MC Chronicles: The Diary of Bink Cummings: Vol 2: (Motorcycle Club Romance Novel) (16 page)

“Now you can leave and no more partying for you
tonight. Go home, alone,” I snap begrudgingly at Mickey. Tucking Marshall into
my bed, I tilt his head to the side just in case he vomits in his sleep.

“You can’t tell me what I—,” Mickey starts.

Gunz grabs the back of his neck, shoving his head
down, and shutting him up in the process. “You really want to finish that
sentence?
That
woman tells you to
jump, you fuckin’ ask how high. She says she wants a pink pony with a sparkly
saddle, you say yes ma’am, and you get it for her. If she tells you to go the
fuck home, alone, and no more partying, what the fuck do you do, brother?”

Woo wee, Gunz is such a badass.

I rub my tummy, look down at it, and whisper to
Harley, “You hear that, Grandpa Gunz is a hardass.”

Mickey lowly grumbles his dejected answer, “I go home
alone.”

“That’s right. Now get the hell outta here, and we’ll
see you at the wedding tomorrow.” Gunz releases his neck and shoves him toward
the door.

I sigh, “What a night,” shutting the door in Mickey’s
wake.

“Tell me about it. For a minute, I thought you were
gonna kill him. And before that, in the kitchen, I thought you were about to
have a panic attack. What the hell happened back there anyhow?” Gunz points to
the door.

I sit on the edge of the bed, curling my arms around
my belly as Gunz leans his back against my wall, slipping another sucker from
his cut.

“Viper told me the chocolate chip cookies were made by
Marylou.” I hate saying her name aloud and worse I hate admitting that it
affected me like it did. It shouldn’t, I know that. Doesn’t change a thing
though, now does it?

Gunz bobs his head in understanding, twirling his
lollypop. “I get that. If it helps, I refused to eat one. I know where my
loyalty lies, and it ain’t with that bimbo.”

Damn.
That was harsh, even for Gunz.

“She seems nice,” I comment.

“She’s dumber than a box of hair. Fuck, her hair ain’t
even real blonde. It’s brown. And the girl’s barely over twenty-one. What the
hell a fifty year old man sees in a twenty year old girl is sick, even for me.
Don’t get me wrong, she’s got a nice rack. Flat ass though. And couldn’t suck a
dick to save her life.”

I raise a snarky brow, “And how would you know that,
Grandpa?”

“Hush it,” he roughly demands, cracking a playful
grin, with that naughty spark glittering in his eyes. “I’ve seen her suck Big’s
dick, that’s how I know. And when she was new, we mighta shared her
once
.”

I can’t suppress a humorous gasp; it just comes
barreling out. My hand goes to my mouth and I laugh behind it, “You did not.” I
pause to calm my laughing. “And all this shit about her being too young yet you
fucked her? For shame, Grandpa, for shame.”

I can’t help teasing him. Even if I
don’t like the thought of Big having her as his girlfriend, I could care less
about Gunz and Big tag teaming her. This isn’t the tenth or even the twentieth
time I’ve heard about them sharing. They have over twenty years practice. From
what I understand, they are like a well-oiled machine when they tag team. You
can kind of appreciate the beauty of it, if you separate yourself from the
participants and focus on the primal act of a hot threesome. Believe it or not,
that is one thing I’ve yet to experience. Not that I’d ever consider a Gunz and
Big sandwich as a viable option. Big, yes. Gunz, hell to the no. He’s a
good-looking man and kinky as fuck. But he’s also like a father to me, and
daughters don’t bang their fathers.

“It was the first one we’ve done in about a year. It
fuckin’ sucked. I don’t even know why I waste my time sleeping with anyone ‘cept
Niki anymore. That dirty whore is the only one to get my motor runnin’ full
fuckin’ speed,” Gunz explains.

“Takes a kinky fucker to know a kinky bitch,” I
retort.

Gunz tugs the sucker from his mouth and shakes it at
me, “Now that’s the damn truth.”

I lose it at his serious expression and start to
laugh.

Slapping my leg, I muse, “I can’t…
believe… you… said… that...,” between laughs.

Remaining impassive, he shrugs indifferently. “Ain’t
no secret we’re both freaks in the bedroom. Never gonna deny that shit. Neither
is she,” he states deadpan.

“Um… okay, gramps. What do you want us to do? It’s not
even midnight, and the party is still in full swing. Do you think I’d be a
horrible girlfriend if I left him in here to sleep off the drugs and returned
to the party?”

“No, he wasn’t havin’ fun anyhow. Just behave, and
let’s try to avoid Big for the rest of the night, shall we?”

I stand up, “We shall.”

“Don’t look,” Jezebel covers my eyes
with her hand.

We’ve been sitting here for the past two hours on the
couch with chairs pulled into a semicircle around us. I love having family
time. All my Sacred Sisters are having a late night with me. The wedding
doesn’t start till three tomorrow, so we’ve got plenty of time to recover. Or
they do; I’m not drinking anything except water that is specifically bottled
and opened on my own. I can’t trust anyone. The place has turned into a fuck
zone, just like I knew it would. Gunz has gone and drug Niki off to his
bedroom. Runner is at the bar fucking some super thin, brunette chick, doggy
style while pulling her hair. Don’t think she likes it though because she keeps
slapping his hand to let go. He’s not listening one iota; if anything, his hand
is wrapping tighter around her hair.

Blimp’s in the corner with the window cracked open,
smoking a fatty with a whore on her knees between his legs, deep-throating his
dick. A shit ton of brothers are making out or fondling half-naked whores.
Dallas has Debbie sitting on his lap across from me on a chair with his hand up
her skirt, fingering her pussy. I can’t see her girl bits, but I see his hand
working its magic. She can’t sit still; she’s squirming all over the place and
attempting to keep quiet. The talented Jez is next to me on the couch fondling
Bulk over his jeans. Such a cock tease. The music is loud enough that it drowns
out most of the moans and grunts. Just another party night in the land of the Scared
Sinners.

“Would you like to tell me what I can’t look at?” I
play into her warning. It’s not a funny ha-ha one. She’s dead serious, I can
tell.

“You sure you want to know?”

My hand grips the arm of the couch with eerie
anticipation. “Y—e—s,” I drawl.

“Big has Mary on the pool table, and he’s balls deep
in her pussy.”

Well fuck! Maybe I didn’t want to know that shit.
Change of plans -- I can’t sit here, the pool table is way too close, and my
wandering eye will glance if I don’t remain in control of myself. I can’t let
this affect me. I just can’t. I’ve grown accustomed to them being in this room.
I’ve seen him holding her half the night— his chest to her back and arms
cradling around her stomach. I hate to admit it, but they look good together,
and fit well. He’s exceptionally tall, and she’s much taller than I am. They
make a pretty nice couple. At first, it hurt like a son of a bitch to see them
together. Now, I’ve willed it down to a dull ache. A dull ache I can handle.
What I can’t handle is a full on meltdown. I’m a mature adult most of the time.
All I need to do is change my scenery.

Pushing up from the couch while cradling my belly, I
explain, “I’m going to go dance.”

Dancing will keep me occupied. I can do it with my
eyes closed, and it’s a nice change of pace. The party has already dwindled
some, so there is more room to move about. The pool table is in the far corner
of the room, and the dance floor is closer to the front, making it opposite of
each other in the rectangular room. I refuse to run out of here like a pussy.
That would show my weakness, and I can’t do that again. Once is an oopsie, but
twice is nonnegotiable, it ain’t fuckin’ happening. Sometimes you have to face
your biggest fears, and suck it the fuck up. Rub some dirt on it. Except this
wound is the size of the damn Grand Canyon in my chest. There’s not enough dirt
in the world to fill this idiotic, unwanted void.

Slowly, as to not draw attention to myself, I saunter
over to the dance floor and start dancing. I shut everything and everyone else
out and focus on my body’s movements and the rock music. The vibrations operate
the sway of my hips and the bounce in my step.

When we got back to the party after the Mickey
incident, Gunz saw to it that I was alright before he left with Niki to get his
fill. White Boy brought over his curly redheaded date that he’d told me about
this morning and introduced us. Her name’s Jessy, and I spent half an hour
conversing with her. She is sweet as a button, and I had no idea how she got
roped into frequenting a place this rough, until she told me Niki is her older
cousin. Then it all seemed to fall into place. After that, I sat on the couch,
and the sex proclivities started to jump into full swing. Alcohol plus willing
women equals lots and lots of sex. And there’s an abundance of alcohol here.

Four songs down, and I’m glistening with a thin layer
of sweat. A hand taps me on my shoulder. Spinning on my heel, I open my eyes.

“May I have this dance?” Deke offers his hand with an
unexpected bow.

I accept it into mine, threading our fingers together.
“You may.”

We dance to the end of an old rock song, which
switches into a song I love and know by heart –Metallica’s
Turn the Page
. Deke and I sway like
teenagers who have two left feet, and I relish in it. Lip-syncing and resting
my head on his chest, I listen to the gentle lub-lub of his heart as his arms
engulf me, holding me close. My arms loosely drape over his shoulders.

I feel like I can breathe now. Deke’s
warmth and comfort somehow extracts all the bad energy and pain I’ve been
withholding and washes it all away. My muscles loosen, and the vice that is on
my heart slackens. Until I hear
it
.
A demented growl erupts, slicing the serenity in the drunken lust-filled room
like a dull blade. I try to ignore it by tightening my arms around Deke.

He stops our lazy dance. Pressing his
lips to the top of my head, he whispers, “We’ve got a problem.”

“What?” I mutter into his chest, my lips grazing the
cotton of his t-shirt.

“There’s a red-faced president leaning against the
jukebox, staring at me like he wants to eat me for dinner,” Deke explains, as his
heart rate quickens and the muscles in his chest and abs contract. He’s on
guard.

“Ignore the asshole. He’ll go away,” I mutter.

“Um… I don’t think so. He’s pointing to me and
mouthing for me to let you go.”

No he didn’t, that’s not Big’s style. “What did he
really
mouth?” I sternly ask.

“Let her go now, or I’ll cut your balls off. He’s
mimicking his threats,” Deke stiffens, “oh… and he just opened his cut to show
me he’s packin’.”

Son of a bitch! One friggin’ dance. I can’t even get
one friggin’ dance? Big, why in the hell do you make my life so damn difficult?
I pull away from Deke, grab his face, and tug it down so I can kiss his cheek.
Big growls louder as I do this.

Yeah, I know, asshole, you have possessive control
problems. If I wanted to risk Deke’s life, I’d kiss him straight on the mouth.
However, I like him too much to make him endure that sort of punishment.

“Alright, alright, already, he’s leaving me alone, you
fucking control freak,” I gruffly yell, snapping to face the asshole himself.
If people hadn’t stopped what they were doing before my outburst, they have
now. It’s the Big and Bink show. Grab your popcorn and candy and take a seat,
the fight is about to begin.

Big is leaning his shoulder on the side of the jukebox
like Deke had said. His arms are angrily tucked over his chest, ankles crossed,
as he glares at me with a brutal sneer; he looks like he wants to tear me limb
from limb on the spot. Or he’s trying to will my slow, agonizing death into
reality. News flash, I can handle this shit. Been there, done that a hundred
million times before, or so it seems. He doesn’t scare me. Not anymore.

I glare the asshole down, while grinding my jaw and
defiantly throwing my own arms across my chest. I loudly tap my foot in
agitation on the floor. It’s a standoff. Bring it on you behemoth motherfucker.

He bends forward and yanks the power cord out of the wall,
dropping it to the floor with an echoing clunk. The music ceases to exist, and
the hostility in the air thickens tenfold.

Cue the cutesy girlfriend. “What’s going on, Big?” She
magically appears at his side, her hand gliding over his thick bicep and across
his deliciously broad chest in a comforting gesture, as her hefty breasts brush
his bent elbow. I want to look away. I don’t want to see this. It makes things
worse, much worse. But I suck it up. If I drop my vicious glare, he’ll have
won. Not happening. This shit-stain can eat my dust.