The Diary of Bink Cummings: Vol 1 (MC Chronicles #1) (22 page)

“Did I hear something about a stallion?” Axel says,
pushing open the steel basement door. Pixie curls into herself, legs to her
chest, embarrassed as hell.

“Yes, your old lady was just explaining how lucky she
is to have you.” Candy Cane covers for us. God love that woman.

“Awe, right back atcha, Sweetheart,” Axel winks at his
wife, and the turtle peeks back out of her shell with a cutesy smile. They are
such an adorable couple. Tattoos, his southern charm, her meekness. It blends
well. They’re lucky.

“What can we do you for?” Debbie asks, her legs tucked
under her on the black lounge chair, a fleece blanket strewn over her legs, hair
bunched into a messy bun atop her head.

“Dinner at the clubhouse tonight,” Axel explains,
standing behind the back of the couch.

“Who’s cooking?” I ask.

“The club whores.”

My nose bunches up in disgust. “Can you be more
specific? Only a few of them know how to cook.”

“No, sorry, I can’t. I just got a text to come down
and tell y’all dinner’s ‘bout ready. The rain’s stopped so you can walk up
whenever you’re done with this.” He gestures to our group bitch session. “You
know, talkin’ about us stallions and all.” Axel snickers as he leans over the
back of the couch to peck his old lady on the forehead and waves us a friendly
goodbye before he ascends the stairs.

“I’m not goin’.” I decisively declare once he’s out of
earshot.

“You have to go. You’re our entertainment.” Debbie
stands, draping the blanket over the back of her chair.

“I am not. And you all aren’t even supposed to be
around the whores anyhow. That’s against club protocol.” There is no way on
God’s green earth you could drag me back into that clubhouse without me kicking
and screaming. Not after the B.S. that Big spouted off today. It hasn’t even
been twelve hours. I need some distance.

My phone buzzes on the end table next to me. Sitting
up straight, I check the screen. It’s from Dixie, the club whore’s den mother.
So I snatch up my phone.

Dixie: We’ve got two problems. Gunz, Big, and Tripper
are all drunk off their asses. And somebody just told Big about Gunz hurting
you last night. They are stupidly circling each other around the pool table. I
don’t know what to do. The brothers said to let them fight it out. But I wanted
you to know.

“Motherfucker!” I shout. “One fucking day. Can’t I
ever get one fucking day when these stupid grown ass men don’t need a mommy to
handle their business for them? I swear to Jesus himself I am going to beat
both of their asses raw.” I can’t believe this crap!

Shoving up from the couch, buzzed and utterly pissed
off, I stalk angrily toward my bedroom and retrieve my shit-kickers before
returning to the living area. “Last night as you all know Gunz tackled me. I
didn’t tell Big about it because…” I pause, tugging on my socks and boots.
“Well, I didn’t want him to know. I knew he’d go all gorilla beast man on Gunz
for no reason. Dixie just texted saying both men are hammered and somebody - my
guess would be Runner - opened his big fat mouth and told Big. And like I
thought, he’s going beast man psycho on Gunz right now. So much for not going
to the clubhouse tonight.”

“We’ve got your back.” Pixie flanks my left side.

“Let’s go kick some honey buns.” Jezebel claims my
right, and we take to the stairs.

“You know, Jez, you should really stop watching so
many Disney movies,” I tease her.

“The fact that you know that is from a Disney movie tells
me you should do the same.”

I chuckle as we approach the front door and Axel,
who’s perched on one of the porch’s rocking chairs, is reading a book.

“Fight at the clubhouse, you wanna come? It’s gonna be
one helluva show.” I tell him, walking down the front steps. Axel joins our
growing posse, and three minutes later, we are entering the clubhouse’s
backdoor.

Taking the lead, I escort our five-man party down the
hall and into the common room, where all of the chaos is currently unfolding.
The hoots and hollers could be heard as soon as we entered the building. And
there, strutting around the pool table like carnal lions on the prowl, decked
out in bandanas, their cuts, and jeans, are both of the dumbasses themselves.
Just like Dixie had described.

No more dicking around. This shit has got to stop.

I leave my group to fend for themselves and throw
myself head first out of the frying pan and into the blistering fire.

“Hey, assholes, what do you think you’re doing?” I
stop at the far edge of the pool table. Leaning forward, my palms rest on the
felt. Big’s death glare is pinned on Gunz as he rolls two pool balls around
each other in one hand. Gunz is concentrating on his President’s every move.
They are implicitly ignoring me, or they just didn’t hear me. Not sure because
it’s deafening in this testosterone trap in here. Between the majority of
brothers cheering them on, a few of them demanding they cut it out, and, the
music blaring at eardrum bursting levels, this place would be considered a bit
unnerving.

“So, you put your hands on my old lady and ya don’t
even have the decency to tell me?” Big curls his lips over his teeth, snarling
above the roar of the room.

Not this old lady shit again. I’ve already had about
enough of this aggravating nonsense. The question at hand is this. Do I address
them both? Or do I isolate my efforts into distracting one of them? I’ll be
readdressing the old lady stuff when I can really knock some sense into Big.
Now is not the time. Obviously.

Both inebriated fools continue to deliberately pace
around the pool table, like the calm before the perfect storm. Big stops at a
corner, and I feel the hostility pour off him in bouts of spine-chilling tidal
waves. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this enraged. The worst thing is he
shouldn’t even be up drinking or engaging in any sort of violence. The man was
just shot through the shoulder last night for cryin’ out loud.

“Are you going to tell me?” Big Dick thunderously
booms, a bestial glaze casting over his features, clouding his blue eyes, into
an unearthly craze. I catch it all unfurling. Each muscle that swells. Every
vein that protrudes from his arms and neck. The tick of his uneasy, ever
calculating jaw. The deep inhale and slow exhale of each adrenaline-coursing
breath. He’s ready, and at any second the malicious beast will savagely strike.

I react and attack him head on, the only way I know
how without allowing him to enact violence. Grabbing the hem of my tank top, I
pull it over my head, exposing my breasts in all of their bare mountainous
glory. And as I anticipated, the room, without delay, erupts into raucous
catcalls and applause.

Big’s eye’s shift from his target to my breasts. With
one swift motion, he tosses the balls back onto the table and races toward me.
Flipping me over his uninjured shoulder in haste, he carries me from the room.
Down the hall, he strolls inexpressively until we enter his bedroom, and he
throws me down onto the bed with a pain-laden grunt and a curse.

“What the hell were you thinkin’?” he demands,
tirelessly pacing his room in long lusty strides while his hands scrub the
smoothness of his freshly shaven skin.

Scooting back onto the bed, and pulling my knees up to
cover my chest, I reply, “What was I thinking? What were you thinking? You were
just about to attack one of your best friends.”

“No…no… I wasn’t.”

“Yes, yes, you were. I know that look you get when
your mind races, and you are about to lose your shit. Don’t act like I don’t.”

Big stops pacing, and stares straight through me. Into
my very soul. I quiver. “
You
notice this about me? And you still think I’m crazy for wantin’ to claim you as
my old lady?”

“We are not discussing that.” I’m dismissively stern.
“I only came because Dixie said that someone had spilled the beans about Gunz
tackling me last night. I didn’t think it was right leaving him to get his ass
handed to him by his President over dinner. Or at all for that matter.”

Big resumes pacing, “That is not your place to decide.
If I had done that to Debbie or Candy Cane, do you think I’d get off? Do you
think I wouldn’t be served club justice for touching a member’s old lady?
Whether it be with the intent to harm or not is of no importance. Your arms are
torn up because of Gunz, and for that Gunz will suffer the club’s consequences.
He knows it, that’s why he didn’t run when I faced him head on. All you did was
bide his time. Gunz’s time will come, Sugar Tits, and there ain’t a damn thing
your mouthy ass can do about it. Ya got me?”

I have zero ounce of strength left in me to argue. To be
honest, it’s getting old fast. I hate this whole lockdown shit. I just want to
go back to my tiny apartment and live by myself until Pretzel comes home. Then
it’ll be back to normal. Just me, my pups, and the peace and quiet. I miss
those days.

“When is the lockdown going to be over?” Untucking my
legs, I sprawl out across the bed. I really should have stayed back at Big’s
house. I thought I was protecting Gunz, but I guess that was wishful thinking
on my part. This was a big fat waste of time, and I hate being stuck in the
presence of this self-righteous jerk when he’s like this. Nothing, and I do
mean nothing, is going to sink into his thick head when he’s like this. The one
attached to his shoulders. You know…not the other one I know you’re thinking about.
You pervert. Or maybe I’m the pervert. I’m thinking about
that
head too. Damn me. Just thinking of
it has my clit buzzing.

Nope, I will not allow myself to think about that.
He’s an asshole, Bink. Get your shit together. You
don’t like him. You think he’s a jerk. A hot one and an old one. Nevertheless,
he’s a controlling jerk head.
Yup—that works. No more wet pussy.
Thank you, pep talk.

I reel myself out of my deceptive thoughts and into
the moment.

“I don’t know,” he huffs, tirelessly. “I was hoping it
would be over by now. Your brothers and Steel are takin’ care of it. So when
they come home, the lockdown will be over. Talked to ‘em today, guessin’ it’ll
be a week more. Lots of bad blood bein’ stirred. I offered to ride out and meet
them to deal with this shit head on, but my VP says he’s got it covered. And I
trust him to do the club proud, or he wouldn’t be my VP.” Big jerks his chin in
my direction. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” I morosely mutter. “Then I suppose I need to
put a shirt on and get back to dinner.” I scamper out of the bed and head
toward Big’s closet. He doesn’t let me get far when he wraps his massive arms
around my shoulders, smashing my face to his heady scented chest. My jittery
nerves instantly calm, and a sense of peace claims me. I often wonder if this
tranquility in Big’s close presence will ever cease, and if he knows that his
chest, his smell, and his delectable warmth, is my only kryptonite. I sure hope
not.

“I know you don’t know everything that’s goin’ on. I
know you’re pissed at me, which is your right. I’m not going to try and make
this sound any less important than it is. Soon enough, you will know
everything. But let me tell ya, Bink.” Big withdraws me from his chest, holding
me at arm’s length, eyes on mine. “
You
will not like it. You might even resist the truth. But…you will know it, and
you will live it. You won’t have a choice.”

Big releases me and departs his room without saying
another word. I steal another one of his T-shirts and head back in to join the
party. The rest of the night is a whirlwind of drunken bikers groping my ass,
complimenting me on how hot my tits are, and me getting even more sloshed than
I was before I arrived. The thing about me is I can be drunk, but I am still
within my right mind. I may let my guard down a bit. I might be hornier and
more social. But I’m not a fall down, need-picked-back-up, blackout, kinda gal.
Except that one time, at my local bar, when I woke up at my boss’s with the
hangover from hell. I might have gotten micked that night by the sleazeball
seated next to me. That was the worst hangover of my life, and I definitely
blacked the hell out. Yep, now that I think about it, I was micked for sure.
That’s the only logical explanation. I guess now I know how it feels for all of
Mickey’s dates, if you can truly call them that.

Mickey is one of the brothers that is on the run with
my daddy. He’s also the most fucked up of the bunch. Besides our President, of
course. Big has demons in his closet, everyone knows it. And well…so does
Mickey. He confided in me one drunken night at the clubhouse bar, spewing a
decade’s worth of rape horror stories of his stepdad forcing him to suck his
dick. When he was ten, his stepdad even went to the disturbing lengths of tying
him to the bed, gagging and raping him.

When he was sixteen, Big met Mickey in town, bagging
groceries at the local supermarket. Mickey, from what I understand, from his
story that night so long ago, had helped bag Big’s groceries and carried them
out to Big Dick’s Harley. Mickey thought it was cool so Big let him sit on it.
Which, let me point out, isn’t something most bikers allow. They got to
talkin’, only the way Big can. And by the time he was finished, he’d decided to
prospect Mickey at sixteen, which is unheard of and served club justice to
Mickey’s stepdad. I never did hear what happened to that man; he doesn’t live ‘round
here no more. But I do know Mickey’s been here ever since. And because of how
fucked up his past was, Mickey has this sick and twisted need to mick, aka
drug, all of his whores before he anal rapes them by tying them to his bed with
a necktie and gagging them. It’s fucked up. I know. Like, real sick shit.
However, Big Dick keeps an eye on him so he doesn’t hurt the women. Most of the
time they wake up the next morning on the common room couch a bit sore, with no
recollection of what happened.

Mickey’s been with us for a little less than ten
years. So his exploits and kinks have sort of become common knowledge among the
regular whores by now. As a result, he’s now the one who goes scouting to bring
in fresh meat to prey on, which isn’t hard for him to do, considering the man
is quite attractive with his short blonde hair, baby blue eyes, and a tall
athletic body. He’s eye candy for sure. And he’s always been nice to me, respectful
of all the brothers and their old ladies. Never had an instance where he’s
tried to prey upon me or anyone else I’m close with. He may be a bit of a freak
in bed, but in the everyday, he’s more gentleman than most.