The Diary of Bink Cummings: Vol 1 (MC Chronicles #1) (9 page)

“Prez.” Gunz flanks my left side and
three more men in leather cuts and jeans stand beside him.

“Ladies, this is Bink, I’m Big Dick,
and this is Gunz, my Sergeant of Arms.” Big runs down the line pointing to each
of us in turn, including himself. The women listen intently.

“Bink, these are the old ladies we
are looking to join our chapter. And those…,” He nods toward the men planted
next to Gunz. “are the brothers.” He points to the medium built, heavily
tattooed brother with his labret pierced. “That man is Axel.”

Axel raises his hand saying, “Hey,” with a thick
southern accent.

“That’s Pixie, his old lady.” Big points to the
heavily tattooed girl that Candy Cane sat down beside. I should have put two
and two together.

“Hi,” Pixie faintly says, tucking a short, errant
strand of blue hair behind her ear.

“Hi,” I reply back with a genuine smile.

“That’s Bulk,” Big continues, pointing to a large man
with a barrel chest, full beard and bald head. “And that’s his old lady
Jezebel.”

I chuckle at her name.

“Yep, that’s me. I’m an escort and proud of it. Ain’t
no secret this pussy likes to be fucked, ten ways from Tuesday,” Jezebel loudly
states in her mild southern accent, standing up from the picnic table, with an obvious
baby bump protruding from her belly. There’s a quality about this woman that I
like. She’s clearly a confident, curvy, plus sized woman, with giant knockers,
long wavy brown hair and is wearing fishnet stocking under a short red
miniskirt. She’s clearly oblivious to the fact that she is carrying a baby.

“Sit down,” her man growls.

She listens, but not before she flips her hair over her
shoulder with a calculated smile and cradles the baby bump in front of her.
Yep, she’s a sassy woman. I am definitely going to like her.

The final man he introduces us to is Mirk and his old
lady Chelsea, the woman who can’t knock the disgusted look off her face for
even a moment. This is not a place for her, I can tell. Not sure how she became
an old lady, but her attitude is palpable and I don’t like it one bit. Candy
Cane meets my eyes for a moment and then sweeps her eyes over to Chelsea, as if
she’s communicating with me the same shit I’m already thinking. This bitch
isn’t cut out for our lifestyle and surely not our tight knit club.

I shake all the brothers’ hands and Axel even kisses
the top of mine, before Big and Gunz pat me reassuringly on the shoulder and
head toward the fire pit to drink themselves into oblivion, leaving Candy Cane
and I to get down to brass tacks. Debbie is sitting out on this one as she
plays mother hen to the children, keeping them away from the weed and alcohol.

I walk over to the side where Jezebel and Chelsea sit
and I press myself between them, plopping down on the wooden bench. Jezebel
seems rather comfortable to be seated next to me. Chelsea is not; she scoots to
the edge of the bench to distance herself. Another sign to tell me she’s not
Original Chapter material.

“So…” I rest my elbows on the table, wringing my hands
together in front of me. “I know y’all are here because your old man is wanting
to relocate and transfer to our chapter of the Sacred Sinners. You might not like
it, but it’s the duty as an old lady to follow your old man’s orders. Candy
Cane and I are going to go down some basics with you all and show you the
compound, which is where you will live, should your old man get chosen to
transfer. Big only accepts the best of the best, and that is a compliment paid
to you and your family, should you be inducted into our chapter,” I explain.

“What you’re telling me is that a woman who isn’t even
an old lady is going to give me advice on how to be one?” Chelsea scoffs.

“Bitch.” Jezebel leans forward, staring hatefully down
the table at Chelsea. “If you paid any attention to the throw down between the
president and Bink, you’d understand that she is above us. If you don’t want
the attitude that you clearly have to reflect poorly on your old man, then I
suggest you show her a little respect.” Jezebel finishes and folds her hands in
front of her on the table. “Please continue.” She playfully bumps her shoulder
with mine, a knowing smile spread across her face. She’s already one of us.

“I’m not sure how much experience each of you have
with the MC. I’ll tell you a bit about myself and then I want to tell me a
little about yourselves.” I glance around to the women before settling into my
short story about my father being the VP, my brothers being brothers to the
club, how I have a room at the clubhouse that is all mine, and how I was raised
by the brothers themselves. I leave out the gross parts about sex, drugs, and
violence. Most of the women will never witness that firsthand anyhow. By the
time I am finished, all the women are intently listening to my story. “So
that’s about it. Now it’s your turn.”

“I grew up similar to you,” the meek old lady named
Pixie replies in her soft voice. “My dad is the Sergeant of Arms at the Tacoma
chapter. Didn’t spend a lot of time with the brothers growing up, my mom
wouldn’t let me. But I’ve always been an MC brat. I met Axel when he crashed at
our chapter for a month, for club business. Axel was an S.S. nomad at the time,
and it was love at first tattoo. I’m a tattoo artist by the way.” She raises
her arms, chuckling. Her laugh is warm, and I instantly see her fitting in with
the group of us. And the fact that she’s pocket sized, pretty, is a fellow MC
brat, and colorful doesn’t hurt her case.

“As you can see, I’m covered in them.
Axel has a tattoo fetish as well. Funny story, the night we unofficially met
he’d strolled into the tat parlor I was working at drunk off his ass.” The
thoughtful smile on her face reaches her ears as she replays that night in her
head.

“I refused to tattoo him because he
could barely string a sentence together. His southern accent made it almost
impossible to understand him. At the time I was at the shop alone and knew he
was a S.S. brother by his colors. I had to all but call my dad to get him to
leave. On the way out of the door, he pulled out his gun and shot out the glass
front door. It shattered all over the sidewalk and into the front part of the
parlor, and he just left. The next day he returned, sober and dripping head to
toe with apologies. He agreed to pay for the damage, and I agreed to tattoo
him. After I was done, he took me to dinner around the corner at this burger
joint, and the rest is history. He claimed me two weeks later. I’ve worn my
property cut ever since. It’s been almost nine years,” Pixie finishes.

“That’s so awesome,” Jezebel genuinely blurts, and Pixie
blushes, popping back into her turtle shell. “My story is not a romantic one. I
met Bulk eight months ago when he hired me to be his escort. At first I just
thought he was a tough man with a high sex drive. About a month into our affair
I found out he had a girlfriend and that he’s part of a motorcycle club,”
Jezebel explains.

“How in the hell didn’t you know he was in the club
before this?” Chelsea asks, rolling her eyes. “I call bullshit.”

“Call it whatever you want, bitch. When you fuck a man
they are typically naked. Unless your man is doing it wrong,” Jezebel shoots
back with an even tone.

“Whatever,” Chelsea mutters, under her breath,
crossing her arms defiantly over her small chest.

“Anyhow.” Jezebel flips her hair over her right
shoulder with flare. “I find this out, and I cut ties. As much as I loved
sleeping with him three or four times a week and making lots of money doing it,
the fact that he had a girlfriend turned me off, and I refused to sleep with
him again. He was angry at first, and then stopped callin’. Six weeks later,
I’m vomiting nonstop, my best friend takes me to the ER, and that’s when I
found out I’m pregnant.” Jezebel’s hand drops off the table to rub her belly.
“I have a daughter. She’s six. My husband, her daddy, died in Iraq five months
after she was born. He never even got to meet her. So when I found out I was
pregnant, I called Bulk right away and told him…” She sighs. “I know what
you’re thinking.” Jezebel’s tone changes, and she looks down the table to
Chelsea again.

“What’s that?” Chelsea sarcastically inquires.

“How do I know my baby is his? And why wasn’t I on
birth control if I’m an escort? …I’ll tell you…” Chelsea motions with her hand
for Jezebel to get on with it. “He was the only guy I was sleeping with at the
time, that’s how I know. I got pregnant because I’d been on heavy antibiotics
for a recurring bladder infection. Nobody told me it could lower the
effectiveness. As soon as Bulk found out I was carrying his child, he dumped
his girlfriend of eight months, dragged me to the courthouse against my will
and forced me to marry him. I’ve been his old lady ever since. I’ve never even
been to a clubhouse party or met any other old ladies until today. He gave me
my property cut just before we left Kansas to come here. We left my daughter
with my best friend while we sort stuff out here. I know this makes me sound
like a dumbass, but I’m excited to be here. To meet other women who are in this
lifestyle that Bulk has been a part of for a long time. You ladies seem really
cool. I envy you in some ways. I don’t have much of a family so it’s kinda nice
feeling like I’m a part of somethin’,” Jezebel finishes.

“How old are you?” I ask her.

“Twenty-five.”

“I’m thirty, and I’m sorry to hear about your husband,”
I sincerely express, patting her on the shoulder. “You are right, though. We
are a family, and both of you are our sisters.” I look to Pixie and Jezebel and
back again, conveying my feelings of acceptance. Making a point to leave the
bitch seated to the left of me, out.

“Do you want to talk too, Chelsea? Or should we get on
with the tour?” Candy Cane finally intercedes. Better late than never.

Chelsea makes no attempt to speak as she slides off
the bench and stands, rubbing her hands down her black dress pants. Another
indication she doesn’t belong. I might wear dress pants to work, but I wouldn’t
be caught dead wearing them to a club event.

All of us get up from the benches and walk across the
lawn to the road that runs down the middle of the compound from the front gate
down through what we like to call S. S. estates. I wave to Gunz, and then
point to where I’m headed. He nods approvingly, and goes back to socializing
with his brothers.

Walking along the blacktop, all the women are at my
heels and Candy Cane at the rear. We stroll the newly paved road, passing by
the dog kennels that Dallas runs on the left and stopping at the shorter
retaining wall and iron archway that separates the front part of the club
property from the back.

“This is the Sacred Sinners estates,” I explain as we
cross the threshold out of the business part of the club, and into the family
oriented section. Houses line both sides of the street; straight ahead is the
cul-de-sac, and Big’s house that sits smack-dab in the middle. All of the
houses are single story with many of them having finished basements. I once
asked why there were no two-story houses, and Gunz explained that two stories
are not as safe. If at any time our compound was under attack, they could easily
shoot at a two story house, whereas a one story house is guarded by the tall
wall that surrounds the compound. Pretty logical, if you ask me.

Allowing the women to gander over the houses and
assess the living conditions, I stop midway down the street and whip around to
face them.

“This is where you will live.” My hand sweeps toward
the bungalows. “You will be afforded a house, for free. Your old man’s club
dues will cover the cost of living as well as your trash, sewer, water, cable,
and internet. You are required to cover your own gas and electric and maintain
the property. The brothers here run a lawn service so you will not be required
to cut your own grass or trim your trees. Should you want to plant flowers, you
are to do so at your own discretion. All fruits and vegetables are communal and
planted over there.” I point to the large garden at the right that is fenced to
keep the critters out.

“Should you use the garden, you will
also be required to help maintain it. The house you are given will be based on
availability and family size. You do not get to choose. You are given what you
need. All houses come equipped with dishwashers, front-loading washers and
dryers, refrigerators, stoves, and air conditioning. If yours breaks, the club
will see that it’s fixed. If it needs replacing, they will do so. Living on
this property comes with responsibility. You may not have anyone other than
club members on this property at any time without prior authorization, which
includes family not part of the club, friends, or anyone else. Understand?”
They all nod in unison, curious eyes still wandering the property’s
well-maintained expanse.

“Once your old man becomes part of this club chapter,
you will be required to do your part to help with parties, or anything the
fairer sex is enlisted to do. You will eventually meet and get to know a few of
the club whores. Candy Cane and I will be around tonight to introduce you to
the ones that you should befriend and those to steer clear of. The clubhouse
where you are originally from may not hold the same sets of rules as ours. No
old ladies are allowed in the clubhouse at all after midnight unless Big has
announced otherwise. You are not allowed in the clubhouse ever, for any reason,
unless personally invited by Big or Steel, except Tuesdays when the clubhouse
is open until seven for old ladies and children to socialize, play pool, and
meet with Big if he’s available or whatever else may be needed. The weekend
availability for old ladies to come in or out of the club is on the monthly
newsletter along with monthly duties for each female member. Granted, it’s a
small newsletter since our old lady population has dwindled severely over the
past three years.” I take in a deep breath and relax my shoulders. The biggest
part of the old lady introductions is done. “Do you have any questions?”