MC Chronicles: The Diary of Bink Cummings: Vol 2: (Motorcycle Club Romance Novel) (25 page)

“Why would you think that?” his
nostrils flare and eyes glaze into self-preservation mode.

“You had reddened lips,” I keep my
hands loose at my sides, unthreatening, and ignore the bikers, suddenly
interested in our newest squabble. I am not going to fight with him. We had a
couple of nice dances, and I am too exhausted. Plus, I’m leaving tomorrow
morning, and I’d hate to end this weekend in a catastrophic battle, where
neither of us would win. Then I’d go home even more miserable than when I
arrived, and we wouldn’t talk for another six months. I don’t want that, and
from the softening clarity in his eyes, he doesn’t either.

“I didn’t have sex with her,” he avows.
“We talked for a second, and I kissed her to make her shut up. That’s all.”

That makes sense, and now I feel like
an idiot.

My shoulders deflate losing their
buoyancy, and my head slumps forward, chin dropping to my chest. “Sorry,” I
utter dolefully, staring at my hot pink polished toes.

“It’s okay,” he steps forward,
wrapping his arm over my shoulder. The weight feels like it may crumble me to
dust at any moment. I’m such an imbalanced wreck. “I know you’re leavin’
tomorrow, but I wanted to see if ya’d like to see the cute pups.”

I halfheartedly grin, there goes Big
and that word,
cute
.

“Sure…” I sigh. “When?”

“Now?” A question, not a demand.
That’s nice for a change.

“Sure,” I mutter, my face still
looking down.

The song ends, and I muster up enough
balls to straighten myself out and shove these bizarre emotions down where they
belong. I wish for once I didn’t feel like I could cry one second and blow off
the hinges the next. I swear that will be the thing I am most grateful to rid
myself of once Harley is born -- no more hormonal imbalances I can’t control.
A-to-the-fuckin’-men.

Big with his arm still draped over my
shoulder escorts me off the dance floor, where he drops his arm and reaches out
to take my hand, threading our fingers together. My stomach lurches with
teenage excitement at the giddy feeling.

Big and I wave to our family, as we
pass them by and head toward the hallway. It shouldn’t take long to see
Pretzel. I miss that little shit. I wonder if that turd will still remember me.

Out the back of the clubhouse, the
sun has just begun dipping into the horizon. Fresh hues of pink and orange wash
through the sky like a watercolor painting.

“It’s beautiful,” I comment, looking
up as Big drags me hand-in-hand behind him, past the deconstructed ceremonial
site and the two barren fire pits toward the paved road. Glancing down, I
realize that I forgot to put shoes on. Oops, oh well.

“What is?” he asks after a moment,
his determined feet striding faster than my short legs can carry me without
breaking into a jog.

“The sky,” I blurt. “Now Big could ya
please slow down,” I jerk my hand, trying to break away from him. If he wants
to be Speedy Gonzales, then so be it. Doesn’t mean I want to be dragged along
like a toddler.

He stops walking altogether and waits
for me to make the last few steps to sidle up to his left. “Sorry,” he says, “we
good now? Or do you want to take a break?”

I scrunch my nose up at him, “Uh, no,
I can walk.”

“Where’s he at?” I ask, descending
the basement steps of Big’s house with Big following a few steps behind.

“He’s in the basement. I kept him
down here for the weekend. Wanted him away from all the chaos at the
clubhouse,” he explains as my hand curls around the cool handle of the basement
door. The last time I was down here was the night before I left Big to move to
Chicago. It seems like such a long time ago, almost like another life.

Turning the knob and shoving the
reinforced door wide, the same dark red walls capture my attention, but I don’t
hear or see any dog as I scan the wide-open space.

“You sure he’s down here?” I ease
into the room, looking left and right. It’s not changed a bit.

“Yeah, he’s probably in my bedroom
sleeping. Go on back and check,” Big urges, stepping down the final step into
the basement behind me.

I listen to his instructions and pad
my bare feet along the cool wooden floor and down the hall lined with vintage
Harley pictures. “Pretzel?” I call out. The sound of a soft whine and a tail
slapping the hardwood is my greeting as I stop in front of Big’s closed bedroom
door.

“Pretzel, is that you?” I crack the
bedroom door open. A wet nose nudges the gap wider trying to push its way out,
so I release the knob to let him root his escape. Wiggling his body like an
eager crack fiend, Pretzel comes barreling out of the bedroom. Colliding with
my legs, he rectifies his excitement by placing his hind end on the floor to
sit posed and obedient. Sure, when I had him before he sat most of the time on
command. This time he went to it intuitively. I’m delighted the training Big
placed him in was money well spent.

Crouching, I slowly reach out and touch my pup’s
resolute head. You wouldn’t know this dog was excited if not for his bright
puppy dog eyes and wildly whipping tail. My hand runs down the crown of his
head and the length of his back. I don’t know the commands he’s learned to
obey, but this militant doggy pose isn’t lax enough for me. Shuffling backward
on my crouched feet, my back touches the hall wall, and I use it to guide me
safely down to sit on the floor. Tucking my legs into Indian style, I wave my hands
and tell Pretzel to come. He listens, shaking out of his obedient form, and
transforms into the happy go lucky dog I’ve loved for years. His wet nose roots
my tucked legs, and I reach out to wrap my arms around his muscled doggy form,
and pull him into my lap the best I can. Like a dog always does, he rolls onto
his back, offering up his belly for a good rubdown. I follow his lead, and
scratch his upturned form.

“That’s a good boy, Pretzel,” I baby talk, scratching
his doggy armpits, as his body is splayed before me. “I missed you, boy.”

A minute passes, and my fingers have scratched and
rubbed from his stomach to under his chin. I turn my head to peer down the
hall. No Big.

“Big,” I call out.

Silence.

“Big,” I raise my voice just in case he couldn’t hear
me the first time.

Silence.

Rolling Pretzel off my legs and onto his side on the
polished hardwood floor, he eagerly scrambles to his feet, panting, and ready
to play. Curling my legs under me and pressing my hands to the floor, I shove
myself up to stand, using the wall as extra support.

“Big?” I hesitantly call. A strange feeling washes
over me, as I walk down the hall. Reaching the end, I glance over the living
space. Nothing. No Big. This isn’t good. My stomach drops.

“Big,” I thickly croak, taking a few last steps toward
the couch and pivoting to set my sight on the closed basement door. Eerily, I
pad my way to it, and try the knob.
Locked
.
I yank on it.
Locked
. I try to
unhinge the locks and yank on the door. Nothing. Still locked.

My side turned fists bang on the
door. “Big!” I let out a high-pitched screech, as Pretzel comes to brush up
against my calves offering his silent moral support. “Big!” I bang louder, my
fists manically colliding with the metal. “Big!”

My body quivers and goose bumps flare, as a wave of
frightened realization transpires. Tears I wish would never arise do. I’m
locked in. He trapped me, using my dog as bait. Mustering up all the strength I
can, my fists relentlessly pound on the door, and I scream his name. Over and
over, I unleash all of my emotions with each powerful blow. Tears I try to
blink away flow freely, streaming down my face like a waterfall. Dropping off
my chin in fat plops, they land on my breasts and stomach. Forcefully, I suck
air through my nose to keep it from running, and keep pounding my flesh to the
point of raw pain. My voice grows hoarse and scratchy, screaming his name.

How could he do this to me?

My chest heaves for oxygen. Anxiety
tainted sweat trickles down the sides of my face, fusing with my tears. I exert
all my energy into the door, as if somehow I hit it enough or if I punch it
enough, it will just magically disintegrate, vanishing in front of my very
eyes. That is fantasy, and this is reality. I am held captive in Big’s impenetrable
fallout shelter of a basement.

“Big, you fucking asshole! Let me out!” I don’t give
up. My eyes no longer see the door, as they become swollen and blurred with
liquid defeat. My tiring body powers forward. I won’t give up. Never give up. I
can’t believe he’d do this to me.

“Big! You fucking dickwad, let me out,” I croak, my lip quivering, the muscles in my arms wrung out from
exertion, turning to overcooked noodles. Another radiating blow to my savaged
fists makes me whimper, and I stop as the pain becomes too much to bear.
Opening my palms, I lay them flat on the cool door and lean forward, resting my
forehead on the unblemished surface.

“Why did you do this to me?” I speak aloud to no one.
“You can’t keep me prisoner forever.”

Even though, I have no doubt he would try. If he went
to this length to keep me under lock and key already, I wouldn’t put him past
him to try to hide me away in his biker castle to use as he sees fit, turning
me into a modern-day version of
The Other
Boleyn Girl
. Me, his whore, to which he stows away and uses for
pleasure and to bear his children, while he exploits Marylou as his girlfriend
and old lady proxy. Okay, maybe I’m getting ahead of myself. I’m not thinking
clearly; I’m well past drained and running on fumes here. But let me tell ya, I
am fed up with this war that continually wages on between Big and myself. It’s
a battle that could never be won. This was his strategic maneuver to
deceptively lure me to the basement and imprison me. I can’t change what is. I
can only decide how to respond to what has transpired.

Shoving off the door with a pain-laden grunt, I
shuffle back down the hall to Big’s room. Pretzel follows me inside as I shut
and lock the door. Throwing myself onto the plush, man scented bed, I sprawl
out and melt into the mattress, ignoring the throbbing in my hands, the pain in
my heart, or the growling of my stomach that’s begging for sustenance. On my
back, I scoot further up the bed and pat the mattress for Pretzel to join me.
He jumps in.

I can’t change Big’s actions on what
he just subjected me to, and I refuse to allow myself to wallow in it any
longer. I will face him head on the next time he shows his stupidly handsome
face. And then, I will unleash all of this pent up pissedoffness. Yes, I know
that isn’t even a word, but I’ve just invented it, so deal, will ya?

You might think I am fuckin’ nuts for going to sleep
now, or that I’ve resigned myself to the fact that I have no power at this
point in time. How would you handle it? I, for one, know that those heavy balls
of his are askin’ for a swift knee buckling kick. That’s going to be added to
Bink’s list of things to do to Big when I can get my hands on him next.
Asshole!

Curling onto my side, I tug my pup closer to spoon
him. Resting my head on the top of my pup’s head, my eyes flutter from
exhaustion, and I sigh to release the last fraction of anxiety from my bones.

Night, night all.

Peace.

Sunday: March 23, 2014

You have got to be
shitting me!

I shake my head frantically, trying to jiggle off the
large clammy hand that’s wrapped around my throat, as I screech, “Let me go!”

No pressure is being squeezed to my
esophagus, but the angry beast hovering above me is like a fire breathing
dragon, as his taut, menacing body traps me to the bed. His hot breath swirls
in a vortex of menace and mayhem, surrounding us.

Three minutes ago, the tornado to rival all tornados came thundering into the basement, blasting through the door and laying destruction to everything in its path. The Harley photos in the hall are crushed to the floor. The bedroom door kicked in and left dangling by one hinge. The clothes in his closet are torn from the hangers, and some t-shirts were shredded by his brute strength. I darted awake when the downstairs door imploded and became stuck in dreary shock when he came barreling like an animal down the hall and broke in. I didn’t know what to do. For a fleeting moment, I was petrified, and when my wits had finally cemented in place, I tried to escape by running away from the beast. He, with more care than I anticipated, lifted me with ease and shoved me down into the bed, where he’s straddled my legs and has secured both of my wrists together above my head, his one hand caving them into the mattress from his inhuman strength. The other hand clamped possessively, not painfully, around my throat, constricting just slightly to exert that he means serious business.

Big might be on a rampage, like I’ve
never seen before, and he might roughly manhandle me. However, he’s not hurt me
in any way. He’s just throwing his weight around to prove a point. A point the
asshole hasn’t spit out yet. He’s too busy searching my face for something, not
sure what, while he malevolently growls, like a thunderstorm clashing in his
puffed out chest. He heaves for breath, with a permanent grimace constricting
his handsome features. A year ago, this would have frightened the hell out of me.
Now, I just wait it out until he reels in whatever it is that got him pissed
off in the first place. Then, my fist will connect with his balls, and I will
be the one to lash out, seeking my own revenge for locking me down here last
night. The dickhead will get what’s coming to him, you can bet your ass on that
one.