MC Chronicles: The Diary of Bink Cummings: Vol 2: (Motorcycle Club Romance Novel) (3 page)

“What’s up?” I prompt cautiously as I
casually tip back in my chair, kicking my boots onto the edge of my desk, with
my hands threaded behind my head, in a comfy non-threatening position.

Deke’s too nice of a guy and a worry
wart, so the less I make this a big deal, the quicker the man says what he’s
got to say. If not, we might be here for an hour or two, and I’ve got inventory
to run.

Sighing, Deke tugs at his hair and
takes a deep breath. “I got two things I need to say.” He pauses, as if he’s
trying to decide which subject to tackle first. “Well…I…umm… need some advice.”
Deke explains, speaking to the ground, avoiding eye contact completely.

“I figured as much.” I softly tease
with a half-smile, to let him know that I am up for whatever he may throw my
way. Pretty sure I might be the only person he can confide in that is halfway
sane and isn’t an old pervert.

“You see, Vivian, she’s been messin’
‘round with this dude from her work. I saw the texts on her phone a few nights
ago. They’re sexting, and it’s trashy as fuck.” He grumbles under his breath.
“Not like I give a fuck she’s with some dumbass tweaker, but I’ve got my kids
to worry about, ya know?” he glances up for my recognition, and I nod, egging
him forward with the story. It’s amazing he’s not even been in here for ten
minutes, and we’re already getting to the heart of the problem. That’s a rarity
for him.

“See… umm… here’s the thing. If I
leave her, which I’ve wanted to do for the past three fuckin’ years, I don’t
want her to have any access to the kids. She’s a shitty mom as it is, and I
can’t have them bein’ raised by a coke head. I’ve fed that habit long enough.
Held her hand through rehab three times in ten years, and she relapses over and
over. And the bitch has stepped out on me twice before this, and like the
dumbass I am, I took her back.”

This poor guy is breaking my heart
with this story. The paleness of his face and sunken in eyes tells me he’s
slept very little in the past few days. Poor Deke. He’s probably the nicest man
I’ve ever met, and he’s with one of the worst women.

Deke clears his throat, “Shit,” he
scoffs a partial demonic laugh, “I know Cherry ain’t even mine. The bitch got
knocked up by one of her stupid fuckin’ boy toys when I was locked up for six
months eight years ago. Me bein’ the nice guy I am, I stuck with her, figured I
owed her as much for stayin’ with me after I’d been to prison. Now this new
dude is in the picture, supplyin’ her coke habit and bangin’ her. I can’t take
care of another baby, Bink.” He looks up to meet my eyes, “I know that baby
won’t even be mine.” His voice is pained. I know he’s battling with something
internally, and I want to help so badly. I want to fix everything for him. Deke
deserves to have someone on his side.

I don’t speak as I drop my feet off
my desk and get out of my chair, headed straight to him. Reassuringly, I pat
his shoulder and sit next to him on the couch, positioning my body so I can
wrap my arms around him. And I do, I hold him because I know he needs it. Even
the baddest of bikers can let their walls down in the comfort of a woman’s
arms.

“It’s going to be alright.” I hug him
from the side, threading my fingers through his hair, and tilting his head to
rest it on my shoulder. Deke solemnly turns towards me and buries his face into
my breasts. Under different circumstances I would probably shove him away and
berate him for being a pervert. But this isn’t one of those times. He is
seeking comfort, and I am going to give him just that. Relaxing back onto the
couch, I take him with me and use my large beasts to my advantage, rocking his
head into them. One hand softly combs through his messy hair, as my other rubs
his back. His hot heavy breaths bathe my skin through my shirt, and my heart
aches for him.

We remain quiet for what feels like
an hour, as I continue to soothe him. “So,” I finally speak, barely above a
whisper. “What do you want to do? You know I will help in any way I can.”

Deke rolls his head to the side, and
gazes up at me, his eyes matted with unshed tears. I swallow hard to keep
myself from crying. I have to be his rock.

“What do you want to do, Sweetheart?” I comb through
his hair, and with a gentle smile, lean down and kiss his forehead.

“You’re a really good woman,” Deke mutters. “A really
fuckin’ good one.”

I don’t want to talk about that. I don’t think I’m a
good anything, except maybe an avoider, and if I am being really cocky, I can
suck good dick. But I’m confident that’s no longer true, considering Marshall
would never let me touch him down there with anything but my hand.

Shaking my head, I wash those
unwarranted thoughts from my mind. This is not the time or the place.

“So what
can
you do?” I rephrase my question to a more realistic one.

Deke shrugs and lifts his head from my breasts,
rubbing his eyes. He relaxes back into the couch beside me, our shoulders
touching. Reflectively I don’t even think about it as my hand rests on his
thigh. Don’t ask me why but I feel like I need to be touching him, to show him
my silent support. Call me crazy, I can’t help it.

“I’ve been talkin’ to Axel, you know, your friend
Pixie’s old man,” he explains.

I nod in understanding.

“I’ve known the man since I started in the club. I
told him about all this shit and asked how I drop an old lady. I know it’s like
some sick ceremony where I gotta burn her property cut and blacken in her name
on my back. He said Pixie would do it for me, since she’s a tattooist and
all…..” he sighs and continues. “Anyhow, so we got to talkin’, and he said they
could use some more brothers over at the original chapter. They got houses and
shit for me to raise my girls. They’ve even got a shop for me to work at.”

As much as I hate to hear this coming from his mouth,
Axel was right about all of it. It might actually be the best place for Deke to
go with his kids if he’s leaving Vivian. The brothers will protect him, and the
old ladies will help with his daughters. A ping of jealousy cuts to my heart at
the thought of him being there and not me. But I quickly dismiss those feelings
for nothing more than fond memories.

“So what is it you want to ask?”

“Um… what do ya think about the chapter? I mean, I
know you know the place. Your pops was a member there, right?”

I guess I should make this clear—Deke and I talk. He
knows that I have an association with the club. However, he knows nothing about
Big and I’s little fall out or me growing up there. I’ve been keeping all that
shit bottled up and to myself ever since I moved here. It’s been hard to keep
quiet, but maybe it’s time to come clean, if only to give reassurances to Deke
about patching over. I might not want to be there, but that doesn’t mean I
don’t love my family or think the club is a great place. I didn’t run from
them. I ran from
him
.

“Deke,” I sigh, squeezing his knee.
“My daddy is the VP down there and Big Dick is their president. I grew up on
the compound, so whatever questions you wanna know about the place, I’m pretty
sure I can answer.” It all comes tumbling out, and I still, holding my breath,
waiting as the clock on the wall ticks its taunting tick, eating up the eerie silence
of the tension-fogged room.

Please don’t yell. Please don’t yell
.

“Fuck,” Deke harshly blurts, smacking
his hand on the arm of the couch. A puff of dust floats into the air, and I
cough, covering my mouth.

“Fuck,” Deke repeats calmer. “
You’re
the fuckin’ president’s old lady.”
A statement, not a question.

My face bunches up in disgust. “
Excuse
me?” I throw out my attitude in
spades. Sitting I snap to gather eye contact.

What the fuck was that? His old lady?
I thought we covered this when I left.

“Yeah, Axel said somethin’ ‘bout the
club being a big fuckin’ mess when he first called to get you this job.
Somethin’ about the president’s old lady skippin’ town. You’re the old lady who
bailed, aren’t you?” He throws me a questioning look.

“Nuh—ooo,” my hands fly in the air
with emphasis, as I begin to talk animated with my hands. “Big Dick
wanted
me to be his old lady. I
never
agreed to it. I never wore a cut. I
never signed my life over to him. That is why I left. So yes, I guess you can
say I skipped out, but it wasn’t because I
was
his old lady, it was because
I didn’t want
to be
. There’s a huge difference.” I sure hope this sinks in; I do
not want to repeat myself.

“Okay….” Deke slowly glances down my
body.

Son of a bitch, please don’t ask the
question, nobody knows the truth.

“Is that
his
?” he asks, staring straight into my soul.

Lie Bink, just fucking lie to the man. He won’t know the goddamned
difference.
But shit, I am so tired of lying to everyone.
Enough is enough, my shoulders can’t hold any more of this load.

My attitude deflates, “Yes
, she
is his.” I rub my stomach, cradling
my baby bump, and my daughter who rests healthy inside.

Surprise!

Yeah, don’t scream at me, like Deke’s about to do. I
know I probably should have confessed. Remember that night I told you about
with the whole black out and me seeing Marshall in a new light…. Let’s
elaborate shall we? Before you want to strangle me too.

After the pizza and
the college talk, Brit got up and stomped back to her room, utterly pissed off
at her dad for being so nosy. Three minutes after she had left, my ‘stomach
flu’ reared its ugly head, and Marshall was the one to rub my back as my
stomach purged all of the delicious pizza into the porcelain throne.

Handing me a towel
to wipe my mouth, Marshall sat back onto the tiled bathroom floor, holding the
lantern as it casted an eerie glow in the small confined space. “You need to
see a doctor,” he suggested. “How long has this been going on?”

I tried to feign
indifference, but the truth was I had vomited every single day for over a week
and every other day for a few weeks prior. I hadn’t told a soul. Brit was the
only friend I had in the city, and most of the times I puked, she was gone, so
I kept it to myself. But I was exhausted, I had lost ten pounds, even though I
somehow felt fat, my clothes were starting to tighten, not loosen, like I had
suspected they should with my weight loss. I couldn’t handle the burden on my
own any longer.

“I’ve been puking
for about three weeks,” I honestly told Marshall.

A wash of
understanding came over his handsome face, and he reached out and took my hand
into his. “Eva, I think you’re pregnant,” he calmly voiced. For some odd reason
he wasn’t hurt or outraged, he was sweet and reassuring. His kindness melted my
heart, and shortly after that was when I knew I would be giving Marshall the
chance he deserved.

However, at the
time I pushed off that absurd notion of pregnancy with a scoff, yanked my hand
from his, and got up from the floor. “I am not,” I snapped.

“Let’s get a test
and just see. If you are, you will want to start taking vitamins, and
we
need to get you to the doctor,” he said,
standing up, as the word ‘
we
’
clung to me like it held a corporeal form.

After about a twenty-minute
argument with myself more so than him, we agreed to hit the drug store in the
morning after the sun came up. Marshall slept on the couch that night and took
the next day off work. We got up, and together we bought a pregnancy test. I
was too nervous to walk home to take it so I used the bathroom in the pharmacy.
It didn’t even take the allotted three minutes for a result. As soon as my
urine hit that stick both lines were bright as can be. I was pregnant, and the
worst of it, I was pregnant with Big’s child.

I cried like a mad
woman for days after that. I took a day off of work. I contemplated calling
Big, or telling someone, anyone, about my revelation, besides Marshall and
Brittany. I knew I couldn’t be honest with the sisters because they’d be forced
to confide in their old men, and in turn, the brothers would spill the beans.
Sure, my Sacred Sisters know I’m pregnant because they’ve seen my belly. We get
together every so often for a girls day. See, I haven’t cut everyone out of my
life.

Oh, and I’m huge at only twenty-three weeks. And well, they
haven’t really asked who the father is. I know for certain they haven’t told
their old men about it because I haven’t gotten the dreaded phone calls about
me being knocked up from my daddy, Gunz, or Big.

Now I know you are
sitting there thinking, ‘
God Bink you are such a stupid
bitch. You’re pregnant, and you haven’t even told the father.’
Yeah, I get it, I know it sounds horrible. But if
you remember correctly, Big is now fifty— five, zero. He’s also never shown any
interest in wanting a family. Owning me as an old lady, possibly. But an actual
family? No. My biggest fear was him trying to make me have an abortion. I
realize it’s the woman’s choice. However, Big, knowing him, he could go to some
serious lengths to make me do it. Not that I am saying he would. I’m just
saying that he
could
. And that
little tiny bit of
could
is what
has kept me from telling him. To be honest, it wasn’t just that, it was
Marshall too, and my own cowardice. Avoiding the hard truth and him seems the
best option. I know this is just a big sandwich of fuckedupness, dipped into a
hot steaming pot of what-the-hell-were-you-thinkin’.

“Bink. Hello. Bink.” Deke jerks my arm, and I shake my
head to snap out of my inner dialogue.

“Yeah?”

“Did you hear anything I said?” Deke’s not angry…
surprising….. He seems more concerned than anything else. Bonus points for me.