot.”

Fishing through the sea of bodies that leave us with
nothing but standing room in the main part of the clubhouse, I navigate to try
to find the girls. Runner waves as we pass him, as does Gypsy, still sporting
those thick dreads. I wave back with a genuine smile. I see Gunz up ahead
talking to Tripper and…. Oooh motherfucker! Big and Mary. I come to an abrupt
halt, and Marshall plows into me from behind, not paying attention. I stumble
forward, trying not to fall. Hands like vice grips grab my biceps keeping me
steady, and I glance up into the handsome face of Viper. Without thinking, I
instantly wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug. He
reciprocates, stuffing his nose into my hair.

“Thank you.” I’m out of breath, and my heart is
hammering in my chest. I was scared for a minute.

“No problem. And you look amazing,” he releases me and
steps back. Just like everybody else, his eyes drill a hole into my belly.
Raising a brow with a shit-eating grin, he doesn’t say a word to me about my
daughter. He darts his eyes over my shoulder to Marshall, and two finger points
at him in an aggressive manner. “You watch your fuckin’ self, pretty boy,” he
growls.

Marshall places a shaky hand on my shoulder, his
silent way of apologizing. Or maybe he’s peeing his pants and wants to use me
as a shield. Viper is kind of scary. If he has to bear the wrath of Big Dick,
that’s when he should be pissing his pants. The man is pure, raw malevolence
when he wants to be.

Viper’s handsome face softens, and he winks at me.
“You be good. I’ll catch you later.” He pecks my cheek and off he goes into the
crowd of drunken bodies, who are busy shootin’ the shit and half-assed dancing.

Just as I am about to turn around to talk with
Marshall, Gunz spots me with a grin, and I flick my eyes to Big and back to
Gunz. My way of communicating that I don’t want the epic Big and Bink showdown
right now. It’ll happen. My heart can’t handle it right now. I am happy to be
home. However, just the sight of Big has my body doing all kind of fucked up
things. It can’t decide how to react. My pussy is somehow wet, my clit throbs,
my belly has these stupid butterflies making me want to puke because they are
working overtime, my heart can’t stop pounding, and my body is tense. Not to
mention my mental state…it’s far worse.

Gunz singularly nods. Yep, he gets it, so I turn
around to face Marshall.

“There you are.” Jezebel and the girls find us. My
body loosens. Thank God they are here. I wrap my arm over Pixie’s shoulder and
tilt my head, connecting with hers. She wraps her arm around my lower back.

“I thought I was going to have a heart attack,” I
admit to my friends. Debbie, playing the mother hen, locks her arm with
Marshall’s and bumps his hip.

“I’ll show ya around. Bink’s got a lot to handle
already,” she explains to him, making eye contact with me. It’s like she knows
how I am about to explode with emotions. I faintly bow my head and mouth
‘thanks.’ She smiles, mouthing ‘my pleasure.’

A hand comes down hard on my shoulder, and I look over
it to see my brother Jizz. “I thought that was you,” he grins.

I release Pixie and spin around.

“Hey bro.” I punch him in the shoulder, and he fakes
pain, whining that I hurt him. I shake my head and laugh, “You’re an idiot.”

My daddy is right on Jizz’s tail, and he too joins us.
All of my siblings have blonde hair and blue eyes, like mine. My father’s hair
has turned white over the past five years, same as his beard. Even though he’s
just a few years over fifty, he looks older. Deep age lines crease his tanned
skin, and his arms are sleeved, muddled and dark from thirty-year-old tats.
Glancing around them, I try to spot my sisters or my mom. I don’t want to see
them. I am only bracing myself for the moment that I have to. Thankfully, today
doesn’t seem like the day.

“Hello there, young lady,” my daddy says.

“Hi, daddy,” I give him a quick one-armed hug and a
peck on the cheek. He grins, cuffing his hand around my hip and holding me to
his side.

Debbie, with her arm in Marshall’s, brings him to the
forefront, and I introduce my brother and my daddy to Marshall. They aren’t
impressed; I can tell when they shake his hand. Oh well… didn’t think many of
the brothers would like him, even if he was a biker.

“Hey! You’re here!” a messy blonde haired man shuffles
through the crowd, like he was waiting for me or something.

“Hi, Deke,” I greet, grinning as he joins our growing
group. “When’d you get in?”

“Last night.” He raises his chin in greeting to my
brother and dad, “VP, Jizz.”

They do the same in return. Bikers and their macho
mannerisms. Sometimes I wonder why they don’t beat on their chests like
cavemen. ‘Me Deke, You Steel, We Brothers.’ That’s how their actions feel
sometimes. Bikers occasionally do that half hug back pounding thing with their
palm or fist. The sound of it slapping on their cuts is a memorable one.
Although, the two finger wave, stiff singular nod, and jerked chin raise are
customary. Kissing of women’s cheeks and hugs are normal with the females.
Anything goes with the females really. You can let your softness show as long
as it has a pussy, not a cock. Damn men!

“How are you liking it here? The girls glad to see
their dad?” I’ve been worried about him and his daughters. Vivian is gone for
good. Deke is still in transition, trying to turn the shop from being his to a
club-owned business. That way he has less to handle. But he’s making sure they
keep all the current employees on the payroll. It’s commendable.

“They’re good. They are at Candy Cane’s right now with
the rest of the kids and the babysitters.” By babysitters, he means a few old
ladies who refuse to party and would rather spend their evening corralling a
butt load of rowdy children. No thank you. I’d rather be here.

Bulk, Axel, and Dallas soon join their old ladies,
bringing them fresh drinks, and extending their greetings by way of hugs to me
and handshakes with Marshall. Debbie sees to it that Dallas retrieves poor
Marshall a bottle of Bud. He hates beer, but he accepts it out of courtesy and
sips on it, trying not to pucker in disgust. The weirdest part of this is none
of them are surprised by my belly, neither is Jizz or my daddy. They are acting
so cool. Too cool. It’s very weird.

Leaning over to Pixie, who’s standing in front of
Axel, I whisper in her ear, as the men carry on, chatting guy shit. “How are
they not surprised about the belly?” I ask. My daddy’s hand tightens around my
hip, like he’s afraid to let go. My daddy’s not one for emotions or affection, so
this is a lot for him. It’s his way of saying he missed me as much as I missed
him.

“Gunz held a private church meeting this morning with
us old ladies at Candy Cane’s house. Not all the brothers could make it, but
most of ‘em did. That’s when he informed the brothers about you bringing
Marshall and you being pregnant. He was quite adamant that they don’t treat
Marshall rudely ‘cause it’ll drive you away and make ya mad. And he went scary
Gunz on them when he talked about your baby. He said they better be careful
around you, no smoking, no bumping into you. If somebody got out of hand, he’d
expect them to remove the problem, since we all know you’ve got a temper, and,
pregnant or not, you’d probably
fight a
fucker
. His words not mine,” Pixie explains into my ear.

That last part makes me lightly chuckle and shake my
head, amused. Gunz is right, I would fight a fucker.
I remember this one time when I was in my early twenties; I had come
to the clubhouse for something. My brother Brew was drunk and being a complete
asshole to this whore he wanted to fuck, but she’d told him no. He wasn’t
listening at all, and he shoved her to the ground, opened his fly, and smacked
the crying club whore in the face with his hard, pierced dick. I saw the whole
thing play out. One thing lead to another, and I got furious with his macho
antics. Before I knew it, I was in his face, jabbing his chest with my finger
and calling him a disgusting pig. I think I even spit in his face. He drunkenly
swung on me. I ducked, saved by the grace of God. That just fueled me more, and
I grabbed his dick that hung out of the front of his jeans and yanked. Brought
him to his knees in an instant. I still didn’t stop.

It took Gunz to hold him back from kicking my ass and Big to
keep me from doing the same. Big threw me over his shoulder, smacked my ass to
calm down, and carried me from the common room. Once we got into my room where
he dropped me like a sack of potatoes on my bed, I screamed at him, full of
rage. I got off the bed to kick his ass too, seeing nothing but red. Looking
back at it now, it’s kind of funny. A tiny Chihuahua trying to attack a massive
Great Dane. He held my forehead as I swung at him, and tormented me by
laughing.

“Yep, come on Muhammad
Ali. You can do better than that.” I swung, missing him by a mile. Reaching up,
I dug my nails into his hand for him to release my head and my hair, but he
wouldn’t.

I growled, “Fuck
off, Big. I’m going to pound you into the ground, you asshole.”

He laughed, mocking
me, “K, keep tryin’.”

I even tried
kicking, but his arms were too long, and I’m short everywhere. After about fifteen
minutes I’d finally worn myself out, and he picked me up and tucked me into
bed. With a kiss on my forehead and an amused snort, he said, “Good try,” and
left the room. I passed out from exhaustion shortly thereafter.

Tugging from my memories into the present, I am thrown
into a conversation where the men are discussing aftermarket motorcycle parts.
This is something I am well versed in.