The Diary of Bink Cummings: Vol 1 (MC Chronicles #1) (24 page)

Sliding my legs off Debbie’s, I stand and wave her a good
night on my way to my room, that’s down at the end of the hall, where the walls
are lined with vintage motorcycle paintings and black sconces every step of the
way.

Monday, September 16, 2013

“You’re sure you aren’t coming?” Pixie stands in my
bedroom doorway, hip perched on the frame, looking cute as ever in her black
jean skirt and blue slinky off the shoulder top. That matches perfectly with
the blue streaks of color in her hair and all those brightly colored tattoos.

“No, I’m not coming,” I evenly confirm, lying in bed,
ankles crossed, hands tucked behind my head in a lax position. It’s been days
since I’ve left Big’s house to go anywhere but to help the other old ladies at
my brother’s. Their calls have become more and more infrequent the longer they
are there. So I’ve kept to myself and done the girlfriend thing by chatting and
socializing with my Sacred Sisters when they are here. But every night since
the Big and Bink blowout, they’ve been in the clubhouse for both lunch and
dinner. Apparently all of the club rules were tossed out of the window when we
went under lockdown, which is still in effect and I hate it.

I also haven’t seen or heard from Big in days.
Although I do know that he’s taken a shift or two guarding the property, but he’s
kept himself outside on the porch and not set a foot inside. All the while,
I’ve spent countless hours alone. I’ve tried to keep myself busy and my mind
off of the giant pain in my ass. Unfortunately, my efforts have gone to shit in
a hand basket. If I’m not thinking about him wanting me to be his old lady, I’m
thinking about what he’s doing, or how much my pussy is missing his tongue.
Most of all, I just miss
him
. To
be frank, this is probably the longest length of time since I was born that I
haven’t seen or heard from him. Sure, we didn’t communicate daily. But every
other day at the very least. Even if it was a small, ‘Hey, how ya doin’?’ or
‘When ya bringin’ me some more of those delicious cookies?’ texts. And before
texts even existed, AOL dialup was the latest craze, and I was living here full
time, so I saw him every single day unless he was away. Even then, I’d hear
from him more than I am now. I truly hate to admit this, but I feel like I’m
missing a limb or something worse. Guess you don’t realize how much a person is
a part of your life until they simply aren’t.

Am I happy to do without the grumpy, grumbly Big? Yes…
But I’d take the whole package if it meant I got the nice, caring side too.

Listen, I get that I’m a girl, and that we’re
notorious for wishy-washy minds. I’ve just never considered myself to fall into
that category until now. One second I hate him, the next I miss him. It’s a
real hormonal mind fuck that I desperately wish would go away. I’m certain that
if I was working and not cooped up here all day every day, I’d stop this
incessant reel of emotions that I seem to be experiencing 24/7. Feelings that I
can’t seem to grasp quite yet.

Now I’m sure you’re sitting there thinking that this
whole lockdown experience is supposed to be exciting, or it should keep my mind
from wandering and over-thinking, like all us women do. But it’s not. For the
most part, a lockdown is just a bunch of people sitting around until we are
allowed to leave. The men, I know have a bit more to deal with. However, this
ain’t like the dramatic crap they show on
SOA
.
No bombs, no drive-by shootouts. It’s real life here, which means countless
mundane hours of nothingness. Luckily, I did hit the jackpot one day over the
past weekend, when my brother Brew texted, saying that they were expected home
Thursday or Friday this week at the latest, in just enough time to celebrate
Big’s 50
^th
birthday with a massive, get-drunk-and-fuck fest. Yee
Haw! Sounds exciting, doesn’t it? No…not really.

“Well, do you want to at least have me bring you some
food back?” Pixie sweetly asks.

I shake my head. “No, hun, but thanks. I’ll just
scrounge up something here.”

Pixie’s voice recedes into sadness. “Should you change
your mind, you know where we’ll be.”

“Thanks,” I genuinely express once again, feeling
guilty for not going. She departs my bedroom, shutting the door on her way out
and leaving me to my own form of self-wallowing, wearing the same PJ’s I’ve had
on for two days straight. Maybe I should get up and take a shower. God knows I
need one.

Rolling out of bed, I hit the bathroom to clean up. My
wounds from last week’s fiasco have scabbed over into rigid ugliness that will
definitely scar, which means the pain and aching I was once feeling has now
been replaced with this constant need to scratch my skin clean off. I’ve tried
not to pick. But hours of boredom, mixed with begrudging emotions, kind of
makes you antsy and your hands start to do things you don’t realize until
you’ve broken skin open and blood is smeared over your forearm.

Using the Ivory body wash foaming on a rag, I cleanse
myself whilst drifting off into another one of my childhood memories. They’ve
been coming to light more often than not since Friday when I’d heard that Big
and Gunz had finally executed their highly anticipated brawl. Nothing like
another fight to trudge up the past…

It was a hot July day, when I was fourteen.

Standing in the
heavily air-conditioned hall outside of the common room. I nosily cracked the
door open just a smidgen to see the argument between Big and my daddy in full
swing.

“What do you mean
you want her to move into your house?” Big bellowed, deep and grumbly,
transferring his weight from one shit-kicker to the other.

“Lindy Sue wants
Bink back home. She said this place has warped her mind, Big. You know it has.
You know this isn’t a place for a girl to be raised.” My dad tried to reason
with Big. However, Big’s firm stance and the balled, white-knuckled fists that
rested taut at his sides, were an indication this conversation was not going according
to plan. Big was pissed. I couldn’t see his face since his back was to me, but
I’d seen him this way a million times before.

“I. Do. Not. Care.
What that cunt wants—” Big said.

Yelling over his
president and cutting him off, my dad took center stage. “You do not speak
about my old lady that way!”

“I will speak about
that cunt however the fuck I want. You’re lucky that I kept you in the club
after all that bitch has pulled,” Big growled, flexing his leather cut covered
shoulders, like he was about to fight. His long hair was tied into a messy man
bun, giving me a clear view of the back of his neck and the thick constricting
muscles that bulged with the pounding of his heart.

“Don’t pretend you
did that for me,” my daddy countered, cracking his knuckles. I couldn’t see
him, but I could tell from his pain-laced words, that his admission of the
truth deeply wounded him.

“Should I have done
that for you? It benefitted ya, didn’t it? Why the hell I did it doesn’t matter
one fuckin’ bit. You’re still standin’. I didn’t put you or your old lady in
the ground, now
did I?”
Big spoke menacingly, calculated and careful. It sent a chill through me, as I
stood there, frozen. My hand gripped the cool metal knob of the door,
preventing it from closing.

I had been headed
to the kitchen to grab an Italian Ice when I heard them yelling. That’s what
stopped me in my tracks. And why I stood in silence, carefully watching two of
the most important men in my life arguing in each other’s faces. No one else
was around to witness it, except me.

“No…and don’t
pretend that I’m still breathin’ because of some bond of friendship we still
have. That would be a fucking lie and you know it,” Daddy said.

“You’re right, it
would. One time, long ago, we were friends, brother. That shit caught fire and
burned the hell up. Yeah?” Big was composed. Indignant? Yes. But there was a
sense of calmness to his brusque declaration, which opened my eyes to a history
that has still been left untold.

“Yeah,” Daddy
muttered, dejectedly.

“So… This bullshit
‘bout you takin’ her away from here ‘cause Lindy Sue has some grand plan to be
a spectacular mother, out of the motherfuckin’ blue, it ain’t happenin’. Tough
shit. You need to get this through her dumbass head and through yours too. It.
Is. Not. Going. To. Happen. You’re fuckin’ welcome to bring it up in Church.
But I’ll tell ya brother, you bring Gunz in on this little discussion we’re
havin’, and it’s going to go south real quick like. If it weren’t for that
little towhead and me stoppin’ him, Gunz woulda put the cunt down long ago. You
know it, and I know it. So let’s not play this little game where you come in
here and pretend that you give a flying fuck, and let’s be real. What does she
want? And how much is it
gonna
cost us?” Big laid it all out on the line, calling my daddy on his bullshit. I
was in utter shock. The words ‘cost us’ rang true through my ears and it scared
the ever lovin’ shit outta me.

The sound of heavy
footsteps approaching sped my heart rate, breaking me from my entrancement on
the President and VP’s secret argument. Afraid of being caught, I silently
closed the door until I heard the telltale click.

“What do you think
you’re doing?” Gunz approached me with a bright smil, and a sucker for me. I
took it with a fake grin and placed the sweet goodness into my mouth with an
‘Mmmmm’.

“I was just headed
to the kitchen.” My nerves were on high alert, even though I remained calm. I
didn’t want to be caught. And more importantly, I knew if Gunz had any
indication what was goin’ down in the common room, my world would have been
screwed ten ways from Tuesday. I knew Big wouldn’t have said those things to my
daddy if they weren’t the God’s honest truth. And I’ve known Gunz nearly my
entire life, protective love forever runs through his blood. That was something
I’ve never questioned.

“Let’s go then.”
Gunz rested his palm on my shoulder and together, both of us savoring our
suckers, walked to the kitchen and treated ourselves to an Italian Ice…

Hopping out of the shower, I thoroughly dry myself with one of Big's oversized plush blue towels, and comb through my hair using his brown brush. That is one of the benefits of sleeping in the room of a man who has long hair. Big owns hairbrushes, unlike Gunz, who is bald. He also has
shampoo and conditioner and a few hair products. Plus, for whatever reason,
tampons, women’s deodorant and a huge box of condoms. Magnum, ribbed for her
pleasure. I opened one yesterday and stuck two fingers through it to feel the
difference between the ribbed and the ones I normally use. There is a
difference. Not a lot, but some. Makes me wonder if those are the condoms he
carries in his wallet for all the whores he bangs.

Dropping my towel into the hamper, I reenter my
bedroom buck-naked and throw myself into another pair of my pajama bottoms and
one of Big’s 2XL long t-shirts. My phone that is resting on the dresser begins
to vibrate. Pretty sure this is the first text I’ve gotten nearly all weekend,
except the one from my brother.

Gunz: Fuck, Bink, why are you making me suffer like
this? Haven’t you ever heard of cruel and unusual punishment?

Chuckling, I drop my back onto the bed, legs dangling
over the edge.

Me: What am I making you suffer like?

This should be good.

Gunz: From food poisoning. These women can’t cook if
their lives depended on it. And let me tell ya, baby doll, they’re depending on
it. I am about to throw their asses to the dogs, along with their nasty fuckin’
food.

Busting out in full on laughter, my mind drifts to a
vision of Gunz sitting at the clubhouse bar, pushing some indistinguishable
food around on a paper plate with a spork, his face stricken.

My phone buzzes again.

Blimp: Hey there pretty lady, we’ve got ourselves a
bit of a problem down here. In need of some of your magical assistance.

I guess the food really is bad tonight, which does
nothing but make me smile like the bitch I am. See, they do need me. If they
want me down there to cook, they’re going to have to do some major ass kissing.
Just like I’ve had to do when I ask for favors. Like the time Black Betty broke
down and Mickey had to come pick me up with the tow truck. I groveled at his
feet. Sarcastically, yes, but it did the trick, made him laugh, and I got my
bike back to the shop to get fixed up. A win-win all around.

My phone buzzes yet again.

Candy Cane: Houston, we have a major problem! Whores
made cupcakes for brothers today, and they’re sick. EXPLOSIVE food poisoning
has hit some of the men who ate more than one of the cupcakes. It’s a mess down
here. I’m calling in for backup. We need you. Get over yours and Big’s shit and
come help your family.

I guess it isn’t just the food tasting terrible; the
dumbasses did something else. What the hell? How do you give someone food
poisoning with cupcakes? Guess I’ll have to find out. And here I thought I
might get to live this cooking fiasco up. Not likely now that I’ve got business
to take care of.

Me to Candy Cane: I’m on my way.